I seem to have misplaced my wand
Ah, Summer. Hello, Summer! Um, wait. Wait, Summer! Please wait a couple of days!
This is the last time I’ll have to deal with this particular problem–which is due to varying schedules between private and public school (and from here on out my children will suffer equally at the hands of our tax dollars gone awry)–but Monkey is done with school, and Chickadee still has two more days to go. This is a recipe for sibling smackdown, in case you were wondering.
My job, as the attending adult in this situation, is to pretend that it’s No Big Deal and somehow make sure that Monkey and I have some Quality Time Together over the next two days without doing anything that smells of fun (which would upset Chickadee). Gosh, I can hardly wait!
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Search me
It’s been a while since I dipped into my keyword logs to see just what people are hoping to find here.
It turns out that a few universal truths are still holding firm:
1) Most people are dumb.
2) The ones who aren’t are scary.
3) But they all make for good entertainment.
Welcome to Woulda Coulda Shoulda, your repository for all sorts of wisdom. Got a question? Find your answer here.
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Hello, I am in big trouble
Do you know what day today is? Do you?
Today is the day I realized that the 3-Day is going to chew me up and spit me out, and I am going to have to figure out how to get home from Boston with only bloody stumps left at the ends of my legs.
Do you remember how I was training? How I had plenty of time? How I was going to kick ass and take names and laugh in the face of those 60 miles? Ummm… do you remember what I was smoking when I said that, because I seem to be out…?
I’m a bit frustrated with myself, and my delicate toes.
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No batteries required
Monkey is officially a kindergarten graduate. He has a diploma and everything.
The kids put on an entire circus which was so stinking cute it made my teeth ache. The ringmaster kept saying things like “Aaaaand nowuh. Pwease put yowur hands togevver for da funniest cwowns awound!”
The tightrope walkers stood on the balance beam and picked their leotards out of their cracks. The clowns forgot their lines. The acrobats kept falling on their butts. The jugglers (one of which was Monkey) hit each other in the face with their balls. The magicians reached into the hat to pull out a rabbit… and pulled out the false bottom.
It was awesome.
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The Jesus discount
In case you haven’t heard, it’s never actually going to stop raining. Ever. Thanks, global warming! Thanks, every bitch I knew in middle school who used an entire can of AquaNet every morning to prop up a wall of bangs! Now I have PermaSwamp in my basement and it is ALL YOUR FAULT.
Hmph.
And I know, I KNOW, you are all looking around and exchanging glances and backing away just a tad and muttering under your breath, “Um, are we still talking about THIS?” To which I respond with a hearty WHY YES WE ARE. We will not stop talking about the basement until the basement stops being full of water. And since the basement is always going to be full of water, forever and ever, swamp without end, amen, we will KEEP talking about it. And you will LIKE IT.
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Pivotal
Question: How can you tell when I’ve written about having a really great day?
Answer: The NEXT day, the following occurs:
A) A child dons mud-crusted shoes and clomps through the freshly-vacuumed house,
B) My new website is hyped on a larger site and oh, by the way, is suddenly all weird-looking and broken,
C) Two days pre-haircut, I hit the critical “does she need a haircut or did a poodle die on her head?” stage,
D) It starts raining again (because it wasn’t WET ENOUGH),
or
E) All of the above.
Yeah.
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Nervous energy = SUPERMOM
(Almost.)
You guys. YOU GUYS. I love you all. Bright, shiny Italian leather shoes (purchased on clearance) for everyone! I am so overwhelmed and THRILLED at the reception you gave Want Not today. It’s been in the works for a long time, and I was sort of experiencing that whole “I’ve stared at it for so long I can no longer see it” phenomenon. And so I sent it out into the world last night and promptly FREAKED OUT, worried that my baby was loose in the cold, harsh world and a bully would shove her off the monkey bars.
And what did you do? You patted her on the head and fed her cookies and told her she was pretty. *sniffle* I’m going to discontinue the metaphor here before I hurt myself, but perhaps you get the idea.
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Children’s Sunday, and the Big Unveil
Today was Children’s Sunday at church, and the entire service was by and for the kids. One little girl kept wandering up front and just standing there, clearly pleased with herself, but refusing to sing or participate in any way other than being adorable. I ate her.
Chickadee was an acolyte, and also received a bible along with the rest of the second graders. She was good as gold all morning. Monkey cried because he DIDN’T get a bible, and no amount of pointing out that we own MULTIPLE bibles or that he would receive his very own bible when HE is in second grade would soothe him. It was a tragedy. Until he turned his program into a paper airplane, and then all was right with the world again. Phew.
We had a good day, me and my kiddos. We needed it.
So, hey, would you like to see what I’ve been doing when I haven’t been busy paddling around in the basement? I think it’s time to declare it open for business. Come on over.
Just for the record? STILL RAINING
There’s been a little of this and a little of that this weekend, and I apologize for not being around last night, but I was busy watching Mean Girls with a friend. After which we sat around and trash-talked the women we know who remind us of the characters in the movie. Thus providing both cinematic and empirical evidence that women are just bitches.
(Bitches with popcorn, in our case.)
Anyway, despite the fact that I’m back to a good 3″ of water in the basement, I’m in a pretty okay mood. Well, there are moments of good mood. Significant moments of mood that is much more “well, okay!” than “I wonder if any of my kitchen knives are sharp enough to cut flesh.” Yes! Progress!
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The incredible (and true) story of Whitey McBrother
As I mentioned in passing in this post, in the midst of the UNBRIDLED JOY of having a private pond right here in the house for my convenience, geeFlarmony got off its collective ass and sent me a match.
A match with a man who didn’t know if he was black or white, in fact. And so he was dubbed Whitey McBrother, based upon his picture (white) and his statistics (black).
And I knew, pretty much right from that fateful start with his conflicted self, that this wasn’t going to go anywhere. I probably should’ve just closed the match and moved on. But I was in need of some distraction. And some blog fodder. So… I proceeded with the match.
Buckle up, my darlings.
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