The Truth Hurts

Today was another beautiful fall day in Texas. (Who knew you could have more than one per year?) The kids and I were out in the yard playing on the swing set. Z loves to swing, but refuses to learn how to make herself go. She is my more hands-on child and, of course, she wants me to push her. This is not always convenient since Q is ambulatory and we live on two acres of accidents waiting to happen. There are vehicles in various states of repair, scrap lumber, old tires, snakes, poison ivy, the works! The only thing separating us from redneck white trash is the fact that we don't have a trampoline and our swimming pool is in-ground*.

I demonstrated to Z how to lean back/pump your legs to make the swing go on its own. I got going pretty high and then was ready to give Z a chance to try out the new technique. As I was slowing down I commented, mostly to myself, that the swing was squeezing my rear. Z's reply? "That's because your hiney is too big for that swing!"


That is almost as good as the time this summer when Z was trying to get on my good side so I would take her swimming. I was folding laundry and came across the bottoms to my tankini. Z asked what it was and I told her is was the bottom of my suit. She smiled sweetly and said earnestly, "I think that would look nice on your big hiney." Sigh.

Okay, okay! I get it! Back to the gym for me.

*Not that having a trampoline or above ground pool alone qualifies anyone for redneck/white trash status!

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