Hey! Only 364 days left until Christmas!
I really need to start my preparations earlier next year. Like that time I had everything bought and stored away by October 31. That was great. I don't know how I did it. I think it was when my kids were teeny-tiny, and it was easy to pull the wool over their eyes. Figuratively, of course. Because I have an allergic reaction to lanolin, and my boys might as well, and that would not be good for their peepers. It could draw the shades on the windows to their souls.
Maybe they aren't allergic. I found out when I used Eucerin cream as a moisturizer. Anywhere except my hands, I break out from it. But I originally bought the Eucerin cream upon recommendation from Baby #1 Son's doctor. He said it was great for baby's butts. Kept the diaper rash away like a champ. It's no wonder. That stuff waterproofed the babybuttcheeks like Rain Dance on an automobile hood. No moisture was penetrating my boy's nether regions. No way, no how. And it was great for my hands. But stray one iota, and it's itchy wrists for me!
Now I use some kind of vanilla bean cream in a milky lime-green color that my sister gets me every Christmas. Farmer H was befuddled when he hopped into T-Hoe to drive us to the Christmas Eve party. Thought he smelled cookies. But it was only me. Much to his dismay, I am sure. Even though he can't eat cookies. Taking away the very anticipation from the smell is probably doubly disappointing.
This has been a wasted day, running around on errands, navigating the treacherous roads of Hillmomba. I hope #1 learned how to drive on icy snow this morning, and returns unscathed from the basketball tournament he went to this afternoon. He even called me to report the road conditions before my erranding. Not good. He should be fine, though, until our gravel iced pig-trail. He has instructions to call when he starts for the Mansion.
At least Farmer H is home to pull him out of a ditch.
I love Eucerin, well generic, anyway. I use it on my heels. But, I will not entertain you with my cracked heel stories. I have not finished this year's stuff yet. Still have boxes to go south for my Dad and my Mother-in-law. I am always late with them. I figure it is like another gift opening event for them. More special. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteWhat? No cracked heel stories? Don't you need to get them checked out at an Urgent Care facility that's not open? I always share my green snot stories. I guess your Kampground bathroom tales will have to suffice.
Summertime would yield better feet stories. I tend to mow with flip-flops on, much to the dismay of he who uses chainsaws without eye protection. Daredevils, we are!!! The fresh cut grass stains my feet and those cracked heels take on a whole new life!!
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteThey must be a work of art, your cracked, grass-stained heels. Maybe your pool issued was caused by you soaking your feet in there one evening after closing time.