My cable and internet went out yesterday around lunch and just came back on, the children rewarded me for taking them ice skating with 103 degree fever (Monkey) and a whole bucket o' attitude (Chickadee), after a couple of days of improvement it appears that whatever infection lurks in my hapless boob is raging again (as if it's not bad enough to be a "hapless" boob in the first place) and I couldn't miss church today because I had to sing a solo and I feared the choir director would skin me and eat my liver if I didn't show up, but six phone calls later my only option was to yank my ex out...
I have been running to the mailbox each and every day like Ralphie from "A Christmas Story" awaiting the coveted Little Orphan Annie decoder ring. Every day, I have come away dejected. Bills, catalogs, junk mail addressed to "Resident," and people who are utterly convinced that I want to give them money out of the goodness of my heart. Won't you help us, they implore. Our organization of specialized servicepeople not only ensure that your house is protected from marauding bands of child-eating landsharks, but we care deeply about one-armed pygmy refugees in third world countries. It costs...
Oh, I had plans for this week. Big plans! Important plans! Said plans were approximately thus: 1) Sleep. Lots. 2) Eat. Lots. 3) Catch up on laundry. 4) Clean up the piles of papers everywhere. 5) Put away the Christmas stuff. 6) Donate outgrown/discarded/embarrasing clothing. 7) Throw away the stuff that needs to be thrown away. 8) Clean out that kitchen cabinet where opening the door always causes an avalanche. 9) Get the kids to clean up the playroom so that I can... 10) ... get the old computer set up with the kids' games. As usual, reality so seldom lives up to my motivation. Tomorrow is...
I'm not really sure what the appropriate timeframe for post-traumatic stress disorder is, but I do know that I am so often INappropriate that this should be of no consequence to me, anyway. Yesterday we enjoyed a snowday, my kidlets and me. We watched hours of mindless television! We didn't get dressed until after lunch! We (they) played in the snow and we (I) cleared the driveway! We had grilled cheese for lunch and baked a delicious meatloaf for dinner! We decorated the tree, or at least a one foot square area where the kids hung most of their ornaments! It was a fabulous day, albeit rife...
So, uh, thanks for everyone's deep concern about my footwear. I am not buying those boots. Or any other boots. Oh look! Here is the most expensive article of clothing I have ever purchased! And yet, I would need the equivalent of several of these, plus a lot of alcohol and also perhaps a crash cart to revive me from the ensuing heart attack if I were to spend that kind of money on shoes. Or, really, anything that doesn't either use electric current to accomplish a household task or somehow facilitate the getting from point A to point B. You know how they say that when you don't have anything...
There are certain changes that happen to a woman when she becomes a mother. If she gives birth, her body changes; it will likely never be the same again, whether from stretch marks or breast changes or surgical traces. Whether the child comes from her body or not, the mother is transformed. She now has eyes in the back of her head. She has bionic hearing. She has an innate lie detector and an Achilles heel. And of course, every mother has the highly developed ability to become a martyr at a moment's notice. (Admittedly, some of the Mommy Powers are more useful than others.) I've yet to find...
Let me count the ways! Clarification the first: Petty, yes. Unimportant in the grand scheme--absolutely. I'm back to that whole thing where I feel safer complaining than extolling the virtues of the things which are well. It's a sickness. I'm aware. Shut up. Clarification the second: Busy. Busy busy busy. This is all I've got for you. What, you'd rather I just skip posting so that you can wonder if I'm curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth while sobbing into my now-detached ponytail? Hush up and be grateful. Plus I am not admitting to anything. So. As if any (more) proof was...
Um, I wasn't really planning on it being an annual event, but apparently there are now multiple ways to discern that Fall has arrived in New England: 1) It starts getting dark out earlier. 2) The leaves start turning color and falling off the trees. 3) The evenings are nippy and the mornings are downright cold. 4) I manage to mow over a nest of pissed-off yellow jackets. Ow.
I brought cookies in to work today, but you can’t have any. I’m mad at just about everyone. No one here at work has pissed me off lately, so they get cookies. Also, if they’re busy eating cookies, they may not notice that I am about three unkind words away from spontaneous combustion. And these are really good cookies, so I should be safe for a little while. Vacation Bible School starts tonight. One whole week of learning to love the Lord through skits, gooey crafts, singing, and snacks! What’s not to like? Usually I love VBS week. The kids have a good time and it’s all about making faith...
