basically, i failed today's lesson in self control.

There's about a million reasons why, typically, I get my groceries delivered to my house.

Mostly, it's because I'm amazingly lazy. Partly, it's because I think it's cool (it is, isn't it?). And then, there's the other reason that I forget every now-and-then, and when I forget this last reason, well, that's when I get into trouble.

That's what happened today.
I got cocky and I got complacent.

See, I don't really go to grocery stores. In case you forgot (no judgment, I don't remember what I had for breakfast), I get my groceries delivered by Amazon Fresh (posted about here). Every Monday morning, my groceries arrive on my doorstep at 6 am in little totes. I call it the grocery fairy because it is magical, I tell you. Magical.

Sometimes. SOME.TIMES. Once, blue moon, you know, I run out of time in the weekend to place my order online via the World Wide Interweb. In other words, I get so lazy that I'm too lazy to sit with a computer on my lap, watch Real Housewives of Pick A City, and type in food items that I'd like someone else to pick out for me, bag, and place on my doorstep. Really, not placing my grocery order is the epitome of laziness. I need like a Scarlet L embroidered on me.

Today was one such lazy day. Actually, in defense of my today, we ended up out with the in-laws and then (this is where I get cocky), I thought it might be fun to actually go to a real store and do real grocery shopping since I wouldn't have time to make my list, check it twice, and place my online order.

Cockiness is the downfall of all Susie-izations (it's like a civilization except run by Susie's).

This is why I don't go shopping in a grocery store.
I can't handle it. Literally, I cannot handle the pretty boxes and packaging and perfect goodness looming down each aisle. I want it all. I shop online because then I don't see Pop Tarts on an end cap and then those Pop Tarts don't end up coming home with me for breakfast parties this week.

This, plain and simple, is why I don't go grocery shopping.
I have literally no self control.

In addition to everything else on my grocery list, I came home and found that I'd also bought:

Potato Chips.
Pop Tarts.
Mac and Cheese.
Cans of Fruit (in lite syrup, seriously.)
2 boxes of fried treats that are divine.
And a Marie Calendar's Pie.

There was a partridge in a pear tree, but I already fried him and ate him before taking the picture.

Basically, I don't shop in a grocery store because I lack the most basic skills in self-control. I cannot be trusted in a grocery store. I cannot handle the pressure or responsibility. Chuck, on the other hand, was thrilled with today's haul and is already 50% of his way through said Cheez-It box.

Oh, and everybody, can we make a pact to please not show PK this post because I am pretty sure I will get a lecture similar to PK Lecture #4,621 titled: "Kool-Aid is not a breakfast juice", which I have received on multiple occasions. I just need this to stay relatively hush-hush for the time being.


it's a very traditional way to celebrate mom.

I got a little package in the mail from Fe today.
It's 4 days to Mother's Day. I had a pretty good idea of what was in said package.

It was the Mother's Day card I am to give her. You read that right. She sent me a card to send back to her.

I blogged about this card a few years ago when the blog was in its infancy and I think Emy was my only reader. It deserves a repost. Trust me. It's that good.

She sends me the card every year because this is the card I regive her every year. When you find perfection, you just don't mess with it.

Read it.
Fine. I'll read it to you. "One jump, two jump, three jump, four. Susie is a skank and her mother is a...."

Don't blame me if you're offended.
Blame Hallmark. They printed it.

I like that this year, Fe sent me the card along with a self addressed stamped envelope because we are spending Mother's Day with Chuck's Mom (and Fe wants her card back on time). I haven't heard the words "self-addressed stamped envelope" since Nickelodeon sweepstakes back in The Day.

I died. Something about the envelope (with stamps) was HIGHlarious to me. I mean, couldn't I have gotten my own envelope and addressed it to her? Truth: probably not. I would have forgotten, plus I don't think we have stamps and/or envelopes. Good call Fe.

PS. Yes, that is her real name on the envelope. Did you know she has a real name and that Fe isn't it? It's pretty and it's unique, but Shelley and I like Fe better so whatareyougonnado?

So there you go.
That's the card.
And that's the relationship I have with my Mom. Own it.

photoshoot: a year later and a new addition.

It was about this time last year that I first started doing "photoshoots". I'm still surprised every time someone asks. It warms my heart.

Last year, my cousin Kyle was the first person to get this crazy idea that I could do a photoshoot. Isn't family support the best support we can ask for? I had a heckuva time photographing his little girl last May for their yearly Mother's Day pictures (gotta keep the grandma's happy).

This was them last year. First photoshoot. Remember that. Little rough.

During our photoshoot exactly one year ago, this lovely little two year old let it slip that there was a baby in Mommy's tummy. I died. Two year olds are the worst secret keepers. As a result, I don't tell Lucy anything. Lesson learned.

So this year, it was the four of them. Round 2. Kyle, Andrea, Isabela, and now baby Leo -- who came to us in December.

Love this family.
And love their support.

here we go again on so many levels.

I'm sick. Again.
I have a cold. Again.
I missed about half a week of work. Again.

This is becoming a running theme lately. Apparently, I'm sickly. Who knew. At least this time all I had to cancel was one photoshoot and Skate King night with my students. It's an improvement over cancelling an entire vacation to Hawaii. Win? I'll take it.

What we did get to do this weekend is thatch. Year three of thatching.
First year is here.
Second year is here.
Third year is here. Literally. Right here. You don't need a link. You're currently there. Get it?

This year, Chuck had to go it alone. Poor kid. Thatching isn't easy and it's a two person job, but when one person is sucking down cough syrup and dayquil like they're slurpees and smarties, well. It becomes a one person gig.

Until we got to the bagging part.
Chuck really needed my help. See, contrary to popular belief, I can actually be helpful when I want to be. Bagging is for two people. Like tandem bikes and sheet folding. You know what I'm talking about.

I needed to help.
But, something about all the allergens from scooping and bagging didn't seem smart in my current, fragile condition.

So Chuck developed a plan.

He said I didn't actually have to do this.
He said he could figure it out.
I said if I didn't do this and didn't work in our front yard looking like this, how else could I martyr myself for the day? It was my cross to bear and darn it, I was going to bear it loud and obnoxiously.

I am such a good sport. And so easy to work with.

ps. Yeah, Shelley, that is your sweatshirt and no I don't know how I ended up with it. Do you need it back? Good chat.
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