I am NOT a morning person. In fact, morning people really tend to annoy me. My dad is a morning person. My husband is a morning person. How are these people allowed in my life? When I started working (back when I used to get paid to mold young minds and shape the future of America) I was amazed that the world was all abuzz so early in the morning. Darkness means sleepy-time, which is why I MAY have lied to my children last night and why I am not looking forward to the end of Daylight Saving Time. It's getting dark earlier, which is how I was able to get all three of my children in bed last night at 7:15. I'll pause here until your applause dies down.
Hubby was working late and our offspring were driving me UP THE FRIGGIN' WALL with their bathtub splashing, naked rough-housing, and bathroom humor. I set the timer for 30 minutes and sent them to their rooms to look at books. And it worked. They relaxed and got sleepy, and it was only 7:15 when we turned the lights out. I didn't really LIE to them; I just failed to tell them that they still had 45 minutes until their usual bed time. It's gonna be our little secret, so all seven of you better keep your pie-holes shut.
Alas, morning arrived and Medium almost missed the bus. My husband will tell you it’s because I fail to plan ahead. I will tell you that I have every intention of getting out of the house on time, but sh*t happens, and in my defense, on the days when Hubby takes them to the bus, he doesn’t have to worry about the baby. This morning’s issue was shoes, and the lack thereof. The boys were dressed, ate breakfast, had their hair combed, inhaler puffed, vitamins ingested, lunch packed, jackets and backpacks on, and we were on our way out the door when I realized they didn’t have shoes on. I got Large’s shoes tied and sent him out the door. I got Medium’s shoes on and sent him out the door. All Baby Bjorned in my comfies, unbrushed teeth, and unkempt hair, I followed Medium up the street as he booked it to the bus, which was making its familiar screech of impending arrival. Medium was limping because one of his shoes was coming off, and his backpack was bouncing from side to side as he tried to run/limp towards his Great Yellow Chariot. Seriously, watching kids run with backpacks on always strikes me as funny. They look like little jet-packed nerds.
Random Thursday Thoughts:
- I saw Alpha Mom at Target yesterday. You know the type. Alpha Mom is a former class mom (natch) who NEVER acknowledges me, even though we have met on several occasions. Am I THAT unmemorable? She has perfect hair and she always looks showered, and I assume her perfect children probably DON'T wipe boogers on the couch. Whatevs. I have seen her at the craft store, Starbucks, Target, and the gym even though she apparently hasn't seen me. Yesterday I purposely avoided eye contact, lest her continued rejection further damage my self-esteem. Instead I texted my girlfriend three simple words: "Alpha Mom Sighting," and she knew EXACTLY to whom I was referring. Take that, you bangs-wearing, pretentiously-named-child-having Mother Superior. I bet she drinks decaf.
|"What, what, what are you doing?"|
- I need a Sassy Gay Friend. I once had a gay acquaintance tell me my jeans were fabulous and that I needed to “own” my plus size self. And I believed him. I would never believe my girlfriends or my husband, (Mr. Eats-Deli-Sliced-Ham-Off-A-Paper-Plate-In-Bed.) I have some gay friends, but I wouldn’t consider them particularly sassy.
Tangential list of people I want to be friends with:
- Cam from Modern Family
- Sassy Gay Friend
- Caitlynn and Tyler from Teen Mom – really I just want to give them both a big, fat hug, tell them how much I admire their decision to put their baby up for adoption, and reassure them that they’re going to be okay even though all their adult “role models” are IDIOTS.
- Spencer from iCarly
- Ms. Dolly Parton
- My husband sometimes has no filter, which means that what comes into his brain comes out of his mouth before Rational Thought can warn him that he is about to hurt my feelings. Luckily he has me. I pout for a few days, then I give him the opportunity to apologize by leaving him this:
|It can happen to Woody. It can happen to you too.|
(That, my friends, is a blurry photo of Woody's severed head and a note that reads
"You're next, unless you apologize for criticizing my work here at home. Love, your 1st wife.")
- I lost FOUR POUNDS at Weight Watchers this week, despite consuming no fewer than 1,760 calories of Starbucks Caffeinated Yumminess and eating candy corn for breakfast.
- I think Heywood Banks is a genius: "Yeah Toast!" is my new morning anthem.
- And finally, how cute is my baby?
Coming soon – people I am going to vote off my island . . .