Ick

*Before reading this post, you'd do well to put on one of those little mask thingees and medical gloves. And have a bottle of Clorox Clean-up with Bleach (Kills FLU GERMS!) close at hand.  Don't say I didn't warn you....

We've been smacked upside the head with some sort of evil illness from the depths of hell, this last week. (I say "this last week"...it started Thursday, today is Tuesday; welcome to stay-at-home-mom calendar keeping!)

Fevers, head cloggage, coughing up lung tissue, sore throat, head ache, runny nose, sneezing, REPEAT.

That's right.

Just when we think we're turning the corner, the fever comes back and WHAM! here we go again.

It's so ugly.

We're so ugly.

And I don't even care that I'm ugly.

Except that it scares the kids and the dogs at night when I get up to let them out or give them medicine.

I mean, reverse that....I don't put the kids out.

At least I don't THINK I put the kids out....hard to say, though, with the dose of Nyquil I took.

Hmmm....

I haven't wanted coffee.

My hair hurts.

I haven't run in four days.  My nose runs, but I haven't. 

We've been laying on the couches and floors like a bunch of hung-over Mexican lizards, letting the History channel play what it will, dropping soggy Kleenex on the floor and coughing until our abs ache.

First freezing, then sweating, then freezing, then sweating....

And we can't figure out why the Farmer is putting in punishing hours at the shop, spotlighting with his BFF, going to Jordan for...I think I saw peanut M&Ms and Coke in that grocery bag, under the Robitussin!

Drats.

Empty package of peanut M&Ms and no Coke left in the bottle!

Ah, well....everything tastes like cardboard, anyway.

Even ice cream.

Even French onion soup.

Even enchiladas.

Now...

This isn't meant to be a whine-fest! Not at all!

First of all, it's a warning. 

Do you remember the movie Swiss Family Robinson, when the father flew the black spot of death flag over the wrecked ship and scared away the pirates? This is my version of the black spot of death flag: turn back now!!!  Save yourself!!!

Secondly, I've GOT to get back in the writing mode, here, and this is really all I have to write about this very minute. 

And that's the latest installment from the Cohagen version of Tales From The Crypt...

Mom Jeans

Another challenge for my blog, put to me by friends who obviously want to see me run over in the Walmart parking lot by an angry anonymous reader of the Chronicles.  Ah, well....life is short; may as well live on the edge, right?

Recently, a friend of mine was informed that she wore "Mom jeans" and this wasn't a compliment.  The flaws of her blue jeans were pointed out, the superiority of the socially responsible individual's jeans were highlighted, we considered ourselves informed and laughed about it later!

*Incidentally, my friend's jeans are not Mom jeans; the details will be covered later on in the post.*

Gosh, who KNEW it was so important to wear the right jeans in Cohagen, Montana!?!
I mean, my goodness....someone might think we're a buncha backwards hicks if they saw us wearing Mom jeans in public! Ya think? (I mean, if you can consider the Cohagen Post Office "in public"...)

So, now we're searching the second hand stores for the Mommiest Mom jeans we can find, just for fun.  I found a promising pair that I'm excited about; they cut into my ribs right under my bra line, and taper nicely to nearly cut off the circulation in my ankles.  The only problem is that they have pretty decently placed pockets and everyone knows that to be truly CLASSIC Mom jeans, the pockets have to be tiny and high on your rump, or non-existant. 
Sadly, the lack of tacky pockets take that edge off the fashion, making room for someone else to find a mommier pair. 
Drats!

(Exhibit A: Famous Mom jeans modeled confidently by Jessica Simpson.)

Pretty much, my definition of Mom jeans is this: if a mom is wearing them, and they're hers, they're Mom jeans.  Odds are that she's probably wearing a Mom shirt, Mom shoes, Mom accessories and driving a Mom car.  That's what happens when you give birth...you're a Mom.  And we're all different shapes, sizes, different income levels, lifestyles; that's the gorgeous thing about mankind, in my mind.  I'm so glad we don't all wear the same thing! (I've often thought I'd never make it in a school with uniforms, because my rebellious heart would want to "alter" the outfit somehow.)

I also don't think it's my place to inform anyone that they're unfashionable according to MY standards.  Just because I like to wear makeup every day doesn't mean every other woman in my social sphere should wield the mascara wand daily, saying "bibbidy-bobbidy-boo" under her breath, hoping for the fairy godmother miracle like I do.  I'm not going to walk up to one of my friends and ask which secret from Victoria she's wearing and has she considered the pushup, lace, wunderbun lingerie that I think would do amazing things for that Mom shirt she's wearing.  I have no illusions that just because I don't feel fully dressed without earrings, it's the right rule for every woman.  I like that we're different.  I love my friends' styles; they're always so different from mine, unique and beautiful like the people who put them together. 

I'm glad we can laugh about the Mom jeans, and make it a great contest that will indeed culminate in Cohagen Mom Jean Day, in which we'll all wear our worst and vie for the prize....a redneck coaster set and case of ramen noodles, Oriental flavor.  It may catch on and go national.  If so, you can say you saw it here first! 

(I'll check with my friend, but I think April Fool's Day would be the perfect day for the contest.  I'll keep you posted....)