I would like to do the following things instead of my taxes:

Build a white farmhouse.

Or maybe this one.

With a lovely grass lined pool.

(Look how happy the boys are.)

I would also plant a lovely garden on the grounds of said farmhouse.

From seedlings I grew in my greenhouse.

And I would wear a big, floppy hat and start a CSA with my harvested items. And have chickens. And bees. And a pet rabbit.

Speaking of rabbits, my sister says this one looks like me…

I am not offended. That is a cute rabbit.

Rabbits don’t pay taxes.

I would like to KonMari my closet. Pull every item out. Touch it. See if it brings me joy. You know what doesn’t bring me joy? Taxes.

And also organize my pantry while I am at it. When I am done, it will be filled with bottles of sparkling water and glass containers that contain ingredients not commonly used for cooking.

I would be so organized. And could easily locate the 1099-DIV I am currently missing.

I would help other people have farmhouses just as cool as mine. And I would have an HGTV show.

Basically be Joanna Gaines.

Yes. I would like to be Joanna Gaines instead of doing my taxes. I will hang random objects on walls and they will look fabulous. Pecky Cypress will be my shiplap.

But I am not an interior designer.

I am a CPA. And CPAs are supposed to do taxes. It is expected.

I would also build a beach cottage. Right on the beach. Not a huge mansion. Just a cute little surf shack.

(Look how happy I am.)

And I would take lots of outdoor showers. And read books. Maybe even write a book.

But not a book about taxes.

I would like to stay at fancy hotels and drink champagne and take photos of my outfits and get paid for it. Yes. Instead of paying taxes, I want to be a fashion blogger. How can we make this happen? I have a blog and duh, fashion. Maybe you can make some calls.

And I could deduct the cost of clothes and shoes as a business expense.

I would like to buy an old airstream, remodel it and take it on a cross country road trip.

Except I don’t know how to do that. The remodel part. Or the haul a trailer part.

Now that I think of it, I don’t know how to tend bees. Or chickens for that matter.

You know what else I don’t know how to do? Taxes.

But there is one thing I am clearly good at…

PROCRASTINATING.

Good thing I have until Monday to file. 

In July, we rode SK’s coattails all the way to Cali. He had to go for work, but the rest of us just wanted to escape Mississippi heat and rain.

When we landed in San Diego, I thought we’d accidentally gotten on the wrong plane. It was dreary and rainy and did not look like the San Diego I remembered. By the time we left the airport, it was pouring. We didn’t have an umbrella because, hello, California. We waited for it to slack off, but it never did.

We made a run for the rental car bus terminal, but didn’t realize the road we were crossing had at least a foot of standing water at the opposite edge. SK’s shoes got soaked and both boys pulled their suitcases through the tiny river. (I was last in line and picked mine up before crossing.) When we finally got to our rental car, we were all drenched. In keeping with our customs, the car was not big enough to accommodate our luggage (or full size people).

(car is shown actual size)

After a full day of travel, SK wasn’t fired up about switching vehicles and decided we could just move our stuff to the car parked next to us. You have likely rented a car before and know that is not how it works. When we finally left the rental lot, it was flooded. You think I am kidding.

I’m not. Hurricane Delores decided to drop record rainfall on the area.

When we got on the 5 to head to La Jolla, I realized quickly that I was in an episode of The Californians.

SK!? The five at this time of day!? It’s going to be jammed! Are you crazy!?

The rain was not letting up. Exits were closed due to roads being washed out. The road to our hotel was also closed. The GPS lady was not aware of the inclement weather and instructed us to make a legal U turn no less than 1000 times.

It was nerve-racking and scary and loud…

For most of us.

When we got to the hotel, we realized the water had seeped through the boys’ suitcases and most of their clothes were soaked. I don’t know about you, but I love to lock myself in a bathroom with a pile of wet clothes and a hairdryer. Thanks a lot, Delores.

Later that evening, it cleared up, and we went to a Padres game.

Madre’s Padres

The Padres’ shortstop caught a fly ball third out in the seventh inning, and tossed Graham the ball as he ran back to the dugout.

The next day we went to Legoland. Wells and I had been before, so we thought we were cooler than SK and G.

As cool as one can feel while visiting Legoland dressed like a minion.

It was humid and hot and felt like home. We had a fantastic time but it was cut short by an afternoon torrential downpour.

#liketkit

That night we had dinner at Piatti in La Jolla.

On the way inside, I noticed umbrellas in the corner.

Yep, that’s a beach umbrella. Because why would anyone need a regular umbrella in San Diego?

So. Many. Minions.

The next day, I took the boys to visit the beach and Sea Lions.

Dr. Seuss lived in La Jolla. The boys spotted lots of his plants.

Later that afternoon, we met SK for some guacamole and a little more beach time.

SK had a work dinner, so the rest of us hung out at the pool and ordered room service. He felt guilty for leaving us. We felt guilty for not having to go to a work dinner.

Too hot in the hot tub

The following day, the boys and I went to SeaWorld.

Graham, Wells and Whales

We left in time to catch the sunset at the beach.

It was a great trip that went by too quickly. San Diego and La Jolla are absolutely beautiful, and we love it there. Rain or shine.

It is a little late, but our sincerest apologies to the business travelers in row ten. Yep. That is Graham’s “I finally wore her down on the Coke” face.

1. The Most Important (Oat)meal of the Day

For several years, I didn’t eat breakfast. I was convinced that when I ate breakfast it made me hungry. Like starving by 10 am, eating anything I could get my hands on, hungry. Plus, I love cereal and cannot stop at one bowl. While this would not be a problem with Special K, piles of Fruity Pebbles aren’t exactly healthy. About a year ago (I think. But I also think I was 25 “about a year ago.”), I decided that I needed to eat breakfast again. Now I eat OatFit oatmeal every day. It has 100 calories per pack and is so good (even better if you add walnuts or pecans). I honestly look forward to making a mug of it when I get to work.

So sad. I need hobbies.

2. Octopi-jamas

Let me rephrase. I need hobbies other than going to Target. What is it about that place? Walking around Target alone for one hour puts me in a euphoric trance. The number of red buggy/Starbucks posts on Instagram proves I am not alone. (And also makes me hate myself.) I always end up buying something utterly ridiculous like these Nite Nite Munki Munki pajamas. I mean, these are clearly from the junior department, but I couldn’t resist (I did resist tucking them in as seen above). They are so soft and comfortable and covered in octopuses. And I was 25 about a year ago, so I get a junior department pass.

Whatever. I know better than to squid myself.

3. Night Reader, Night reader… We Know How To Do It

I have a sizable stack of unfinished books. I’ve read a significant amount of each one, but lost interest along the way. Every now and then, I begin a book and cannot put it down. I read “Me Before You” in two days. (Two nights actually. Not recommended. I almost fell asleep at work.) It isn’t the most light hearted book, but a definite must read in my opinion. I just started the sequel “Me After You,” so if you see me asleep in public, don’t wake me.

Unless I am still wearing those ridiculous pajamas.

4. It Just Adds Up

The fourth grade service project is a St. Jude Math-A-Thon. All the money raised goes directly to St. Jude, AND Wells has to do math. If you would like to donate, please click on this link.

It is a good cause and will hopefully cause good math grades.

I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

A week ago Wednesday, I got up and packed Graham a delicious, healthy lunch. It consisted of a hot dog, cheddar cheese stick, GoGo Squeeze, banana and juice box. Before you start passing judgement on the nutritional value, please know that it was an uncured turkey hot dog containing zero nitrites. You feel bad now, don’t you? You should.

He didn’t bring home his lunchbox that day (which happens 62.8% of the time), so he ate in the cafeteria on Thursday. The boys skipped school on Friday and were out for Presidents’ Day on Monday. Which brings us to Tuesday…

The boys and I were driving home from a school function around 8:00 pm when Graham mentioned something about lunch. They started talking, and Wells apologized for leaving his lunch box at home. I told him I hadn’t packed lunches but would accept his apology on behalf of the other days he forgot it. I was laughing at my joke when Graham said, “Yes you did. I had a hot dog.” I explained that I had not sent a lunch since the previous Wednesday. He told me that he couldn’t find it that day and ate in the cafeteria instead. He also said something about the lost and found and that his lunch box was in his cubby when he got to school that (now Tuesday) morning.

You know where this is going. I broke into a cold sweat as I began calculating how long that lunch box had been sitting unrefrigerated. Surely my child who regurgitates in his mouth at the mention of mashed potatoes couldn’t eat stinky cheese, rancid meat and a black banana. I mean, there is just no way. So I asked.

“It tasted fine to me.”

Six days. The recommended time for leaving meat at room temperature is two hours. HOLY CRAP SIX DAYS.

I sent my sister a text asking if I should call his doctor. She said he would puke it up soon and that wieners are filled with preservatives. I explained that ours were far superior. She said, “Well that’s what you get for buying those hippie hotdogs.”

I called SK (who was in Las Vegas… of course he was) and told him what happened. He managed to talk me off the emergency room ledge and offered valuable parenting insight. “Have you asked him if he feels sick?”

I mean, how could he not?

But, he didn’t. No vomiting. No stomach pain.

I felt better but decided to consult the internet (always an excellent idea). I googled “My child ate a week old wiener” but the search results were primarily for infant circumcision. It took a few tries, but I finally found what I was looking for… food borne illness, salmonella and death. Boom. I called the pediatrician’s after-hours hotline and explained the situation. The on call health care provider told me it was too late to pump his stomach, as the food had already been digesting for hours. She told me to monitor him closely for GI issues or fever and to call poison control. I asked her if she thought he would be okay to which she responded, “Well, I wouldn’t suggest doing it every week.”

Well, I wouldn’t suggest you saying that to my face because I might punch you in yours.

The lady at poison control was much nicer about the situation, although she probably alerted DHS. She also suggested close monitoring, so I put him in my bed and watched him like a mama velociraptor on t-rex duty. All. night. long.

He woke up the next morning feeling his usual self, aka dying laughing while running through the house with his underwear pulled in his butt crack like a thong.

We have given many thanks to God that Graham did not get sick. It is a miracle that he ate that bacteria buffet and didn’t even get a stomachache. My daddy called him garbage gut which just may be his new nickname. Since the lovely lady suggested not making it a weekly habit, we have a new control in place to prevent it happening in the future.

I will never pack lunches again.

ps- I’ve missed y’all