I miss being here. I miss you being here. I’m not entirely sure I have anything worthwhile left to say. I think that’s one of the reasons for my long absence–I was feeling like I had met my lifetime quota of witty or amusing observations on life.
Plus I was always feeling so behind. I missed posting for three of my children’s birthdays last year, which is pretty pathetic considering I only have four children. I think I felt like I couldn’t say anything else until I had crossed those birthday posts off my list. But there’s something about the obligation of it all that took the joy out of it.
So I’m going to try to come around once in a while and see if Stella can get her groove back. And by Stella I mean me, and by groove I mean joy-inducing witticisms and observations (joy for me, not for you–though your happiness would also be a welcome by-product, of course).
Well, I’m thinking 175 words is about all I have in me for today. Carry on. See you later.
One more thing, say what you want about the lastest Killers album (yes, I’m talking to you–you know who you are), but I love this song:
Be still, dear friends. Be still.
So one of those dear newly-befriendeds sent me a thank you note for accepting her friend request. I’m thinking she might notice if I suddenly drop her–will have to go with the hide/block for now.
But seriously, a thank you note? I’m trying to decide if that’s incredibly sweet or incredibly creepy. I think I know which direction I’m leaning.
I’ve had about 20 friend requests sitting in my little FB friend request box for months now. I finally decided to accept three of them and almost instantaneously regretted it. Is it just coincidence that these three now constitute 95% of my news feed?
Your child drank two whole cups of ice water after playing outside in 90 degree weather? Really? Stop the presses!
A link to a “nice article” about Days of Our Lives? And you want to know if I have “any thoughts”? Really?
Watching the CMA’s last night with your kids was a memory that will last forever? FOR-EVER? Really?? Either way, I don’t care! Stop posting, people!
What is the proper etiquette for unfriending someone? Is there a minimum time you must try them out before you pull the plug? Or can I just call it now?
Last night Goose went roller skating with her church youth group. When she got home, Chuck and I grilled her on all the particulars as we strolled down our own memory lane.
Chuck: Did they have a disco ball?
Chuck: Did they turn the lights down low?
Chuck: Did they play music?
Goose: Yeah. They played old-timey stuff like Eye of the Tiger.
When did old-timey go from Jimmy Crack Corn to Eye of the Tiger??
I am mirthless today—completely devoid of mirth. Do you have any to spare?
Because Monday I got to…
drop DynaGirl off at school an hour early for art club
go home to get Goose ready for school (BigHugs is off all week because there’s no half-day kindergarten during conference week)
drop Goose off at school
go to my sister’s house to get my hair done
go home to get lunch for BigHugs
pick the girls up at school (half days for conference week)
take the girls to my sister’s to get their hair done
pick up Mr. T and my nephew from school
take Mr. T to my sister’s to get his hair done
take the girls to piano lessons
go back to my sister’s to pick up Mr. T
take Mr. T to piano and pick up girls
take girls home
pick up Mr. T from piano
go home and get BigHugs ready for dance
take BigHugs to dance
go home and make dinner.
I don’t love Mondays. Or school conference weeks.
On a brighter note, Mr. T sent me a link to this:
Best. Choir teacher. Ever. Delightful.
I spent Saturday afternoon running errands. As I was getting off the freeway on my way home, there was a man with a sign that said, “I never thought I would do this, but I need help.” I only occasionally give money to panhandlers. Mostly my cold, cynical heart keeps my roadside philanthropic gestures in check. But that afternoon I found myself wishing I had a couple of bucks. I didn’t. I rarely have cash. I did, however, have some bottled water, and since it was a particularly warm day, I offered it to him. He accepted it gratefully, and struck up a conversation while I waited for the light to change.
PH, opening his bottle of water: This is probably the last nice day we’ll have in September.
Me, looking up at the bright sun and then at his attire: Yeah, not the best day for black. Oh good honk! He is black!
PH, taking a sip of his water, looking at me out of the corner of his eye and half-smiling: I like black.
Me, chuckling awkwardly: Well, you look hot. You look hot? Did I just tell him he looks hot?! Fix it, Bythelbs! Fix it! I mean, temperature-wise. Temperature-wise? Temperature-wise?!? Mayday, mayday! Abort! Abort!
I couldn’t look at him after that, but it seemed like he had taken a step or two away from my vehicle. And I can’t help but wonder if somewhere I am now referred to as “the crazy white lady who tried to pick me up on the 88th St. off-ramp”.
Do you give money to panhandlers? Food? Bottled water? Inappropriately suggestive comments?