Flotsam and Jetsam

So I'm going to warn you ahead of time - I've got a lot going in swirls in my heads, but none of it will form a coherent sentence. Work with me.

In one of the "you don't see that everyday" moments of my week, I witnessed a guy drive into the pit at the oil change place. Now, it is one of my greatest panics that I miss the spaces and crash into the guy standing below my car to change the oil, but I have talked myself into thinking that it could never happen. I was wrong. It was quite a spectacle, and you have never seen 4 more perplexed mechanics standing around trying to figure out how they would get him out. (To be fair, it was only one tire of a minivan, but still. Impressive.)

I am apparently not raising model children, but instead, a theatre troupe. Within the last two days I have discovered that my daughter has become adept at faking stomach ache when pressed to clean up her room, my son can collapse into a heap of fake tears when told he cannot have yet another stuffed animal (we'd like to apologize if you were in Kohl's at that exact moment), and the other guy is apparently imitating Wile E Coyote as he slams into and subsequently peels himself off of doors, walls, and floors. Tour dates and ticket prices will be set soon, hopefully off-setting their college tuitions.

World wars are organized more quickly than my beach packing list. (Unless, of course, they aren't, which should likely be a different set of blogs.) All of the things that my husband must! have! now! for the beach are no longer available, and the current selection of hip board shorts and wimpy plastic shovels are not to his liking. I can, however, procure adorable wool flannel culottes for K, which will likely not be wearable until sometime in November. At which time bathing suits will again be displayed.

And I find myself incredibly inspired by this whole "buy nothing" movement where people stop shopping for new things and only thrift them. (Better rules can be found here) This intrigues me, if only to avoid weeping in horror at the size of the pants I am buying, but I will have to wait until the back to school rush is over. Somehow used pencils and crayons have no warm vibe for me.

And finally, in horror, I hated buying school supplies yesterday. No warm glow at perusing the notebooks, no high from the smell of new crayons. Just rack after rack of folders with tacky sayings and horrid 70s airbrushed pictures on them, none of which I want my 8 year old to carry. For a office products junkie, this is disappointing. Maybe a trip to the organizational things store will cure my ills.

My head is now emptier, and W has "new moves" for me to see. And I, apparently, have to find summer things well after the retailers' expiration date. Manly sand shovels, anyone?