Did you know there’s a marathon going on all day today?
Yeah, baby. Me, Stacy, and Clinton. Ushering in the new year. Woo!
Is it hot in here?
Here’s to 2005 bringing us all health and happiness. Or, you know, less innuendo and more actual raunch. I’m not picky.
Stolen from Zoot, who stole it from someone else. I haven’t done a meme in a loooong time, but this one looked like a fitting end to the year.
Plus nothing interesting happened to me today, because I suspect my son asking me questions at full-volume and my daughter dropping candy all over the floor during Polar Express was amusing only to me.
She only ate one off of the floor before I caught her. Ewwwwwww.
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I have the kids for one day before they go back to Daddy’s for the weekend. On the one hand, they’ve been having a wild and crazy time over there and part of me thinks they just need a day of structure and rest.
On the other hand, why should he have all the fun?
We’re all still in our pajamas, following sleeping late and an elegant breakfast-and-cartoons experience here in the family room.
Monkey: I’m thirsty!
Me: That’s nice.
Monkey: Um. Mama, may I please have some milk?
Me: Yes, you may. Thank you for asking so nicely.
Monkey: You’re funny, Mama.
Me: Are you going to spill this milk?
Monkey: No, I’m going to drink it.
Me: Are you sure?
Monkey: Yes! I am going to be so careful, because if I spill again you will cry. Also, I’m very thirsty.
Well then.
Anyway, I’m formulating a gameplan. We’ll get dressed. We’ll have a little something for lunch, eventually. Then we’re going to the movies. And I can’t say for sure, but I think we may be having ice cream for dinner. Just because.
Next week, it’s back to business as usual. Next week, I’ll be the meanest Mama in the world (again). Today? I am totally smuggling candy into Polar Express with us.
Everyone has their little foibles, right? It sounds so quaint to say “foibles” instead of just saying damn, some people are unbelievably anal. Same meaning, different nuance. Foible: cute, adorable, fuzzy, and quirky. Anal: ewwwwwwww.
I am not anal. I have foibles. Tralala!
Several of my foibles converged today. I’m about all foibled out.
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Santa knows me so well. He put a Veruca Salt CD in my stocking that he found in the dollar bin! (Let’s not even go into my incredulity at this album being in the dollar bin, but this isn’t California, ya know.)
It’s an excellent soundtrack for washing dishes and finally cleaning up all the trash from Christmas. And the kids aren’t here to tell me to “STOP SINGING.” Ha!
Might this break me out of my current funk? Well, for 45 minutes or so, at least…. Should things become dire after that, dial 911 and send They Might Be Giants!
One of the things I’m supposed to be doing this week while my children are off with their father is Figuring My Life Out. And as tempting as it is to spend this time wondering what my little ones are eating, what they’re wearing, and how late they’re going to bed (oh, don’t forget where they’re sleeping, since Happy Fun Daddy encourages a rousing game of Musical Beds! Yay!), I made a decision to say a prayer and let it go; and focus, instead, on myself.
It works surprisingly well once you come to the realization that if anything went horribly wrong, someone would call. And if no one calls, they’re probably okay.
So, worry aside, that leaves me free to start working on My Grand Master Plan. Except that first, I needed a snack. And there’s several quality programs on TV I’ve been meaning to watch. Plus, there’s laundry. And then a friend invited me out. And… ummm… well, there’s sleeping to be done. Lord knows I loves me some sleep.
I’m making excellent progress. You know, in the sense that I haven’t actually made any progress, but I’m thinking really hard about doing so. Sometime.
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A story in a series of short vignettes that are really only entertaining if you’ve had a glass of wine or three.
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My desktop computer refuses to boot. It acts like it’s going to, and then at the last minute it reverts to the maddening blue screen and starts all over again.
I have no idea what’s wrong with it.
I know it’s a piece of crap but it’s my piece of crap and–all things considered–I’d rather it be an operative piece of crap than a defunct piece of crap that leaves me curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth, wailing “I haven’t backed up the kids’ pictures for months.”
I have a feeling this is going to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day….
Welcome to New Hampshah, where white stuff often falls from the sky in December. Sometimes, lots of white stuff falls from the sky very quickly and then if you happen to stay out late hanging with friends across town, you can experience the singular joy of driving home in second gear while feeling like the last living person on earth.
Unless, of course, you encounter another vehicle on the road. Should that vehicle approach you while fishtailing madly, you may experience brief concern over your own personal well-being given the other driver’s seeming inability to command the wheel in adverse weather conditions. But fear not; your annoyance will turn to incredulous giggles when you realize that the approaching idiot is, in fact, a police cruiser.
Don’t forget to phone your hosts after you get inside. “Hey, I’m laying in a ditch somewhere, because a cop ran me off the road. No, not really. I’m fine; go to bed. Thanks again.”
I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday weekend.
We made it through with a minimum of tears–for either me or the kids–and for that I am truly grateful. My Christmas Eve plans ran into a snafu when my destination turned up with another round of the Icky Tummy Bug (”You’re more than welcome to come over, anyway…” “Oh, thanks, but I think I’d rather go stick something sharp in my eye”), so I had a quiet evening at home after church. Christmas morning, I slept late, showered and dressed as slowly as possible, and then kissed and hugged my children upon their return home until they cried, “Can we pleeeeeeeeease go open our presents now??”
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