Let's try another version of my last post...

Things I like that may embarrass my kids.

Shit kicking, black leather work boots. Reminds me of a guy I used to date. I don't have a pair anymore, but there are some Harley Davidson boots en route to me as I write.

Explicit lyrics. They think it's great right now that I don't shield them. Give it a couple of years, it won't be cool that Mom knows what those things mean.

Surfing. I may be small, but my ASS in a wetsuit ain't pretty.

My five ingredients or fewer rule. If the list on the side of the bag or box is as long as a novel, I don't buy it. They can commiserate with the other kids whose moms worship to the Trader Joe's god.

Beer. I haven't checked out the side panel. I like it. I'm old enough. I drink it.

Facebook. I'll assure them I do NOT want to be their friend when they hit whatever social networking site is hot in a few years. You can bet your ass I'll know their password tho'..

Thank you notes. No, not email, handwritten. My follow through isn't perfect on this one, sometimes people get missed, but NEVER the grandparents. Yup, I'm still seeking my mother's approval.

Singing along. I know every word to every song. Nope, I can't carry a tune. Sorry kids, join in and I'll be harder to hear.