So Sunday afternoon I’m barefoot on the patio, balancing a diaper-clad baby on my hip who protested being put down for a nanosecond, and attempting to light the grill (it’s a gas grill and I can assure you I wasn’t holding her OVER the grill). I nearly singe my thumb off and before I know it I yell out the most horrendous of the horrendous curse words you can blurt out on the Sabbath. Especially when your neighbors are outside. And especially when you didn’t make it to church that morning, but went to the pool and then proceeded to go to the grocery with your hair still in a damp ponytail from swimming and braless underneath your sundress. Also at some point over the weekend Caitlin decides it would be a hoot to start peeing in the yard. Really, I just need a NASCAR sticker on my pickup truck and a 2-liter of Mountain Holler in the fridge in the trailer and I’m all set. Oh, and a coonhound and a packet of chewin’ tobacco. Pass the biscuits, ya’ll.
p.s. This post is in honor of Britney Spears who told Matt Lauer during an interview that her excuse for driving with her baby boy on her lap was because, “We’re country.” You were in Malibu, not Louisiana honey. It ain’t the bayou.
Edited to add: Britney’s interview airs Thursday morning on the Today show AND tomorrow night on Dateline. NBC is squeezing the juicy bits out of this interview, are they not?
Update…because I just can’t stop obsessing about Britney…I Tivo’d Dateline last night and saw about one minute of it and I could not GET PAST THE GUM SMACKAGE.