It’s the jumping jacks I really don’t care much for. They start out ok but after a few minutes my calf muscles are crying. It doesn’t matter now, though…I have been delivered from the dreaded jumping jacks thanks to my misbehaving bladder. So glad it’s come to my rescue. Me getting older = stinks.
I have spent the past week a bit furious over the amount of fundraising/working I am subjected to for all my kids’ sports and yet in the end I am still writing huge checks for all kinds of apparel. The kicker came today when the girls got into the car with new wind suits for volleyball and said, “She said she forgot to tell us that we owe $60 for each of these.” The best part of this…the last game of the season is tomorrow. Yep, $120 and they get to wear once. I don’t cuss…if you do – tear loose. I just want to point out that we made it all season without matching wind suits. Did we really need them? Just asking. I just paid $64 for one pair of tennis shoes for volleyball, the eldest girl still had hers from last year AND the middle girl has yet another shirt coming tomorrow that I owe for. The price has not been announced to me yet. The boy owes $175 for all of his matching basketball apparel; this is after $130 for the football season – that doesn’t include the cleats we bought or the gate fees. I’m sure the money we have fundraised is being used somewhere but shewww, at this rate I am going to have to become a Jehovah’s Witness so we don’t have to celebrate the gift giving portion of Christmas. This all comes on the heels of planning for the DECA fall trip and paying deposits on the eldest child’s senior trip to London/France. What happened to chocolate milky cups and $1.99 Happy Meals that kept them happy? These guys getting older = expensive.
In other Thomas family business:
Seeking someone to pay my water bill.
Seeking new job that pays $100k year and gives me four days and weekends off each week.
Favorite thing I heard today comes from my friend Allyson’s FB page and is a conversation between her 5 and 3 year old daughters:
5 year old: I am going to count in British; Uno, Duos, Tres…
3 year old: That’s not British, that’s Taco!