Just Another Day

Mr. P and I were walking to the diamond where his Tee-ball practice was going to be held. The "diamond" is really just a backstop on the infield of a track. We were on that track, minding our own business, Mr. P wandering along as five year olds are wont to do. Then his amble turned into a sudden veer to the right as some whim overtook him to go that way. Unfortunately, that veer took him right into the path of a nine year old on a bicycle. Going much too fast for a track with people walking on it. I watched it all in that famous slo-mo where your mouth opens to scream, but it all happens too quickly for you to actually do anything other than scream. I think I scared the crap out of the kid on the bike, actually. And before I knew it, five year old, nine year old and nine year old's bike were in the dirt. With the five year old on the bottom. That bike hit him really hard, pushing him forward and down, with the wheel making impact on his right hip. I pulled the nin...

The preschool I am sending Mr. P to is a religious one, Lutheran to be exact. Even though I'm not Lutheran, I am cool with them and religion in general. I am of the mind that a background of religious instruction is important for a young mind. If he chooses a different religious path later in life, that's fine. But at least he will have the exposure and firsthand knowledge of what religion is. Anyhoo, he tells me on the way home that a classmate was sick, and so they prayed for him. There was an ambulance that went down the street during class, and they also prayed for the person whom the ambulance was going to pick up. And without warning, from the backseat of the car comes this rant: "Pray, pray, pray! That's all we do all the time is pray! Somebody is sick, we pray. Somebody died, we pray. We pray too much !" Trying not to laugh, I told him that the school he will be attending next year will involve no praying at all. "Yay!" My friends, he actua...

Ok, Sunshine is now asking for horrible prom stories, and if you want to read what I wrote last year, feel free to go here . Let's talk a bit about what a pain in the butt it was to find a dress. Now back then, I had a hot bod. It's too bad I didn't really realize it, but I did. All I knew was that my upper half was a larger size than my bottom half. And actually that is still true to this day. Because of this, I was very much a separates kind of gal. It's the boobs, I tell you. They just keep getting in my way. Dress shopping was sheer torture because something that fit on the bottom didn't fit on the top and vice versa. Beautiful dresses would be stretched to nearly the ripping point on the bust and be perfect on the waist, or my waist floated around in there somewhere and it fit wonderfully up top. It was a seemingly never ending slog, and my best friend Michelle, who truly had a perfect body, listened to me patiently while I bitched. By the time I reache...

Yes my friends, it is that time of the year yet again. The gorgeous and phenomenal Sunshine is hosting a blog prom! And she's my date! This year she wanted a wrist corsage, and a wrist corsage she shall have. Uhhh, well, I've never really picked out a wrist corsage for a date, so I declare it shall have some pink flowers on it and be purty! Can you tell I am excited simply by the sheer number of exclamation points I am using?! Anyhoo, go on over and check out the party that is happening all week long! Grab a date of your own, or be a slut and troll around and try to find one there. Aaaand, Sunshine happens to possess the only picture of me floating around on the internets that I know of. It was my prom pic from way back in the late eighties, and let's see if she posts it again this year. In keeping with the prom theme, I present to you the theme song from my prom back in 1989, "Hold On to the Night" by Richard Marx. I'm sorry to have to subject you t...

I consider myself a pretty good cook. Not the best in the world, but certainly able to whip up some tasty fare. I love eggs, and I pride myself on my seasoning ability. And yet, Hubba-hubba sees fit to drench my precious eggs in ketchup, thereby obliterating any seasoning efforts. I get a little cranky when this happens, and sort of rebel by not cooking eggs at all. He says I'm overreacting. So, ketchup on eggs- tasty or revolting?

Today I got my hair done. We had to start putting more blonde into the mix, as my hair is getting grayer and grayer, even though I'm not even freaking forty yet. Sigh. I inherited the early salt gene, but it looks much better on my Dad than it ever could on me. Anyhoo, I went to the salon while Mr. P was at school, and went directly from there to pick him up. I was chatting with another mom when the door to the classroom opened. "Oh, your hair looks so good!" said the teacher. "Oh yes, it looks fantastic!" chimed the other mom, "I was going to say something, I love it!" Well, ok then. I'm glad everyone is liking my hair. I am feeling pretty darn good about myself at this point in time. Then on the way out to the car, I saw another mom and she said, "Oh look, somebody got their hair done! I love the color!" All right, hold on a minute. My good feelings are now significantly deflated. Either I need a modeling contract this very minu...

Just the other day while waiting for our kids to be dismissed from school, some of us moms started talking about sleep. Or more like how they can't get their children to partake willingly of said activity. Not trying to pat myself on the back too hard, I spoke aloud about how Mr. P is a fabulous sleeper. Never fights to go to bed, sleeps all night, wakes up at a pretty decent hour. I should have known that to speak of such things is to instantly curse yourself. Because lo and behold, last night marked the fourth night in a row that Mr. P woke up at some sort of ungodly hour. The first night it was to make a visit to the restroom at 4am, where he proceeded to sit on the toilet for twenty minutes. Granted it was an, er, productive session, but still. The next night 4am again, this time with no real reason. The next night more of the same. Then last night he progressed to waking up 2am, which is a twisted definition of progress, but I'm grasping at straws here, my friends. ...