Life On The Planet

Drama in Scrunchyland

The younger two thespians and I are currently involved in a local theater's summer camp. They will be performing Alice in Wonderland on Friday. Tiger is the Doorknob. It's type casting, I tell ya.

I am making headpieces out of hair scrunchies, felt, sequins and tulle for the GIRLS OF THE GOLDEN AFTERNOON, of which Butterfly is one. They're flowers.

And I thought I had time for this because...?!

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho

Unemployment hit nine percent, and I spazzed. "Three kids, one income. Seriously?" I thought.

So, I got a job.

But, I ask ya, what kind of job will allow a girl to be home and homeschool her kiddos? My options are limited.

Drum roll, please...I'm waiting tables. I feel so collegiate again.

When my mother pointed out, very politely, that I already have not one, but TWO college degrees, I listed the pros of the situation...

No prep time. You go to work. You come home. End of story.
Evening shift. Homeschool in the day. Work at night.
Walking eight bajillion miles a day HAS to be better for me than sitting on my keister.

Can I get an Amen?

Okay, I hate it. But, and this is a big BUT, I've almost made enough to pay for school books. My goal is to get birthdays (3 every fall) and Christmas paid for. If I can avoid raiding the treasury for those big ticket items it will be worth it.

That's all the commitment this gig is getting from me.

Waiting tables. What was I thinking? My arches are way too old for this.

Yeah, Yeah. I Know.

But believe you me, I got lots of 'scuses for not posting. They're all really important 'scuses, too.

(Hang nail.)

I could go on for HOURS! I could rant. I could rave.

(Whiny cat.)

I could have you in tears over my reasons for abandoning you. I could make you feel guilty for not posting for me!

(Dryer lint.)

You know, that's not a bad idea. Next time I start slacking, somebody jump in and start tap dancing. Okay? Great.

(Burnt waffles.)

I'll post more soon. Promise.

(Dust mites.)

*Excuses contained within parenthesis and strategically placed throughout post are for humorous purposes only. I've got really good excuses.

**Really.

My Father's DNA

Remember the Mom Song that everyone linked to awhile back? One of the best lines in it is when she sings, "It must be your father's DNA." I think it's my mother's favorite part.

My mom likes to begin sentences with, "Your father...." Like I had a choice in the matter! Jeez.

Not to change the subject, but have you heard me whining about my ears? No? How did you escape?! My family would love to know!

I have been having trouble with my ears. I am on my third, yes, I said third ear infection this year. (My second childhood is evidently upon me.) I have two weeks of antibiotics left, and if they don't work it's off to the E.N.T. for me. 

Tubes were mentioned.

I'm thirty-eight years old and possibly about to get tubes for the first time in my life.

That should rate at least a sucker and a Winnie-the-Pooh sticker.

So, I called my mom to tell her. "Well," she said, "Aunt S. had to get tubes in her ears recently."

Aunt S. is my father's sister.

Mom was right! It is all because of my father's DNA.

I don't know why I ever doubt her.

Life At 4 In The Morning

Why am I up at 4 in the morning? This is not a quiz. It's a rhetorical question. I don't expect you to know. How could you possibly know? I sure don't.

Anyway, as I am awake and it is 4 in the morning, I thought, "Why not call Aunt the Major?" Don't you call your sister at 4 in the morning? I do. Or, I would, if I could find her phone number. It's one of those long international jobs, so it's not like I have it memorized. It's in my phone book, where ever that is. I vaguely remember someone of the short persuasion asking me for it a week or so ago. Which means it is probably under someone's bed. Or desk. Or on their closet floor. Closets are not to be trifled with at 4 in the morning. Sorry, dear sister. I'm not calling. And it's not my fault.

Insert change of subject sticky note here.

(Or, as my military sister would say, "Break. Break.")

(Maybe you had to be there.)

So, I would like to announce that it is officially slug season here on the planet. That's right, you heard me correctly. I said slug. S.L.U.G. One was oozing up the wall behind the washing machine this evening. Ew. Naturally, I screamed like a little girl for The CFO. I told him that it was his husbandly duty to get rid of it. I told him I was certain it was somewhere in our pre-nup that he had to deal with slugs. (Probably right next to the clause that explicitly states that he MUST leave the toilet lid down.) I reminded him of the time that he was in Tennessee and I was in Louisiana with three children, a dog, a cat and sixteen chickens, who later exploded, and I had to deal with the mouse that the cat brought in. The mouse that was still, gulp, ALIVE? Remember? Don't cha?!?

He dealt with the slug. Maybe just to shut me up. I can't be certain.

Now that I've shared that sad insight into my marriage, I've nothing left to do. Calling the sister is out. Lesson plans? They may not make sense if I write them now. Oh, sure. They'll make sense now. But when the kids try to read them on Monday, they'll be total gibberish. Lesson plans are out. Watching T.V.? If it's something scary, I'll freak out and never get back to sleep. If it's something funny, I'll laugh and wake everyone else up. If it's an info-mercial, I'll throw something at the television. Not good. T.V. is definitely out. Too much reading or computer and my eyes will be puffy and red the rest of the day.

Maybe I'll go and stir up the cat. It's better than nothing.

4 o'clock in the morning. 'Tis the hour of my discontent.

Nada

As I sit here with a blank, white screen before me, I realize I don't have much to report. The Planet continues to spin. Laundry is done. Floors are scrubbed. Fractions are taught. But do you really what to read about the cleaning of the cat box?

I think not.

I could tell you that the garden has been planted. Only, I'm not certain what was planted, as it was a CFO orchestrated job. So, I'll just tell you that I'm grateful I didn't have to do it!

I could tell you of my quest to buy decimal cubes. I have fraction cubes, and I love them. I hope to get my decimal cubes soon! I am delaying my lesson on decimals until they arrive, so we'll leave it for another post, shall we?

(I'm excited about decimal cubes. Has it come to this?)

I went to Wal-Mart this morning. There were no announcements asking people to please stop their children from running, no screaming hysterics in Español, no one arrested in the parking lot. It was sadly lacking in spice. I was a little disappointed, truth to tell.

It's quite obvious to me that my life is on the dull side at the moment.

I think I'll go grab a book, stretch out on the sofa and enjoy my nothingness.

I'll get back to you when something blows up. Dull never lasts long in this house.

Angel Hair

Butterfly: "I don't think we'll look like we do now when we get to heaven. I think we'll look like our souls."

Me: "I hope my soul has curly hair."

Cracked Tooth

Only I could crack a tooth on a soft taco.

I hope the dentist is open today!

Planetary Notes

I am using the computer to avoid vacuuming. (And dusting.) My momentary rebellion won't last long, but I am savoring the moment.

Sal and Butterfly are plugging away at school work.

Tiger fell asleep over his math book. The Benadryl I gave him to combat the itchy tick bite zonked him out. I don't like the looks of the bite. Ticks are awful. I'd happily vacuum them.

Julia is much the same. Poor, sweet dog.

I have lesson plans to write, a Girl Scout meeting to prepare for, laundry to tackle, a bathroom to clean, math to check and a living room to vacuum. I guess my moment of rebellion is up.

It was fun while it lasted. Thanks for sharing it with me!

Saturday

Oh, Saturday! How I loved you as a child. Cartoons and pancakes ushered in your glory. Lazy mornings were followed by bike rides and sunshine. Remember that time Dad took us for a walk and we threw Mom's unfinished ceramic Easter Eggs, filled with baby powder at each other? Good times...

I loved you, Saturday!

Saturday, in college you were the BEST. After a late evening of, uh, studying at the uh, library, you allowed me time to recoup my energy and sleep in.

'Til four p.m!

When I was in college, Saturday, you were DA BOMB.

But lately, Saturday, I must admit I haven't been feeling that certain je ne sais quoi.

Saturday, my old pal, it's time to face the truth.
I do believe we've lost that loving feeling!

(I think it's buried somewhere under the whites.)