The Atomic Fireballs are the fault of Dollar Tree. I just went in there for Antibacterial Hand Gel (the last item on Chickadee’s school list), honest.
Because I live under a rock, I hadn’t heard of the Texas woman whose kid got snatched from the car. I regularly leave my kids buckling in the car while I return my shopping cart, and I am now writhing in paroxysms of guilt. Thank you.
My friend brought me raspberry chocolate chip ice cream tonight. I didn’t know I liked raspberry chocolate chip ice cream, but where has this raspberry chocolate chip ice cream been all my life? And also, could we come up with a shorter name than raspberry chocolate chip ice cream?
The school bus schedule has been published and I am too stupid to interpret it. If I read correctly, we have to walk a block to get on the bus, but that same bus–in the afternoon–will drop Chickadee right in front of our house. Huh?
I let my kids stay up late tonight for a number of complicated reasons, not the least of which was that they’ll be headed to the ex for the weekend, tomorrow, and I won’t have to deal with the overtired crankiness meltdowns sure to occur. I am evil.
What am I supposed to do with myself once the Olympics are over? It’s hours of viewing enjoyment and nearly endless opportunities for snark.
And speaking of the Olympics, I am not telling you about how Kira and I discussed “BOUNCE” as it relates to men’s track events tonight. On account of we are pitiful and hard up and I wouldn’t want to tell you about that. (I charged Kira with blogging about this, but she declined, saying something about how her priest reads her blog…?)
We had our first choir rehearsal of the season tonight. It only took about an hour before I said something that came out totally wrong and in trying to correct it I babbled and made it worse and was completely mortified. People were still laughing at me when I left. It’s so nice to be back.
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