(Can you believe the look on that kid's face? Gutsy would make Denis the Menace run screaming in terror to mommy. Not only because he's my evil spawn child, but also because he really needs a haircut and 50's kids like Denis don't dig the hippy look. )
It's been a busy week, full of weddings (ok, one wedding), dinners out (one dinner), coffees (several), book browsing (just once), playdates (several, because I'm so popular) and babies up way past their bedtimes (more than once, and I ran out of chloroform).
This morning, I checked our bank account. Geekster's insurance policy paid us back for Gutsy's speech therapy: $430. Hoowah!
This afternoon, I spent $420 on back-to-school supplies, clothes, shoes, a foward-facing carseat for the ever-growing Spawnling (he'll be a year old in less than two months, as heartbreaking as that is), a gate for the stair-climbing ten-month-old, some batteries for the digital camera, and some chocolate. Because The Maven requires regular chocolate fixes. It's just a fact of life.
So yes. I blew hundreds of dollars in the span of two hours. But at least my boys will look hot at school. If they don't have a lady on each arm by October then there are a lot of little lesbians running around, because no straight girl should be able to resist a hoodie with dragons on it.
(When puberty hits I fully plan to dress them in trousers with suspenders and plaid vests. We will not have surprise baby gremlins running rampant in this house for at least fifteen years if I can help it. And believe me, mama Maven can come up with some really creative ways to keep the gene pool closed for a good while.)
Anyway, enough horrible thoughts about teenage pregnancy... My friend, Astarte, got married on Saturday and I was asked to be the matron of honour.
Yes, she asked me,
No, this wasn't an imaginary wedding.
No, she's not crazy. Not completely, anyway.
I did an awful job at my matronly duties. Butchered them, even. She had no bachelorette party. I did not partake in her wedding dress shopping. I purchased my dress and shoes less than week prior to the big day. I made her late by promising I could do 'beautiful things' to her hair, which turned into several failed attempts at sticking a flower-thingy in the back of her head. However, she shed no blood, therefore had no odd staining on her dress. We did manage to get the flowery-pin-a-ma-bob in her hair and made it to the ceremony about 15 minutes late. I then spent the next five minutes convincing her that we were just being fashionably late.The Maven has learned that her Jedi mind tricks do not work on brides-to-be. Thankfully this particular pre-nuptial princess was by far the calmest I had ever seen. I was pratically running down the aisle at my wedding and she made me look like I had cold feet. The wedding itself was just perfect, and my gremlins were fairly well-behaved. Even poor Intrepid, while uncomfortable from that whole broken leg ordeal, did fairly well. We lasted for nearly five hours. Five hours! Us, with kids, in a public, busy place! We didn't even need any sort of restraining system. It was quite impressive.
As we were leaving, several of her family members actually thanked me for the 'good job' I did.
I'm betting on intoxication making everything look much better than it actually was. Seriously.
Astarte decided to buy me a gift despite my wedding party faux pas'. She bought me a mug with pictures of chocolate cakes on it, and a card that thanked me for my 'dedication' and other imaginary things like 'hard work'. Sweet, right? Not as sweet as the back, where she revealed her true feelings for me. 'I love you. You are sexy and hot.' says the card.Cards don't lie. She only married her husband because I wasn't available. Poor girl. I bet she cries herself to sleep, too.
Well, congratulations, Astarte! Sorry I sucked so bad, but I'm so honoured for being asked to be your matron of um... honour. I guess that's a basic requirement for the job, come to think of it.
I'm going to throw pictures of the mug and some random gremlin pictures, all taken this evening. Because I know your very favourite thing is to look at other people's family photos. In fact, I'm thinking of dropping by with some slides. Try not to pee your pants in excitement.
Ok, but they are pretty cute, right? It's all me, baby. They don't look a thing like their dad, I swear.No, I don't feel the need to post a picture of him as proof that they look like me. I mean, don't you trust me? Would I lie to you?
Please refrain from answering that. Thank you.