Woe Is a Day Without Pants Pockets

I am telling you, if there is to be a day my children are bound to say the cutest, funniest, most outrageous things, it is sure to be a day I don’t have a pocket in my pants large enough to hold my cell phone.  

Today we were at the house all day so I wasn’t worried about losing track of the phone.  If anything happened notification-wise, I’d get the passthrough information on my Apple Watch.   If I needed to take a call and I really wanted to talk on my watch, I could do that (I typically don’t want to do that because holding my wrist to my head isn’t all that much fun.)

Most of the people involved in our day were arriving at one point or another thus signaling the start of our Thanksgiving long weekend.   It was a fun day, it was a happy day—it was a day full of children crying at each other at eight-thirty in the morning because of some sort of insult or intentional injury due to hard feelings.

I think that may have been the overriding theme of the day: “I don’t like what you did and I’m going to exact revenge on you as a result.”   We have six children in a four-house proximity, all of whom move in and out of our house as the flow of friendship moves them.    And all of them seemed to have short tempers today.    I say this as the one adult in the area who had equally poor temperament today.   I don’t know what it was, but I was on edge.    So my apologies to the my children who are reading this years from now, because yes, I was in a crappy mood today.

But enough of that, let’s talk about blog-worthy sayings.   There were a lot.   There were at least five, maybe more, which is a bumper crop in the land of blog ditties I try and capture each day.   Only on account of my new pocketless pants, I got none of them written down.      Tomorrow, there will be pockets, that’s for sure.

The Big Boy Update:  My son said, “turkey makes me sleepy.”  I told him there was scientific evidence behind his statement that made what he was saying true.  

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter thinks my name is in Malted Milk Balls.   I hated to correct her, telling her they weren’t actually called “Mama Milk Balls”.