I decided to stop being a slacker and get back on track with my blog challenge. Really, I couldn’t come up with anything funny for this week’s Listicles: Halloween Costumes. I thought about showing a bunch of pictures of me on past Halloweens and then making fun of them, but that seemed kind of lame.
|I’m Tootsie Frootsie
I’ve got fruit on my hat,
fresh fruit’s fun for a snack…
But, I’m doing this slighty less lame thing instead.
Blog Challenge Day 7 question: What is your dream job and why?
My husband said that if I could get paid to be a dork, that that would be my dream job. Thanks Honey.
My Dream Job: Stay-at-home-mom and writer
I’m pretty much doing that. It could only be more dreamy if someone were here to change diapers, clean up the pee, poop, and puke, make healthy dinners and exotic desserts, and watch my kids so I could write more. I love my kids, but dang, sometimes a woman needs a break. And going to the gym
five two hours a week ain’t cuttin’ it.
The challenge I have with my two jobs (besides the crappy paychecks) is finding a balance. I think about my blog too much. My son came in the kitchen the other day while I was cooking and asked what was for dinner. I said, “Ummmm….uhhhhh…lemme…think…about that…umm.”
I couldn’t answer because I was (not listening) thinking: I wonder if when I was one of the top five most-clicked posts at Finding the Funny if people really found the post funny or was it just the title of my post they found funny?
“What!”…Why is he yelling?
“I asked you what’s for dinner. You’re not listening to me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
“What’s for dinner. (growl)”
Why is it your dream job?
I get to stay at home with my kids. all. day. Long.
I get to express myself through the written word. Because talking is not my strength. Stumbling over my words and then my face turning red are where I excel.
Sharing my writing via a blog gives me instant feedback in the comments, which so far has been good…or non-existent, which, no matter how many great comments there are, translates into my head as, “This post is crap, so like my mom always told me, ‘If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t leave a comment.’”
I don’t have to brush my teeth until 6pm (just before Steve gets home).
I can hold off on that shower until I have to be seen in public, usually about every three days, or until I reek so badly that I’m forced to shower by my own nose.
I can wear jeans or yoga pants or pajamas all day. Not that I ever wore yoga pants until two weeks ago. I heard all the mommy bloggers talking about them, so I Mario Andretti’d my way to Goodwill to find a pair. Unfortunately, they’re high-waters, so I have to wear them low on my hips, which is not comfortable. Plus, they make your butt look real. Like real FAT. Are thigh-length shirts back in style yet? That would hide both my butt and my muffin-top.
I get to spend time being with the munchkins I love most in this world.
And in case you’re wondering – I know you are – the following are NOT my dream jobs:
Professional sky diver – Because I would crap my pants everyday.
Sewage Plant worker – Because I would smell like I crapped my pants every day.
Used Car Sales Person – Because people would think I was full of crap every day.
(That last one’s a real job. Click on it.)
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