Some people are hard to live by.
Take Lacey for example:
Her oh-so-comfortable looking outdoor furniture is always positioned perfectly on her front porch. I call it furniture because, unlike mine, her chairs don't fold up. My chairs are consistently cock eyed. Maybe people think I do it on purpose, ya know, like modern art... I doubt it though. They've seen the rest of my yard.
Last night before coming in to bed I picked up 7 hot wheels car and a monster truck, put the stroller in the garage, kicked a rake into the flower bed --I thought it would be less noticeable, and brought in a water bottle that was sitting on the porch.
Lacey's yard? Yep, it was neat as a pin.
I saw inside her garage one day. It was organized.
I'm pretty sure their stylish SUVs resist dirt.
"Don't feel bad, Becca." You say. "It's probably because Lacey doesn't have kids."
Wrong.
She's got three.
"I'm sure her husband doesn't deploy."
You've got a point there. He's a B-1 guy. Everyone knows those guys don't do anything.
Actually he's deployed once since I've been here. And even during the deployment Lacey seemed all put together, her children's hair was combed, I never saw the cops at her house.
In fact, Lacey's always looking cute. --No, I don't hate her.
This morning for example, It's a MDO morning and as always I'm running late. I'm sitting here trying to think of why we were running late... hmm... I don't think I can blame any of it on the boys. That's unfortunate.
Turns out it was my lack of planning and prep that made us late. I run out the door to start the van. Come back in, remind Ty to put his shoes on. Run a bag of stuff out to the van, come back in, instruct the boys to get their backpacks and load up. Run back out to open the doors for the boys, come back in, take Austin out. Run back in, grab coats and diapers. Hop in the van, realize that I don't have my purse. Back to the house. Grab my purse, look at the apple quarter on the counter and decide I don't want it to go to waste. Head to the door. "Might as well take myself a jacket since I've got a free arm." I decide.
I tear out the door, slamming it behind me, one arm through my jacket, apple sticking out of my mouth, purse swinging wildly while I try to put the other arm in the coat.
Then... I look across the road and see Lacey.
Picture this for me:
Cute shoes, stylish jeans covered by her white woolen pea coat. Her blond (completely natural I'm sure) hair beautifully curled.
And.
She wore cute sunglasses.
Really Lacey? You had time to think about sunglasses?
She carefully stepped out of her house, stopped to smell the roses then walked slowly around to the driver's side of her Sequoia.
I didn't stare.
I just waved hello with the arm that already had a coat on it, it was sticking up in the air anyway.
