I have recently discovered--through my stepmom--the miracle that is Infusium. Chickadee has been swimming all summer long and her hair has all but turned to straw. I'd switched to a sun-n-swim type shampoo, and that was helping, but her hair was still a long way from feeling like hair. During our trip home, Grandma broke out all her Infusium products for Chickadee and goodness and softness were restored to her world. So I returned home and bought the shampoo, the conditioner, and the leave-in spray treatment. On account of I'm an awesome mother. And possibly also because I'd used them on my...
You are so green, you are so buggy. We caught you yesterday (it was muggy). And now today to school you'll go for everyone in class to show. This unit on insects, it came with bug buckets! Someone brought a frog (it caused a big ruckus). Please don't die on the bus; that would be sad. Just keep hopping like you're really quite mad. Enjoy the ride, look after my girl... by the way, she thinks the trip will make you hurl.
I was reading this post and found myself feeling very jealous that Melissa's boobs got to go on an excursion. I mean, just look how happy they are! You go, girls! But what about me? Because, after all, everything is either totally about me or damn well should be. My girls want some action. Let's face it; last summer, I had a tonsillectomy (thank you, children, for bringing home the most vicious strain of strep throat known to mankind to take up residence in my tonsils). This summer, I had the hysterectomy. The way I'm going? I'll probably end up with a double-mastectomy next year, because I...
Just FYI: The period of time inbetween leaving a message at the pediatrician's office and when the nurse finally deigns to call you back is more than ample to find multiple nauseating pictures of severe poison ivy rashes on the web. None of those pictures will exactly match what is now whining and spread on the couch before you, but they will make you rethink having a snack. UPDATE: Ding ding ding ding! We have a winnah! Poison oak, anyone? I'm off to grind up oatmeal for a bath. My poor tree-climbing baby....
I now know that the number of consecutive Atomic Fireballs I can consume before my mouth goes completely numb is six. I'm not sure I really needed to know this, but I wondered, and decided to figure it out. And I did. Yay me. No one can say that I didn't do anything productive this afternoon. I very much wonder what goes through the mind of people at the supermarket who unload their carts and just leave them there. Can anyone explain it to me? I'm not talking about carts abandoned at the Outer Siberia end of the parking lot or carts left rolling around in a whipping thunderstorm or anything....
I always thought nothing could possibly grate on my nerves more than listening to my children bicker. But today there is a piano tuner here. He is ostensibly tuning my stepmom's piano. What he is actually doing is hitting each key approximately eighty gazillion times as loudly as possible. Kill me, please. Have I mentioned that Chickadee is going to start taking piano next month? With a keyboard, of course, as I haven't the money or space for a real piano. Thank God. (Note to self: do not increase money or space.)
I love eating with my parents. I do. The food is plentiful, cooked by excellent cooks, and I don't have to do a damn thing. We had wine and cheese before the meal, just like civilized folks. (Well, things got a little crazy with the cheese plane once the kids figured out there was cheese to be had, but anyway.) After dinner I am pleasantly full and still don't have to do anything (like clean up). And still later, after I've settled the kids down for the night, we have dessert. Just us adults. With coffee, even. I hardly ever make coffee at home. Not because I don't like coffee, but because...
... and now I'm gonna have that song stuck in my head all day long. Ugh. Well, we're off in a cloud of dust. I won't promise Facts and Fiction Friday today, but I'll post something tonight after we arrive. Perhaps a poignant moment on the interstate. Perhaps a tale of the tollbooth guy. You never can tell what wonders lay on the open road! In my absence, talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic. Let's see. Insane college boyfriend is still mailing me multiple times daily, in spite of my having avoided all of his questions and now--last night--having flat-out stated that I wonder where...
Hey, I woke up today and... I don't feel any different. Still 33. Thank God that's over. Anyway. If I'd found a glimmer of hope in the possibility of a job I wouldn't hate, I would be waaaaay too superstitious to talk about it. Especially here. Because I wouldn't want to jinx it, or anything. So I wouldn't say anything but it would be on my mind constantly and I'd really be wanting to say something and not holding out for any other reason than my basic Murphy's Law approach to life, which says that if I breathe a word, I won't get it. Hypothetically speaking, of course. But if that happened,...
