It's the day of the dump. A very chilly and frosty dump day. Which really works in the favor of my garbage guy considering we are a family of disposable bums around here.
None the less, here it is.
Declaring Insanity halted
Just when it starts to get rough. Just when you think that you may not be able to handle any more, "the wind" dies down and the "rescue boat" pulls into the channel.
Whew...
Mr. Kayano is on a little bit of a hiatus and is home. Which means oodles and oodles of deep breaths are followed by coffee time, excercising in the day light, showers with all team members awake with supervision, eating while sitting, errands run without major scheduling to take place, you know.... normalacy. If I may throw a little cliche in, You don't know whatcha got, till it's gone. In a house. Breathing in gypsum board particles. Listening to Omlette & Finster.
Reset button pressed. No insanity plea needed.
Throwing that away.
Proper attire and grooming required
Anyone remember when I was riding shotgun on the band wagon?
What do you mean which one?
The one that had me up and showered before I needed to awaken little snoozing cherubs and rouse them, encouraging and speaking in short soft spoken words, to pretty please get up?
Yah, that one.
Well evidentally I have fallen off and I have been run over. Last Friday I drove Big Z through the car line at school forgetting that I had to hop out while carefully balancing my coffee in one hand and opening the hatchback with the other to allow the little colt out of the barn and feeling just a little bit colder than normal once my feet hit the snowy parking lot. Which could only mean one thing, I was still in pajama pants with brightly colored Victorias Secret wanna-be-sex-appeal-maybe someday after some sort of enhancement surgery-but this will suffice for now pajama pants. I'm sure I was a sight. Thanks for not honking.
Throwing it away.
Dream A Little Dream For Me
I am astounded by the fact that at just shy 32 years of age I am now dreaming about the immpossible. I am dreaming of big, huge, ginourmous Boone's Long Lake Inn, 22oz cut of prime rib on your plate sized proportion. Like front row at your favorite concert belting out and singing along with every ounce you have, right down to your toes. Completely preposterous and absurd and out of the question, don't even bet your life on it, over the moon, and when pigs fly, dreamin.
Go ahead, tell me to stop. I dare you.
Throwing the "impossible" away.
The Weekly Guilt Log
1 T of Baileys + 1 ginourmous cup of coffee + 7am
Not parking in the Cherry Lot and not hiking the wiggle that wiggles when I don't wiggle the wiggle that should help me prevent the wiggle from wiggling.
Being jealous of Mr. Kayano and his flawless stride as he embarks on foot from the nest in impeccable form.
Overusing the phrase, "No one died, it's ok!"
Looking forward to Thursday nights and coming home from class so I can plop myself on the couch in a heap of exaustion to watch TV and "shut off". Instead of being productive and contributing to the "wellness" of my surroundings.
The weekly dinner menu consisting of at least one night of pizza and one night of cereal.
Not being as confident as I somedays pretend to be. No! No! Bad girl!
Regardless of if you forgot milk money in the kids lunch boxes, (I have NEVER done that) or you finished a whole bottle of wine after opening it to only use 1/4 of a cup for the risotto (I most certainly have NEVER done this either) or if you told the riders in the tilt a whirl you ride on that Santa doesn't approve of the word "crap!" even though you have already spelt it out 3 times today. Let it go. Throw it away. No one died.
Trust me, you will be happy I told you so.
My love, all my love,
Cassy
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