No, a bomb did not explode in my kitchen. We had spaghetti for dinner. I happen to love spaghetti and meatballs. Six years of being a parent has not yet taught me how ill-advised it is to serve this meal to those under the age of ten. Or maybe it has, and I just don't care, because occasionally we're going to eat what I like, so there. My refrigerator and pantry are chock-full of kiddie convenience foods. Why no one has yet revolutionized the spaghetti dinner for children is, quite frankly, a mystery. This is a market begging to be cornered. And let's be clear; I am not talking Spaghettios,...
... I'm so pleased to be the number one Google match for grasshopper linguistic "six ways". To the person who found me with that search: Ummmm... I don't wanna know.
Some people have a soft spot for stray puppies and kittens. Others give money or food to panhandlers; no questions asked. Still others always have a cookie for a small child. One friend of mine always manages to come up with a box of clothes for a new mom. Me? I feel sorry for day-old baked goods. I mean really, just look at them. One day old and suddenly they're half price like there's something wrong with them. I have children! I'm lucky to eat food that's only a day old! Heck, I'm lucky to eat at all. Pretty, pretty baked goods... in danger of being thrown away like so much trash, just...
After church today, the kids and I are taking a road trip to meet up with the Jilbur family, who are on vacation not too far from here. I have long thought that it was potentially dangerous for Jilbur and I to be allowed to gab freely for a few hours. During more than one IM conversation she has caused me to pee a little, you know. But I was ignoring the real danger. "Mama! Mama! She's six like me, right Mama? Does she like ponies? Will she want to dig in the sand and make mud castles? Do you think she has a Tinkerbell bathing suit like mine? Does she like blueberries? How many teeth has she...
How is it possible that so many of you have left comments asking me what the heck boondoggle is? Did none of you ever go to summer camp? So. It's Friday night, and I hear that lots of folks go out and do stuff with other people at times like these. But me? I'm just sitting here wondering which is scarier: the fact that so many of you don't know boondoggle, or the fact that this guy seems to be the repository of more boondoggle knowledge than should be legal.
Neosporin Scar Solution Sheets: Weird, and sticky. My resume: Still boring. Hate it. Paris Hilton: Too stupid to live. Proof that money can't buy class. My toenails: Fabulous. The polish I bought yesterday is bee-yoo-ti-ful. Blogging for Books: Making my brain hurt. My son: Deliciously fuzzy and vulnerable with a fresh haircut. I nearly ate him up a dozen times today, and he went to bed just before I tried to get him to promise never to grow up. Tap shoes in the correct size: Purchased this afternoon amidst heavy guilt, after having been told for the second time that the ones I found at...
With God as my witness, I will never grocery shop while hungry again! Wait. No. Nevermind that. I'm always hungry. How could I possibly keep that promise? I can't. Anyway. I have been thoroughly defeated by my latest Bad Move At The Supermarket. I'm saddened, and ashamed, and I hope that coming clean about it will draw enough ridicule that I'll think twice before repeating the same mistake again. I waited on line at the deli as usual. My number came up, and my automatic request issued forth: "One pound of Land O' Lakes white, please." While the deli guy was weighing that out, I saw it there....
I've just come across another blog that is referencing me as proof of why divorce is scary. "Please tell me it won't happen to me!" she pleads. In the words of my esteemed, dearly-departed grandmother: Oy. Vey. Apparently, as I am highly educated and obviously brilliant (no, I never joined MENSA; those people have no sense of humor), it is just so wrong that my life didn't work out precisely as planned. How do marriages go wrong when you're so smart is the implication I get. Last time I checked, there were precious few guarantees in this life. Would I have liked things to be different? Hell...
A couple of posts down, where I confessed trying to Google information about my ex's new ladyfriend, Jennifer asked if my ex reads my blog. Hell no. That would be the short answer. The long answer is more complicated, of course. Part of the reason that starting this blog and writing again after such a long hiatus has been so cathartic for me is that my ex never really "got" why I write, or appreciated anything I wrote. I've always found that puzzling, given that he is a bibliophile... but he doesn't want real life in his readings, and I'm kind of a Real Life type. I don't write sci-fi,...
