It seems like just last week when I was singing the praises of my new Wii Fit, probably because that was just last week. I swear this is a product custom-made for sedentary hermits if ever there was one. I continue to be amazed at how perfect it is for someone like me. The Fit commercial should go like this: "Are you approaching middle age? Does your job leave you sitting at the computer for most of the day? Do you hate to exercise? Are you not particularly fond of other people? Does leaving the house during the day seem overrated? Are you concerned that soon your butt might, in fact,...
Whoops! I really didn't mean to leave a depressing post up here and then disappear, it's just that I seem to have misplaced my Wednesday, somehow. Has anyone seen it? I'd sort of like it back. If it's not too much trouble. My week has largely been eaten up by one of the most terrifying beasts out there, one so huge, so imposing, that many dare not utter its name. I laugh in the face of danger, though (okay, who am I kidding---more like I yell in the face of danger), so I shall speak it loud and clear: We have been under attack from the dreaded Science Fair Project. It was due today, and yes,...
We picked up the kids bright and early yesterday morning, and as we drove hundreds of miles through the snow with them quietly playing in the back seat, I felt better. I don't do well with them away for more than a couple of days. I miss them. After a couple of hours, Monkey stretched and let out an enormous yawn. "You okay, buddy?" I asked, catching him mid-flex as his chest strained against the seat belt. I reached back and rubbed his leg, as I said it. "Look at my BIG BOOBIES!" he responded, finished stretching but still jutting his chest out, and laughing. "You don't HAVE boobies,"...
I feel crappy. Of course, this is a total change from the way I normally feel, which is... ummm... mostly crappy. And whenever I travel I usually manage to come down with something, because it's a special talent of mine and also because my immune system is apparently a delicate flower. Also, there is a special circle of hell reserved for the experience of being sick away from home. But the reality is that I'm probably not even sick. (I hope. I hope I hope IhopeIhope.) I'm just being a hypochondriac. A hypochondriac with an upset stomach. Possibly because my poor brother-in-law started puking...
It has become a running joke in our household that if you want something specific, you have to ask for it. Specifically. Like, saying "Go get ready for bed" sure SEEMS straightforward enough, but for children who are distractible and/or who suffer from selective hearing, that may simply not be enough information. Because, really, "Go get ready for bed," MIGHT mean "Go upstairs and sit in the middle of your floor half-dressed and read a book." Or it might mean, "Go upstairs and make a big mess." Or one could argue that it means, "Go upstairs and put on your pajamas and then remember that you...
There is a downside to working from home, all by myself. Some might say that it's causing me to become even stranger than I already am, but those people are hopefully not within stabbing distance, because I have a mug full of dull pencils and I'm not afraid to use them! [Not that I ever use pencils. The children do. They use them until the leads are actually LOWER than the surrounding pencil barrel, then they return them to my mug and feign ignorance when my attempt to scrawl a phone number on my scratch pad yields only a faint squeak of wood against paper. "It wasn't ME," they both protest,...
Dear Menopause, I admire your persistence. I really do. You're tenacious, and---generally speaking---I like that in a person. Or syndrome. Whatever. But the way you valiantly infiltrate one part of my life after another despite my attempts to tame you with artificial hormone regulation... well, it's something to behold. I have to give you that. The slow but steady weight gain as you methodically readjust my metabolism is insidious, true, but not unexpected. I don't like it. All of this additional shopping for pants is annoying. But were you satisfied to stop there? Oh, no. Not you! You had...
So, Otto and I are going to a gala next week. A GALA. I have never been to a gala. I'm pretty sure my hair isn't shiny enough for such a thing, but now that I have this awesome haircut, we're going to attempt it. Actually, it's a fundraiser. And while we, personally, are not obligated to raise any money (I mean, beyond the essential organs Otto had to sell to buy the tickets), Otto is sort of obligated to be there because of his job. I think. I don't really know; he informed me that we're going and I should wear something pretty. Now, this may come as a COMPLETE SHOCK, but I don't get out...
As a parent I spend a lot of time watching my kids do stuff. Stuff that I drove them to, mostly. Piano, soccer, Tae Kwon Do, swimming, chorus, WHATEVER; the point is that it's a typical part of my day to 1) get in the car, 2) drive the children somewhere, 3) sit there and watch them do something, and 4) get them back in the car and go home. My life is pretty glamorous, I admit. And I suppose that as they get older and the various STUFF they do takes longer periods of time, I may not stick around. I might just drop off and go on my merry way. (Where will I go? Home to eat bonbons, I hope! Or...
