On a sunny afternoon last March we moved into a new house. Bigger house, better neighborhood. We were happy. Shortly after, me, the husband and the adorable 2-year old made the rounds to the new neighbors. We brought with us a beuatiful plate of perfectly-frosted Easter cookies to each new neighbor. We said our hellos, the daughter was charming and that was that. Make good first impression on new neighbors- CHECK.
Fast forward a year and a half. It's a muggy day in late July. It's hot and my makeup melted off my face 4 hours ago. We haven't mowed in a week and a half because it's been raining so much- so naturally our yard looks like a rainforest. We've just finished dinner- spaghetti. So, naturally, my little bundle of cuteness has sauce all over her face- which alone is not quite white-trash enough because oh- I had the foresight to take her shirt off before the meal. So now she is a SHIRTLESS kid with spaghetti on her face. The doorbell rings. My husband answers the door. My daughter runs after him. And lo' and behold one of the neighbors has chosen TODAY to bring us a plate of cookies. My shirtless, orange-stained daughter is excited and yelling "cookies, mommy, cookies!" As if we- us- the hick house- ain't never seen such a thing as a plate of cookies. I waddle my huge self- my huge pregnant self- my huge barefoot and pregnant self to the door- to say thank you as daddy is telling our little Sugar Monger in front of said neighbor, "No honey, it's too late for a cookie, it's almost bedtime. We'll have one for breakfast, ok!"
So, there you go. We're the white trash, shirtless stained-faced kid, weedy yarded, let's eat cookies for breakfast and be pregnant all at the same time, family. And proud of it if you ask me!