I really need to call my little brother and find out just what kind of a sister I was.  My Honey seems to think I was mean and bossy and mildly abusive.  This opinion has been formed because apparently that’s what all big sisters are like.  

“I already asked him about it,” My Honey told me.  “He showed me his membership card.”

“What membership card?” I asked.

“The Fraternal Order of Abused Younger Brothers membership card,” he informed me.  “He’s been a member since 1973.”

My Honey speaks from experience since he is a younger brother as well.  He says that’s why all little brothers are good in Cub Scouts.  It’s due to the fact that they are good at following directions because they’ve been bossed around all their lives. 

This subject came up at dinner today because I was chewing Sassy out for bossing  her brother around all the time.  I can’t believe I did that as spitefully as Sassy does, but then I remembered a few things. 

I do recall that I handcuffed my brother to the mailbox while my parents were out.  He cried out there for half an hour or so before I let him go. 

I also have a feeling that I flushed his head in the toilet at least once.

I remember dressing him up like a girl and sending him to school like that.

I made him take the wrap for snooping for Christmas presents that I was guilty for.

I drove his hot rod once and broke something.  I can’t remember what, but I did, and I’m sure I didn’t fess up to it.

I used to lick all the Oreos so he wouldn’t eat any.  And then, when my mom bought him his very own cookies, I stole them.

Good Lord.  I was a horrible sister.  Maybe that’s why I feel such a need to protect The Bandit from his sister’s machinations.

This also explains why Cub Scouts are always studying knots.  Perhaps they should have a badge for picking the locks on handcuffs.

Yeah.  I’m not calling my brother.  That’s a stone better left unturned.

From my daily calendar:

Michelangelo believed that the depiction of the naked body, particularly those of men, represented art’s highest achievement.  So deep was his devotion to the male nude that even his female nudes look like men.  His sculpture Night, for example,

features strange balloon-shaped breasts emerging from the muscular abdomen of a man.  That Michelangelo disliked using female models was perhaps due to ignorance – some scholars question whether he ever saw a naked woman.  It sounds outlandish, but it’s possible.  The artist never married, and his rare relationships with women were purely platonic.  Michelangelo frequently advocated abstinence, which he believed prolonged life.  Given that he died shortly before his 89 birthday, perhaps he was on to something.

That’s a pitiful way to go through life.  I disagree with the whole abstinence idea in general.  Obviously, considering what I write.

Besides, now this lady looks like every Playboy Bunny with implants.

So this is our dear fellow, Michelangelo.  Perhaps he’s depressed from that whole abstinence thing.  Or maybe it had to do with all that time in the Vatican.

As you all know, I try to post something here everyday.  Yesterday I missed posting anything.  It was one of those days where sleep finally catches up to me and I crashed out pretty early.

I have the day off from work today – for all you jealous people out there – so I promise I’ll post something longer today.  Stay tuned…..

Just wrapped up book 5.  That’s 1,506 pages since last Saturday if you’re counting and apparently some people are.  I now have to finish the remaining 6 books – one every 8.6 days. 

This book was pretty good.  Not as good as the one I read earlier this week that I loved so much.  I have had some requests for the title and author of that book: Tempt the Devil by Anna Campbell.  I recommend it for any reader that enjoys a really fantastic, character driven story.  I absolutely devoured that one.  I was delighted when I looked at the titles for the other category that I’d agreed to read and she has a title in that one as well.

Off to bed – I start my new job tomorrow.  The job I’ll have until I get that book deal anyway.

My weekends are always very Bandit intensive and I am always grateful when bedtime rolls around.  On Friday, My Honey had a gig at the ultimate dive bar and I failed to get a sitter so I stayed home with Sassy and The Bandit.  We watched several episodes of F Troop – the old TV show.  The Bandit thinks it is the funniest thing to grace the television since… ever.  I disagree because, although some of you may not think so, my sense of humor is more sophisticated than Cpl. Argarn.  And Gilligan, too.  Come to think of it, what the hell was wrong with people in the 60’s?  Never mind, don’t answer that.  But seriously, talk about bad television.   

I let the kids stay up later than usual and then we all piled into my bed to go to sleep.  Because I’m a horrible mother and I should never be allowed to put children to bed, I turned on the TV in my room to some innocuous movie.  We all cuddled in and almost instantly Sassy was gently snoring beside me.  I began to fade out after a while, too.  Something woke me up as the end credits started to roll.  I looked over and Bandit was wide awake.

“That was a good movie, Mom,” he says.

Definitely my kid.

Then today, we had to make a run to Target.  I think that if there is ever a weekend where we don’t have to go to Target or Costco, that those two stores will send someone around to our house to make sure that we’re alright.  Sassy and her dad were in the shoe department so I took the cart and The Bandit over to the lingerie section to see if they had any underwear on sale.  Does this seem like a good idea to any of the other mothers of four year old boys?  Clearly, I didn’t think it through.  The minute I pause the cart, Bandit is grabbing bras off the racks and yelling loudly.

“Mommy, is this a BOOBIE PROTECTOR?  Feel how soft this BOOBIE PROTECTOR is.  Do you like the color of this BOOBIE PROTECTOR?  I think you would look really pretty in this BOOBIE PROTECTOR.”

I hear snickering all around me and I am studiously ignoring him, while at the same time, trying to get all the bras back on the racks.  I’m quite sure my face was the color of the neon pink push up bra that he deemed his favorite.

And this is why I so desperately want Isabella to have a boy.

I want to write a love letter.  A love letter to some really fantastic ladies. 

Today was the last day of work at my current job.  On Monday I start with a new company in a totally different industry.  I am very excited about it.  And as an extra, added bonus, I’ll be working with Isabella again.  Nothing good can come from that, I assure you.

Back to the love letter.  While I am absolutely thrilled beyond belief to be leaving that industry, I will miss the ladies I worked with immensely.  I have a bit of guilt leaving them all there – but, I guess that I’m not a marine and they’re not exactly “fallen” comrads that I’m leaving behind.  Many of them are faithful readers of this site so I know they’ll see this.  Besides, what is a blog if not an opportunity to be entirely self indulgent?

I thoroughly enjoyed working with each and every one of you.  You are all brilliant and long suffering, witty and a superb audience.  I can’t imagine that any group of women could have more fun while working under greater stress unless there is some group of comediennes diffusing nuclear bombs somewhere.  I will honestly miss trading quips and giggles over the cubie walls with you.  And rarely have I had a better audience for my antics than with you all.  You have inspired me and, knowing that you’re all out there reading my stuff, you’ve made me a better story teller.  Hang in there and remember, in the long, hard fight against “the man”, you’re all really good at what you do.  Keep smiling, keep muttering under your breath, and when you really, really can’t take it anymore, I left you the “Bullshit” button.

XOXOXOXOX – Amylynn (your faithful clown)

The Bandit has been getting in trouble again in pre-school.  The problem is that he and the crew of little dudes he runs around with have all been together practically since birth.  They egg each other on quite a bit and get into more difficulties together than they would alone.  My Honey calls them
The Four Toddlers of the Apocalypse.

This morning when I was helping him get dressed, he looked up at me and said, “Momma, I’m gonna have a good day today.”

“Good,” I said, smiling.  “You’re going to be a good listener then?”

“Yeah.  I’m not going to listen to anything those other hairballs say.”

I’ve started a new hobby.  Or maybe I’ve developed a new psychosis.  It’s hard to tell.  The behavior is still in its infancy.  I’m muttering.  A lot.  I’ve started muttering because I can’t let loose the stream of profanity that’s running around in my head. 

Do you remember that old Bill Cosby routine where the kids are supposed to be getting ready for bed but his wife can hear them upstairs screwing around and fighting?  She heads up there to put an end to the nonsense and hollers up the stairs, “The beatings will now commence.”  When she comes down, all Bill can hear is whimpering from upstairs and his wife muttering under her breath, “Roll your eyes at me, boy, and I’ll roll your head” and so on.  Intersperse some indecipherable swear words in there and that’s me these days.

“What did you say, Mommy?”

“Nothing.  I’m not talking to you.  Why don’t you have your pajamas on yet?  For God’s sake, Sassy I’ve told you three times.  I DO NOT want to see you again unless you have pajamas on.”

Five minutes go by.

“Hey, Mom, why do….”

“Oh My God! Why are you still in a towel.  Go. Get. Your. Pajamas. On.  RIGHT NOW!”

“OK!”  She stalks off to her room.  “Everybody is always yelling at me.”

Five minutes go by.

She emerges from her room naked.  “Moooooo-oooom.  Have you seen my roller skates.” 

My only response is flabbergasted frustration.  And muttering.  It’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane.

Whew! Just finished book 4.  It was alright.  Just alright.  The plot I’ve read a hundred times before.  The heroine was a little annoying.  Not my favorite.

On to book 5.  I feel like I’m on a freight train.