He casually said.."Oh, you look like a soccer mom."

Recently I got a haircut that was a mistake.  My hair is pretty low maintenance--I keep it all one length but instead of trimming it and keeping slightly past the shoulders mark, I had them cut it at my shoulder.  No biggie but I don't like it...especially with the humidity right around the corner that will make my hair/head look like a big mushroom.  (As an aside, if this was 20 years ago, I would have been beside myself about the bad hair.  I would like to say that I am able to prioritize what's important but really it's exhaustion and late of time.)

Anyway, when Ching saw it, he casually said.."Oh, you look like a soccer mom."

Okay.

But then I think about the last soccer game that I was at with Laurel and Rachel.   On a typical Saturday, the moms show up with casual hair and Burberry rain boots.  Mini-vans didn't crowd the parking lot and most seem casually hip carrying their REI lawn chair in a tote.  There was definitely a mom jean wearing mom with a mini van here or there but overall, everyone seemed so put together.

I am not taking Ching's comment as an insult but I am not giving him credit for the compliment...until I get those Burberry rain boots.

He seemed to think that this was my way of saying my uterus may be open.

I realized that I am a total elitist when it comes to becoming a parent...and I am okay with it.  This weekend I had two related situations when finding out a woman was either pregnant or toying with the idea.

Situation #1--An acquaintance of mine on Facebook spilled some big news. (We were acquaintances in high school, never tried keeping in touch until the wonder of Facebook.  We have been friends for the past couple of years, commenting on photos, shared some snark and she supports my blog which I appreciate.)  She is expecting her fourth child.  This truly took my breath away...really.  I woke up cranky, crusty and cynical (like usual) and I scanned my phone while I did my morning pee.  When I saw her news, I was so happy for her adventure.  The way I figured it, she has raised three kids into teenage-hood.  They seem well balanced and she is very involved.  At the same age as me, she gets it--she knows that this ride isn't all cute baby girl dresses with the matching garter belt for the bald head.  I wished her well...I hope I erased my cynicism enough to sound sincere.

Situation #2--Now for the flip side...Ching's brother and wife of 18 months came for the weekend.  They had plenty of gifts for the girls and I could see that "hey, I think we are ready for a child" glint in their eyes.  I wanted to test that..perhaps with a little hazing.  I haze because I care.  They play with the girls for a solid two hours--some quiet play with art supplies and some hard playing with a bat and ball.  (Heh...Rachel with a bat...very awesome.) Then they wanted to take the nap...the adults wanted to sleep, not Laurel and Rachel.  I make it clear that there are very few naps during the first five years of each child's life.  I also get Rachel to load a huge bomb in her diaper that I am sure the neighbors could smell.  I let them know the challenge of Rachel's attachment to Huggies.  I talked about never travelling/dining anywhere without a good children's menu.  Rachel, sensing their fear, starts to act cranky on cue and Laurel does her weird spacial thing.  (She always likes to be cuddled right up to you regardless if you are sitting on the couch, paying for groceries, trying to eat or take a dump.)  They had a good visit but they made it clear that they were planning a tropical vacation for late summer--I don't think I will have to buy a baby gift for them soon.

Situation #1--She knows.
Situation #2--They needed to know.  And I only told them a fraction.  I don't mind being exclusive about this. What they are considering signing up for is serious shit and it's not for everyone.

Of course I told Ching about my friend in Georgia due at Christmas.  He seemed to think that this was my way of saying my uterus may be open.  Nope, not a chance...still closed...and if you want to sleep in the den, I am fine with that too.

I am surprised how long this lasted but now it's pretty much done.

I have a picture from the day that Rachel was born that shows an overjoyed Laurel basking in the glow of being a big sister.  During the last few years, this picture has been an example of how she and Rachel got along:  jubilant, helpful and protective.  I am surprised how long this lasted but now it's pretty much done.  Laurel does not like being a big sister.

Over the past couple of weeks, Laurel has been quite clear that she wants her space.  She doesn't want her stuff touched.  She wants time alone with Ching and me.  And worse of all, she is becoming jealous of Rachel's cuteness. What I don't tell her is that it doesn't get better, for a while, at least.

Currently my solution is to give Laurel some alone time--just Laurel and me, Laurel and her dad or Laurel and her sitter (of course, not a babysitter, just the sitter.)  I am trying to move some of Laurel's old toys into Rachel's space so Laurel doesn't feel infiltrated.  I can't help her with the cuteness jealousy.

I tell her that I understand because I am a big sister too.  I remind her that her Aunt Jess is my little sister.  I am went through the same thing.  There were many a year when I wanted a sister and then there were those that I didn't.  Usually the years that I didn't involved arguments about sweaters and car rides.  Now it seems so trivial.

So now as I am starting to play peace maker between Laurel and Rachel, I come to grips that this will ebb and flow for the next 15 years. (Oh crap...)  But for now I am thinking about this one thing...a few weeks ago, Laurel said she wanted a hamster.  A few years ago, she said she wanted a sister and now, she kind of doesn't want Rachel around.  I wonder how I can spin this to avoid getting that little rodent.

He came to me twice repeating that there are payment plans. And twice, I said abso-freakin'-not.

Last Saturday night as the Wangs were making their way to a hamburger dinner, we heard a radio commercial about to attract kids like a moth to a flame. "Hey kids!  Do you want to be in a commercial or on television just like Selena Gomez or Demi Lovato?  (They fail to mention future bad mistakes of Beiber or issues such as cutting.  I guess that will be mentioned later.)  There is some sort of casting opportunity while a  phone number is given.  Ching and I don't think anything of it but a few seconds later, Laurel is reciting numbers--either she has turned to Rain Main or she is very excited for her math class.  As we get to dinner, I notice that Laurel's hands are really dirty and she keeps hiding her left hand...I then notice that she wrote the phone number for this casting call on her palm.  Her old school method of writing on her hand warmed my heart but only for a moment because she wants this pipe dream of being on a Disney channel.

Ching is actually up for taking her to this "audition" because it is very close to our house---to him, this is another Saturday activity.  All she needs to do is wear a nice outfit and be prepared to read a commercial for her age group.  Fine--if Ching wants to be in a mass of screaming kids, and the epitome of a bad pageant parents while being solicited to purchase head shots and acting lessons, feel free.  I would rather stay home with Rachel (trying for attempt #4 on the potty.)

Laurel was pretty excited about this "audition" all week.  She started telling me that her new ambition in life was to be a model.  (Before this, she told me that she wanted to be a doctor.)  Oh crap, time to dial up the math.  I needed to squelch this model talk.

On Saturday, Ching and Laurel were only gone for two hours and true to form it was a racket.  Castinghub.com is an exclusive service that will place your child (for some parents, meal ticket) on a website for other casting agencies to access.  Each child has to try out and be invited to be on this site...and pay.  To be on this website, in hopes that Disney will see you, will cost $2000 for a 3 month membership.  Holy crap--it was worse than head shots and lessons.

After this infomercial that lasted 60 minutes, Laurel was asked a few questions.  Ching was told that he may be called that night to see if Laurel would be invited back the next day...to pay.  (How much would it suck to have a kid that is such a dud that they are not even invited back to pay?)

Ching understood that this company is preying on two basic weaknesses:  1.  Every parent thinks their child is smart, special and gorgeous.  2.  The underlying obsession of celebrity.  Even knowing this and understanding the racket, Ching was still weak!  (Where the hell was his God damn focus!) He got the call and Laurel was invited to pay several thousand dollars to be on the website.  He came to me twice repeating that there are payment plans.  And twice, I said abso-freakin'-not.  (My credit card has a payment plan too but you didn't see me taking advantage of it this week on Rue La La when Cartier was featured.)

Ching politely declined via text that we would not be showing up on Sunday with Laurel prepared to read again, with more school photos and lots of cash (or credit card).

Laurel didn't even ask today if she got called back.  I think she even realized that it was a sham.  When she saw that one of the "products" produced from this site was there and just a supporting character to Selena, she was disappointed.  This makes me proud...perhaps like me, she will try to lead while dancing too.

I feel like my 40 year old butt takes away part of my coolness.

I am still processing the humiliation of the day.  I haven't uttered a peep about this until now...

I work out at a gym in my office building.  This is a no-nonsense work out...I get in and out, shower and am back at my desk in a little over an hour.  Because I work out near colleagues, it could get awkward in the locker room.  But we are all adults and tend not to look.  This thought always made me feel okay until today.

I was getting dressed and let the towel drop, thinking that I was alone.  My big old butt was out and about and at that moment a co-worker...a very cute, fit 28 year old co-worker that has never had the ravage of child bearing affect her body, caught the sight of my huge ass.

I am not sure why I was so embarrassed.  Usually I am not really modest with my body...hell, typically, I wear my wonky boobs and stretched belly button as a badge of honor.  But having a person see my butt like that...knowing that I run four miles a day, five days a week...and it still looks like a big pumpkin with dimples.

Immediately I tried to get my cheap black cotton undies up and over my still water covered legs to cover up.  (Yes, my undies are cheap...I think it's a waste to wear expensive drawers over my ass.)  I didn't know what to say...should I have said something like..."see what happens when you have kids and get older?"  Or do I just make small talk and get the hell out of there?  I did the mature thing and got the hell out of there.

I feel like my 40 year old butt takes away part of my coolness.  A nice fitting trouser can only go so far and I have been able to blend in at work with my humor as if I was 28.  Now I have been exposed...in more ways than one.

Perhaps tomorrow will start a new routine of butt clenches at my desk....

The closest that I could get to experiencing Brazil in the near future is either eating a nut or getting a wax.

I know several people who have just recently given birth or right on the cusp of delivering.  (Jeez, apparently not a lot of good T.V was on last August.)  The mood has been so "any day now" that I can't help but laugh at their insistence of getting the show on the road, especially for new parents who have absolutely no idea.

I don't want to be pessimistic (so I come to my blog) but I don't think they understand what "getting the show on the road" means.  Their life will completely change once their son or daughter arrives.  That feeling on Monday when you have to get up early and you say to yourself, "only a few days until Saturday and then I will sleep in",---that is gone.  You will never sleep in again.  And if you do it will be riddled with guilt.  The only time you will eat in peace will be if you run away and sit in the McDonald's parking lot, jamming nuggets down (because you only have a good 17 minutes before they notice you are gone.)  You will learn how much can be accomplished on a very small amount sleep when before eight hours seemed to be a requirement.

Your life will be a constant routine of feedings, diapers, baths that will evolve to "what's for dinner"; "who didn't put toilet paper in the bathroom" and "your shower has been long enough--time to rinse".

You may reminisce about what your weekends past were like and truly wonder what you did with all of that time.  I can't even remember my life prior to the girls.

There is no spur of the moment of doing something totally fun, extravagant without thinking you are being irresponsible.  Today at work someone mentioned getting a group together and planning a trip to Brazil for the World Cup.  What kills me is that some (single, childless) people are seriously considering it.  A trip like that isn't even a possibility...it's like a mirage.  The closest that I could get to experiencing Brazil in the near future is either eating a nut or getting a wax.  I have responsibilities now that suck every cent, scrid of energy and sanity out of me...but they are a total joy.

I just want future new parents to put down the baby planning, appreciate the quiet and perhaps each other.  Because once your kid arrives, it's not about you at all anymore.

I can't really come out and say this to those I know that are just waiting for their joyous occasion.  I try to drop hints, scream my message with my eyes and put a "buy baby gift" on my list of things to do.  They will find out sooner or later.

Secondly, you are shunning routine? This is the fabric weaved within the Wangs. It compliments the spreadsheet.

Last night when this incident happened, I didn't have the energy to write about it.  I just wanted to crawl under the covers and pretend it didn't happen and hope that the next 37 days better go freakin' fast.  (And no, Ching wasn't around..he was watching The Game of Thrones...or as my mom calls it The Crown of Thorns...because that sounds just about right.)

As Laurel is getting ready to go to bed, she is overtired and starts in about how she hates routine.  It's the same thing every night...t.v., snack, brush teeth, book and song.

First of all, Laurel if you want to nix the song out of the routine, I am so cool with that.  You are seven--you still need four verses of Old McDonald?  Secondly, you are shunning routine?  This is the fabric weaved within the Wangs.  It compliments the spreadsheet.

It's Sunday night and I would like this to be an easy transition to sleep but it's not.  Laurel hates school.  Her teacher is mean.  She doesn't understand why she had to have this teacher.  She doesn't want to go to school.  Summer vacation isn't coming fast enough.

For the love of God, it's May.  Can't we get over this? This teacher didn't compliment your nurturing style...she is strict...she looks at you the wrong way.  

And then she starts to cry...

Oh crap.  Selfishly I think that if going to bed is this difficult, what the hell is tomorrow morning going to be like?

Laurel does give me examples of how her teacher corrects any mistakes.  Of course, the correction part is delivered to Laurel meanly.  I hate to doubt her but I have a feeling that Laurel is mistaking serious for mean. She is also giving her more work.  I try to spin it that Laurel is just good at the work and her teacher is challenging her by giving her more.  Laurel doesn't buy it....and then I feel like an asshole that I buy the same premise at my work.

I let her cry...because I thought she just needed a good cry.  I was kind of at a loss of what to say and hoping that I could sing that stupid song soon.

When I was in the seventh grade, I had a pretty hard time at school.  I had moved during the summer between sixth and seventh grade to a school that was much larger than I was used to.  And given the fact that I was at the most awkward a girl could be, made the transition a nightmare.  My mom was also transitioning to a new school at the same time as a teacher.  The transition wasn't that great for her either.  I specifically remember her telling me that if eighth grade wasn't easier, I wouldn't have to go back.

As Laurel was crying, wishing for summer vacation, I thought of what my mom said.  There is no way that I would tell Laurel that...damn, she was ballsy.

Like a colon cleanse for the brain.

Today is May 14th and I cannot get rid of remembering this day.  I have been in love three times in my life...Ching was lucky number 3.  But Guy #2 was not a good match.  I threw myself at him and he reciprocated by taking advantage of that.  I haven't seen him in several years which is probably good since it didn't end well--the words/phrases psycho or whack job come to mind.  Out of sheer coincidence, we ran into each other at Logan getting on the same flight for a work trip back in 2006.  We were both married when this awkward encounter occurred...I made sure that he saw that I was married as I pushed my hair out of my face with my left hand even though I am a righty, flashing my rock (thank you, CCW). 

Seldom does this man enter my mind...when he does, it is usually on May 14th.  Today is his birthday he would be 41 just like me.  Why I still remember this boggles my mind. Why I dated him also boggles my mind but that is another story for another day. The point is that I remember all sorts of crap like this and I think I am wasting a good 25% of my brain.   Remembering details that are absolutely of no use takes away what I need for useful memories like milk money for Laurel, permission slips, bringing more diapers into school for Rachel, etc.

If anyone wants to help mothers out there, there should be an invention for a memory cleanse that gets rid of crap that I don't need to remember. Gross memories out, and storage for useful stuff in...like a colon cleanse for the brain. 

Since I can't forget useless details, I am hoping to use them one day.  Perhaps when I am schooling Laurel about what boys to stay away from.  When she starts showing flashes of psycho JCW, that will be the sign to start remembering May 14th. 

I didn't run away.

The room is blissfully quiet.  The television doesn't immediately go on to Nick, Jr.  There isn't a rush to go downstairs to the pool.  I take my clothes out of my suitcase and put them away.  I laugh and think of Rachel and our last vacation involving a hotel room.  She was very taken with the empty drawers and wanted to put away every one's stuff as best as a 2 year old can do.

I can open the door freely with my key card without having someone yell..."Let me, let me me open the door!"  I don't have to worry about my dear Rachel pressing several buttons in the elevator while I hope that several passengers hope that she is "cute".

Ching and the girls don't do the annoying pillow fight game with the superfluous bed pillows.  I am the only person in this hotel room as opposed to four.  I am amazed at the amount of room that I have.

And for food options, I don't have to check the room service menu for kid's options.  Well, I don't have to but I do knowing that Laurel would order the grilled cheese and Rachel would want to order the cheese pizza from the adult section of the menu (and only end up eating off of Ching and my plate.)

I didn't run away.  I am travelling for work and I am in alone in my hotel room. Tonight was a free night and I could have done anything social--dinner with people, watching sports with people, etc.  But I don't choose to be with people.  I just want to enjoy this space.  I order a ridiculously priced room service meal and keep to myself.  While I have to sully my solitude with work, I can't help but appreciate this little bit of time.  Of course, I just got here.  By Wednesday, I will want to see my best girls...and even Ching.

Referring to my mom's relationship as close sounds like a commercial about a yeast infection remedy.

I can't list heart warming memories that would make my mother's day entry.  Just  the thought of trying to list of few is somewhat overwhelming.  But rather than just listing memories, I think laughing with her.  We have the same snarky sense of humor.  Because of the sense of calm I get from a speck of a laugh, I call her almost everyday.

That's right, I am 40 years old and I call my mom almost everyday.  (Except when she went to England several months ago...I was at a loss for two weeks.  She was seeing sights that she waited a lifetime to see, so I avoided calling her to tell her that Rachel was becoming a biter.)  Even if I have nothing to say, I still need that routine. When I hear other women talk about having a close relationship with their mother, I usually recoil and leave that conversation.  Referring to my mom's relationship as close sounds like a commercial about a yeast infection remedy.

I talk to my mom about Laurel and Rachel having perfect behavior which usually leads to a good blog idea.  Perhaps there is a complaint about Ching...also blog gold.  Regardless of what we talk about, I enjoy the laughter and the ear.  I am also grateful that I can model my mothering style around hers.  I appreciate the good days and I try not to beat myself up on any regrets.

Yes, I do rely on my mother's background as a teacher to make sure that the girls are on track.  I do bounce questions that I should ask the teachers off my mother...she usually will give me the thumb's up or down (so I don't become one of those asshole parents.)  I do ask for childcare every now and then...but I call it that..watching the girls.  I don't try to disguise by saying, "Oh, do you want spend time with your granddaughters?"

My mother and I were not best friends as I grew up as it should be.  But now as an adult, I do like my mother and the fact that we are related just seems coincidental.  I hope I am on the same path with my girls for the same.  I will be able to hear that eye roll on the other end of the phone when they are adults.

Thank you for making sure I don't become a momager or a pimp or whatever you call yourself.

Since Mother's Day is back on at the Wangs, I thought I would say thank you to a few.

Miss June Boo-Boo or whatever her name is...she validates that importance of education and portion control from the four food groups that I bestow on the girls.

First Lady, Michelle Obama--even when I feel silently judged by a child care provider, teacher, another parent or a random person at the grocery store, I am not on the world stage.  My parental abilities are not in the spotlight.  I thank you for the reality check.  (But I am still jealous that you don't make lunches.)

Kris Jenner---If I ever feel like I am pushing my girls for the wrong reason and benefiting from it, I back away because of you.  Thank you for making sure I don't become a momager or a pimp or whatever you call yourself.

All new moms over the past year---I know this is a very exciting, exhausting but overwhelming time.  I could see your joy in every Facebook post.  I wouldn't trade that time for anything but I am never doing that again.  Thank you for validating my IUD nestled just right in my uterus.

Dina Lohan--No matter how much I think I am mucking up Laurel and Rachel and think I am the worse parent in the world...nope, that title belongs to you.

Mother Nature...the mother of all mothers...letting us know that your schedule can be crushed by by a foot of snow.  Thank you for keeping my goals in perspective.

Marissa Mayer, Sheryl Sandberg and that weird woman who wants to marry off 22 year old Princeton chics---While you are either leaning in or ranking your priorities as God, Family and Yahoo, you did get me to think.  I owe you lots of muffins for the blog gold and while I may not agree with you, I thought.  I love it when my girls see the wheels in motion.

Happy Mother's Day...I wish you a box of ice cream sandwiches with some peace and quiet.

This morning I cancelled Mother's Day.

This morning I cancelled Mother's Day.  That's right, the day that I hold dear is no more...at least for 2013.

Last night, as I was turning the light off in Laurel's closet, I noticed a lump between the window and the shade.  "Oh what's this?"  And all hell broke loose.

What I saw was Laurel's gift to me: potted flowers in a terra cotta pot.  I couldn't tell you the name of the flowers. (Green thumb gene clearly skipped me--I only know the names of flowers if I can find them on FTD.com) I wasn't even sure if they were actually alive.  But Laurel knew that I ruined her surprise and she was a puddle of tears.  With 5 days before Sunday, she claimed that she couldn't make anything else...not a picture or a description of her at the age of 7.  (Actually I really would love that description.)  She went to bed very upset.

And she woke up very upset...and pissed.  She was scorning Mother's Day and wanted to cancel it.  After trying to smooth her mood over and get the morning routine going without any luck, I also told her that I would cancel it.

The purpose of Mother's Day is to give me some peace.  Leaving me alone is a gift within itself.  After 364 days of full (mostly full) effort, the second Sunday in May should be effortless for me.  What Ching, Laurel and Rachel want to do is up to them.  Basically, all they have to do for me is give me a box of ice cream sandwiches and the remote control.

Everyone has a mother to wish a happy mothers day but not everyone is a mother.  I am not an inclusive person but I feel part of an elite crowd on Mother's Day.  This is a day when the laundry basket can be put down, the grocery list could be full of crap and the beds remain unmade.  Perhaps they can also get their own snacks.  It is also a day to feel continually blessed and somewhat astounded at my continual accomplishment.

Tonight Laurel feels better.  I am not sure what she has planned.  And secretly, I am glad to have my day back.  But I am not freakin' looking anywhere that  could hide a homemade gift, card or a fancy box from Bloomingdales.

I tempted the fates today.

I tempted the fates today.  I decided to wear white linen pants to work.  I grew up as this being a rule/superstition that I shouldn't do:  Don't stir with a fork, don't open an umbrella in doors, throw a pinch of salt over your shoulder if you spill the shaker and white pants before Memorial Day is bad.

But I liked the outfit and I didn't want to wait another three weeks.  But I was walking a fine line today.

First I had to drop Rachel off at school.  I needed to get her into school without her grubbing hands rubbing all over the pants.  Or, I could carry her into the building, having her shoes wipe on my leg like a white linen welcome mat.  But I made it...still sparkling white.

I get to the cafe and get my sludgy cheap coffee.  Most days, with dark pants, not a big deal but I dodge any potential drop that could hit the white.  Again...still clean.

No chocolate crumbs (YES, I got the chocolate muffin) on the pants...it's 9:45 and I am still clean.

I have to be careful of pens and becoming a Tampax horror story.  But I am good...made it, in and out of the gym, still white.

I almost get oatmeal on my pants in the afternoon.  While the snack sounds healthy, I only avoided the vending machine sugary goodness because I had no change.  God, if I wear white pants, always have quarters to avoid that potential gross oatmeal stain that thankfully hit my shirt rather than my pants.

My day hinged on these pants...and it's not even Memorial Day yet.  Every time I wear these pants, I hold my breath all day.  Perhaps I need to get another color...I think I am getting too old for this shit.  I swear the worry gave me a headache.

Is this how a pageant mom feels?

Is this how a pageant mom feels?  While the child loves to win, they hate to do the work.  Laurel is incredibly happy when she has a good class but when it's Sunday morning and time to leave, she does not want to go...to math class.

Laurel would have to have pneumonia to get out of class.  Every Sunday, Ching takes her.  (Except for that one time when I took her but it was too traumatic for me to go back.  To this day, the math anxiety still haunts me and makes me pit down to my socks.)  Laurel has only gotten out of class once on her own and that's because she played Nana like a fiddle.  I don't know what made me more mad, the manipulation of a retiree or she thought she was going to be away with it.  She can whine all she wants to but she is going...she is always going.

Laurel is good at math and this class strengthens that skill.  But there is a tiny part of me that feels bad.  But then I tell myself to shut the hell up.  If she was good at tennis or golf, and we got her to practice and practice to improve that skill, would we beat ourselves up?  No, having Laurel practice something active is more acceptable than her doing her weekly math packet.  Christ, it sounds like she is part of a think tank.
I make not have a picture of a winning backhand to post on Facebook but maybe I could post a awesomely solved equation?

I hope she knows that the work now may help her in school later.  Perhaps she won't have to spend countless hours after school getting help with her homework when it's Algebra II time.  Maybe she won't have to depend on partial credit to get a better grade and resort to praying during math finals.  Laurel may become a young woman who is both skilled and math and verbal.  (I know that verbal is an assumption but I am pretty sure even at 7 that she is going to be able to express herself very well.)

So math will continue for Laurel Wang.  She isn't going to like it but perhaps one day she will appreciate it.  It's not that bad...if she wanted to do pageants, we would be all in on that too...flaming batons and all.

I am not one of those people that says TGIF---I actually like to say TGI-FU.

I don't like Friday mornings.   I am not one of those people that says TGIF---I actually like to say TGI-FU.  When people say, "Hey, it's Friday!", every bone in my body needs to hold back my retort of, "No shit--Friday usually comes after Thursday."  And those that say "Happy Friday" just need to hear themselves talk.

My pissy Friday morning rant starts in my mind (a legit sign that I am crazy) usually before my feet hit the floor.  As I am getting ready for work, I curse at the lack of fun or relaxation that I will get during the next two days.  I then go through the list...of joy.

1.  Pick Up the House...because there is a fear of putting things back.
2.  Laundry...no one can stay clean.
3.  Grocery Shop...because God forbid if we try to fast once in awhile...
4.  Go to UPS...I need to send a pair of shoes back.  I was hoping to wear them to work but I worried that they may be too high/aggressive.  Ching confirmed my fear when he asked if I was going for the stripper look.
5.  Trip to Costco...a good 45 days of constant snacks needs to be refreshed.  Ching told me that we should try to go healthier with our selection.  If that worked, I wouldn't have to go to Costco because we still have his "healthy choices" that were not opened by the girls (or him).
6.  Plan my teacher appreciation breakfast menu because bringing in a box of donuts will not suffice.
7.  Put my winter wool suits away in storage.
8.  Pedicure since I am now wearing spring/summer clothes and sandals.
9.  Shave my legs--perhaps I should do this before #8 unless I want to tip a whole hell of a lot more.
10. Quick note to a mom--when I bolted this morning while Laurel was with her kid, I hope she didn't think that I was dumping Laurel to wait and to walk her inside.  Laurel specifically asked me to hit the road and she didn't have to ask me twice.
11.  Clothes shopping with Laurel...Mother Nature is not cutting me any slack with warmer weather.  I have winter clothes and summer but not a lot of transition.
12.  Put Rachel on the Potty...feeble attempt #3 for at least a #1.
13.  Discuss a possible weekend destination for anniversary get away with Ching...because this list isn't awesome enough.

And now you know why I can't help but grab one of those chocolate chip muffins before I tether myself to my desk.  It quells the bitterness or it least it temporarily shuts me up because I never talk with my mouth full.