Woulda Coulda Shoulda

When I was in middle school, there was a boy I sat near. I always knew where he was and what he was doing and—perhaps most importantly—what grades he’d gotten on any recent tests. I’ve always been attracted to brainy types, you see, and that JERK not only got nearly perfect grades, he used to GLOAT about them.

“I beat you. AGAIN,” he used to say to me, even if his score was only a single point higher than mine.

“Shut up,” I’d mutter, stuffing my test into my backpack and giving him a look intended to melt his face off.

He often brought up things or asked questions in class that even the teacher couldn’t answer, and then sat there in smug satisfaction at having stumped the supposed expert. He talked about things no one understood. He seemed mysterious. (more…)

Our patriotism and sportmanship, let me show you it:

Women’s 4x100m relay swimming event = Sobbing child insisting he has already WATCHED the Olympics, can we STOP now?

Men’s Beach Volleyball = That looks itchy.

Men’s Water Polo = What are they doing? Where’s the ball? Is there a ball? I’m bored.

Men’s 56kg Weightlifting = Awesome! Little men scowling at big heavy things!

(Hey, I’m so glad that no one else had an opinion on that last post. Heh. Y’all are pretty.)

This morning was one of those times when I actually had to choke back a sob when when the alarm went off, because it felt like I’d JUST gone to bed. This week has been overwhelming with too much work, too many places the kids need to go, too little time to sit and talk to my husband, too many late nights doing absolutely nothing you’d want to stay up late doing.

And the thing is, I think I’ve done pretty well, here. I’ve weathered a new marriage, new home, new town, new state, new school for the kids, new work, new church, new PTA, new friends, new responsibilities and even new local insects. And I don’t ask for much in return; it’s not like I want a medal or anything. I mean, maybe a cookie or something, but whatever. I HAVE HELD UP ADMIRABLY, is all I’m saying. (more…)

So, my parents are here for the weekend, and I am overjoyed. I never really realize how nice it is not to be the only person in the house who doesn’t think “I know you are, but what am I?” is astute rhetoric until others are here. Then, instead of being outnumbered by my children, I suddenly have reinforcements.

Of course, then the kids have an audience, too. So there is still a fair amount of burping at the dinner table. But at least my urge to make them wear their dinner plates as hats is somewhat lessened.

After not having seen each other for months, it’s only natural that we would stay up until the wee hours catching up on each others’ lives. Or just watching endless hours of CSI: Miami and wondering if David Caruso’s face is, in fact, melting off. Either way.