I am tired. This is as generic as it will get. I am spoiled or have been terribly spoiled for a terribly long time with sleep. Good sleep that requires me to flip over my pillow to the dry side of no drool. My children came home from the hospital and slept. Well, not right away like that, but close to it. Minus, my waking up in the wee hours of the night soaking wet from this body of mine just metabolizing calories like a mad woman from nursing their sweet little soft as, well, a babies bottom selves. How awesome was that! Sniff Sniff...Man, this "fourth child" of mine is going to be a handfull. Whew! At least there was someone to snuggle with if I had to stay up or get up. I mean now, its just me and this lovely uncomfortable table, and John Steinbeck, and revelatory thesis statement, and the snoring dog, and my desires to ravage the fridge for some sort of fake food product that contains byproducts of petroleum. Kind of like the ingredients in the Pacski's Mr. Kayano devours every Pacski season. Which means that I put on my armour dutifully every day for the next month. And ward off said treats with full determintation. Which will then bring us to peanut butter egg season which will then bring us to cold beer by the fire outside under the summer sky season which will then bring us to Thanksgiving and savory sausage stuffed anything and then Christmas cookies and spiked eggnog. Oy! Why does everything revolve around food!!! Speaking of which I have to make treats for both classrooms for Valentine's Day parties at school. And I will be the lame mom who makes homemade muffins with hidden pumpkin puree in them. I really dislike Valentine's Day in every way. I have never liked it. Ever. And my plan is to not start now. If there was a Scrooge story for the pink and red hearted roses in green tissue holiday, I would be the poster girl.
Bahfreackin1-800-sendthisinaprettyboxwithabowhumbug!
With a sack full of chocolate to chuck at people. While all you sexy little gals sport your cute little outfits and prance around proudly being, well sexy.
Sorry.
What is sexy anyway? Totally clueless and perplexed. My lovely Sugoi-esque partner told me the other day that I was, ummm, sexy. And then I laughed at him. In his face. And hurt his feelings a wee bit but, really. I'm pretty sure it was a total random thing and I am pretty sure that I hadn't even bothered to shower yet nor wipe the grease from my forehead. And I am almost for sure I had just bent over and had to wipe someones rear while frantically getting back to a cup of coffee that had been unattended to for a dangerously long time while answering questions for class that involved far too much deep thinking and public that needed to be public resonanced wasn't going to receive the public resonance because I was laughing and then pondering what exactly is sexy anyway. ??
I feel like I have gone from some crazy helter skelter make out escapade on It's A Small World ride in the land of childhood Disney to 3 kids and boobs that touch my six pack. Well, not the six pack part. But really, c'mon. Sexy? I need to work on that one.
Kind of like I need to work on communicating with The Grande Sib Duo when they come home from school. Luckily, Al will be all Valentined up from her celebration of my favorite holiday and Z will have had time with all the other "Village advisors" at "The Village" and completely fine and content with the oodles of information that they share with him, since I know nothing here. And maybe if I can communicate on their "I am so frickin tired and have had so much mental stimulation I can barely even remember to blink so why wouldn't I answer, school was GOOD" levels, I won't be completely laid out by the Scud missile that plowed me over yesterday while I was petting a unicorn, on a rainbow, while waiting with great excitement to embrace my sweet little cherubs at the bus stop. Cause that was fun and we should do that again. We shall see.
In the meantime I will attempt the impossible and continue on my little escapade of over achieving. Hey, I am going to have a Spring Break this year! Maybe I will do some laundry. And polish up on my Handy Manny School for tools techniques. And make plans to make out with my husband on It's A Small World again in the future. I will encourage wiping (with some sort of soft object other than the dog) noses of the team members with gooey boogers and continue dreaming about crazy Jersey Shore escapades, i.e. them asking me to do their taxes.
Yah, I know. I'm old now.
February will continue to click by at a pace in which I will attempt to hobble along with.
While looking sexy.
Possibly maybe.
My love, all my love,
Cass
No comments:
Post a Comment