Really, why am I surprised?
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 just pennies a day to support us, and if you don’t, locusts will be arriving shortly along with telegrams reading “We told you so.”
Today was different, though. Today, the mailbox was full.
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Peeking out of my protective cocoon
I suppose we all tend to cling to the familiar. Even though sometimes the familiar sucks donkey balls. I know that–for myself–if the familiar isn’t actively irritating the crap out of me, I pretty much want to keep it. And when the familiar is something that WORKS for me? Well, I’d give it up, sure. If you could pry it out of my cold, dead hands.
Tonight I’m realizing that I need to embrace change more. Sometimes, change is good! Yes!
Well, no. Not usually. But I’m trying to convince myself. And I may have found the perfect reason to almost believe it.
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Dear brain,
MONKEY
IS A
FAT DOG
written on the fridge in magnets is hilarious according to all parties involved.
CHICKADEE
IS A
FAT DOG
written on the fridge in magnets is devastating, cruel, horrible, and leads to long discussions about how CLEARLY no one here is a dog and without that belt your pants would fall down so OBVIOUSLY you’re not fat and by the way, didn’t you start this?
Please make a note of it.
Ages 8 and up
It is time to sell my daughter to the gypsies, for she has officially reached the age where her toys are too complicated for me to figure out.
I consider myself a reasonably intelligent human; I hold several degrees; I have been tying my own shoes for years.
I have been bested by a pony. Chickadee was relying on me to make all clear, and I spent an hour with the directions and the knitting needles uttering useful things like “well THAT can’t be right” and “the hand in the picture is doing something that I’m pretty sure is impossible unless you have more than the usual number of fingers.” Thankfully, she was a good sport about my stupidity.
Perhaps in an attempt to convince myself that I really am an adult, later in the evening I ended up having not one but MULTIPLE conversations about whether or not “size matters.” (With other adults, sicko. I won’t be having that conversation with my daughter for years, yet.) Because when you cannot triumph over a yarn pony, it’s time to spend a few hours contemplating penises. Apparently.
I had an incredibly busy (and in some ways, illuminating) day. And yet, this is all I have for you.
I am one big waste of brain cells, sometimes.
Smooooooooooooth
I am just now coming off of the Christmas vacation slash Christmas holiday slash back to school slash Monkey’s birthday slash everyone getting back into the swing of working LULL that I was so enjoying.
Well, I was enjoying parts of it. Namely, the part where I didn’t have to do very much work, because just about everything was either wrapped up before the holiday or on hold until the new year.
The part where I sat down with my bills and my checkbook and a noticeably absent stack of invoices to send out, that part wasn’t so great. Also the part where the children seemed to believe that every day should begin and end with cupcakes, presents, and my undivided attention… I’d pretty much had enough of that.
But now I’m back to business as usual. Yup.
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I don’t want to be assimilated
I have been meaning to give an update on the further adventures with the chiroquactor, and other things kept getting in the way. Plus, I think I was a little bit embarrassed to admit that… well… hang on; I’m getting ahead of myself.
My neck is ALL BETTER. It moves everwhere it used to move, and it doesn’t hurt. Ditto for my shoulder. So it’s safe to say that the earnest little man with his sandals and dress socks and pogo stick in his pocket is on to SOMETHING. No, I don’t think I would’ve improved on my own, as I waited quite a while after the accident to see him, in the first place. The treatment is making me better.
I still think he’s… weird. Helpful, yes. Overly-earnest, absolutely. And the socks with sandals thing is unforgiveable. But did I mention how my neck is better?
Okay. Here it is. I took the kids to see him.
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Famous opposites
Yin and yang. Dark and light. Despair and hope. Republican and democrat. Chocolate and vanilla.
Chickadee and Monkey.
Deep, dark pit of angst and… hours of self-entertainment with plastic hair. (Spelling and syntax are, unfortunately, correct.)
Yeah, I didn’t really know they were opposites, either. But then, there’s a lot I didn’t know before I met my kids.
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It was also an extremely good hair day
What I should be doing, right now, is all of the work which I did NOT do today. But I am tired and it’s only Friday; there is plenty of time to freak out and work into the wee hours before Monday gets here! Tonight I should just watch “What Not To Wear” and eat popcorn and nod off early and jerk awake wondering if I remembered to take Monkey to the bathroom.
I just love to aim high.
But first! Answers to some recent questions, both asked and unasked. I do often try to email folks when they ask stuff in the comments, but the blog has been having a small nervous breakdown this week (a sympathetic reaction to my own plight, I’m sure) and for some reason many of the comments were never emailed to me. Which meant that I could not email BACK anyone who had a question. My apologies.
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Sung to the tune of “I left my heart in San Francisco”
Only, I haven’t been to San Francisco in a very long time, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t leave my heart there. There was this one VERY steep hill where I became momentarily convinced the car was going to go muffler over windshield and we were all going to die… I MAY have left a small piece of my stomach around there. But that’s the only anatomy I possibly misplaced in the Bay Area.
Nope, my version is “I shovelled my sanity away.”
And the story–as it so often does–starts with my typical opener: Hi, I’m a moron!
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Sugarmonsters
Take one bouncing birthday boy.
Add construction-paper crown (don’t skimp on the glitter).
Feed cupcakes for lunch.
Bring home to stack of presents and promises of pizza and cake.
Stir with friends.
Top with ice cream.
Take cover.
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