Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Greasy Alphabet

I should probably post this over at PMS Chronicles but frankly I'm too lazy to at this point.  Is it wrong that I am eating chips and dip for a second time today? As a meal?  Or how about the fact that I continue to wipe my greasy fingers off on my bloated belly? 

I don't think so.

Well, okay, maybe the belly wiping of the greasy digits is a bit much but fuck you.


That literally sums up my general mood at present.  My poor children are being alternately mothered by Joan Crawford and June Cleaver.  Case in point, Rhett, who is 3, and I went to the grocery story tonight and upon coming home, after dark, he slipped and fell on the ice.  It was a small tumble but still I did feel bad for the poor little guy and also had my arms full of groceries.

Initial Reaction: "Are you okay, Baby?"

Yes, I call him Baby.  We all do.  He is soft and he is a Baby and despite his monstrous size I suspect he will always be Baby.  Much like Frances in Dirty Dancing except he won't end up whoring it up at a family resort.  We can't afford trips like that.

Rhett said no he wasn't okay and whined a little bit and slowly got up.

June: "Come on Loving, when we get inside Mommy will snuggle you".

Rhett: Okay.

He then proceeded to move very slowly and ask me about watching Caillou.  I am still holding all the groceries and like that, Estrogen reared it's ugly head...


June (guiltily): "And then we can snuggle".

I'm sure at this point he was looking forward to snuggling about as much as one would a cavity search.

Also during this evening's sojourn I called home, twice, in an effort to have my grocery list read over the phone to me as it was an unexpected grocery store visit and I didn't have it with me.  I spoke to both my oldest son and my husband like one speaks to those they deem less than sharp and seethed when neither of them could find the list.  I knew EXACTLY where it was and told them EXACTLY where to find it.  I could not believe their stupidity in not being able to find one goddamn piece of paper that I was thoroughly convinced was right in front of there stupid non-seeing eyes.

Then I got home.

And found it.

Buried underneath a notebook, a section of the newspaper and various other things.  On top of a box.

I told them to look on the kitchen counter and/or table.


Which is pretty much what I said as I giggled.

One last thing on the good news front, I purchased a pair of nylons tonight. I'm not sure when I last wore any but I plan on wearing a skirt to an event I'm hosting tomorrow evening and thought it best to pick up a pair.  And this is just so fucking great; I'm really excited to tell you!  Since the last time I bought a pair, I've gone up a letter.  Which is like going up a size.  Super terrific. I am now a letter of the Alphabet (nylons are like bras in that they are sized alphabetically) that I used to mock.  Pity, even.  Well, look who's laughing now. 

Lastly, there is not enough chocolate in the free world right now (my house) to satisfy my needs.

A Slight Detour

For those of you who may be getting impatient and might be keeping track of whether or not I'm posting daily?  I actually did post yesterday.  Just not here. 

Instead head over to PMS Chronicles.

Please and Thank You.

Oh and in case you're wondering this is also my blog.  I only post on it about once a month, oddly enough...

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Top Gun

Today the weather finally broke and it was not 100 degrees below zero so we took our two youngest children tobogganing.  The teenagers couldn't be bothered.  The girl said she was going to study for finals.  However, when I left she was watching Jersey Shore.  The boy didn't give a reason but was also watching Jersey Shore when we left.  In their defence, I may have actually been the one to introduce Snooki and the gang to them.  Yes, I'm hanging my head in shame.

Anyway, back to the tobogganing.  I am not really an outdoorsy girl.  I am so not one of those people who loves to be outside.  Instead, when it's nice out, I either force myself out, or feel guilty for not being out, or bitchily wish it was cloudy and gross so I had a reason to sloth out on the couch.  So it was to my surprise when I really had a great time sledding today.  I even went down by myself a few times when my three year old was busy on the swings.  I raced my seven year old, one of his friends and their older brothers.  My ass was literally wet from the snow.  A pair of yoga pants with long underwear underneath are not effective wetness protection... Just in case you're wondering.

When Rhett (3 year old) and I went down together, we both laughed just as hard and I took great pride in us making it all the way to the ice shack.  For those of you who live in places meant to be inhabited by humans and are therefore wondering what the fuck an ice shack is, it's a building put up by outdoor rinks where one can put their skates on, etc.

While I was revelling in the world of snow sports I realized I like tobogganing more than swimming.  This could be because I swim like a brick.  I'm about as home in the water as Snooki is in the library. 

There are a number of reasons for this:

1.  I don't feel like an incompetent ass because really, who can't sled down a hill?  Lots of people can't swim and I happen to be one of them.  I can dog paddle I suppose but I fear that doesn't count.

2.  I was wearing clothing that did not expose any of my repeated therapy sessions with my doctor, Mr. Peanut Butter Cup.  I looked all sporty and did not spend the entire time trying to position myself in such a way to suggest I actually have abs and that my thighs don't touch.

3.  I was the only Mom there but if any others had been there?  Even if they were 'hot'?  No one can really tell the difference.  Yeah she may look smaller and maybe have a prettier face but it's not as glaring as being side by side on a beach with fucking Heidi Klum and feeling like, well, like Snooki, I guess.

Why is this post entitled Top Gun?  Well, I've also decided my love of tobogganing comes from my need for speed.  I used to enjoy skiing a lot when I was younger.  I'm sure I still would but the opportunity hasn't presented itself.  I also used to love boat rides in our family's ancient 'motorboat' when I was a kid too.  I like to drive fast.

Clearly, I like to live life on the edge.  And you can't get much edgier than a Sunday afternoon spent tobogganing on what barely qualifies as a hill, with your kids, followed by a trip to Tim Horton's.

Signing off,

Lane, Penny Lane.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

I've Developed a Slight Sensitivity to Nuts

So I sort of feel like I should lighten the mood a bit after last nights explosion of frustration and angst. Then there was Carlie's comment.  If you haven't read it yet, head on back over to What the Fuck Happened to Tim McGraw and take a look.  The only thing I can say is I feel legit with a hater like her on board.

Where to begin?  Well it's interesting and sort of pathetic to note that around 4:45 p.m. I realized I hadn't eaten since before 9 a.m.  That's right, I forgot to eat!  I have always blasted those women who profess having forgotten to eat but today I joined their esteemed flat tummied ranks!!  Not that my stomach is flat.  I think it might take a few more times of this kind of forgetfulness to really make any difference.

The chances of this happening are slim.

So anyway, I was hungry so ate some leftover pasta for supper and decided that I deserved an almond Sweet 'n' Salty granola bar for dessert.  You know, in light of my near having starved today.  It was good.  Except, I'm now discovering, not actually a good choice.  My mouth and throat are itchy.  So some slight food sensitivity kicking in there.  Lame.

Other than that, I've decided I'm going to go the library and check out the Feminine Mystique.  I think I read it once before, in University but I'm now actually wondering if I can pick up where Ms. Friedan left off.  Here we are some 40 years later and maybe it's time to re-evaluate.  Or wake up the sleeping masses anyway.

Despite Carlie's unhappiness and judgement of my previous post, I stand by my assertion that the Women's Movement is dead.  Or at the very least, very sound asleep.  I should like to re-awaken it.

I should also like to thank Carlie for waking me up to the miscalculations and misunderstandings of my life.  Children require self-sacrifice?  Why didn't someone tell me?  Oh and in case any one's wondering Carlie also waxes because she prefers it to "being hairy".  Good to know.   Finally, I'd like to thank Carlie for using her name.  The last asshole who got on my case for using the word "mothertruckers" too much wouldn't even step up to that plate, so if nothing else, Carlie means what she says and has a bigger set than that motherfucker, Anonymous.

So cheers to me and my new pal Carlie and our respectively waxed bits.

'Night, mothertruckers.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

What the Fuck Happened to Tim McGraw?

This was going to be a rant but I'm currently being distracted by an old recorded episode of Ellen with Tim McGraw on it.  And he's wearing glasses and has stupid hair.  Glasses and no cowboy hat=no sexy.

So why would I rant?  Because I still can't wrap my head around the death of the women's movement or at the very least my own morphisis (sp?) into a simpering stupid housewife.  So no I'm not really stupid nor do I really simper but despite being pissed off at my husband I just spent the last 45 minutes running around cleaning up so it's neat and tidy because I don't feel like I can relax until it is clean.

The other day I made some half-joking half-not comments to my husband about the leisurely life he leads in where he gets up to children fed, maybe dressed, coffee made.  Then if he hasn't dressed already he goes upstairs to the closet and to his dresser to find clothing that week after week just magically re-appears there, clean.

He never has to plan a meal.  He rarely cooks.  He detests cleaning.

These are the things I don't do:  shovel, mow the lawn, talk to bankers or car salesmen.  This list used to include picking up dog shit but this summer I wasn't interested in waiting for him to do it any longer, so out I went.

I loved school.  Especially university because I loved Sociology and Feminism and talk of the Women's Movement and feeling like I was going to be one of these liberated intelligent driven women. 


Instead I have grown my hair long, wear gel nails and am waxed to the hilt because these are all things my husband finds attractive.


I work two part-time jobs and yes I consider my jewellery hawking a job because I put a great deal of time into it.  And I do everything else too.


Tonight my husband asked if I was going to come to the hockey game with him.  This was after we'd already established neither of our older children would be available to watch the two younger children.  To make this painfully clear, WE DID NOT HAVE A BABYSITTER AND HE KNEW THIS.  So when I gave a curt "no" followed by an equally curt explanation of our child care situation he became "curt" as well and said he was merely asking a question.

What kind of stupid piece of shit question is that?  You know the fucking answer.  Yes I'd like to go but that doesn't mean I'm able too and if you have not done anything to remedy that situation this afternoon then go fuck yourself.

Instead he's at the hockey game and I did homework with the seven year old, cleaned up the kitchen, tidied the living room and put both boys to bed.


Sometimes I see older couples out and the man will be well groomed and attractive; sometimes only because he appears to really take care of himself.  Then I'll look at his wife and wonder what the fuck happened to her.  She might be overweight, have three inch roots, just essentially look like a bag of shit and I'll wonder what she looked like when they met and why she let herself go like that.

I think I now know the answer.  It's so tempting sometimes to just say fuck it and throw in the towel.  Fuck cleaning.  Fuck make-up.  Fuck. it. all.

As far as I can tell the Women's Movement resulted in us being able to work outside of the home (still for less than equal pay).  We can wear pants.  Um...yeah, so there's that.  To date, I only know of one marriage that even resembles an equal partnership.  And I'm quite good friends with this couple.  And its hard not to seethe with envy or spend copious amounts of time comparing circumstances.  Often I'm left wondering what I've done to not deserve the same kind of treatment.  Then I give my head a shake.

The worst part may be what my children are learning.  My daughter currently states she will never marry or have children.  I can't say that I blame her.  My seven year old brought me down an arm load of socks today for me to fold.  We bought him new ones yesterday and upon taking a pair out of the pack to wear today, he thought it prudent to get the rest down to me ASAP so I could get busy doing what I'm here for.

What. the. fuck.

So if I don't like it, change it?

Sure, how?

Thoughts?  Suggestions?

Maybe we could hold a forum, sponsored by Three Olives Grape Vodka, to discuss?  Maybe I need to write the next 'Feminine Mystique'? Wish I'd been born a walrus?

For now it appears I will problem solve with peanut butter cups.

Fuck it.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I Prefer a Firm Noodle

This title came to me the other day after my husband made mac & cheese and I complained that it was too mushy.  I like firm noodles.  Which is what I thought to myself and then giggled a little because sometimes my mind pretends I'm a 13 year old boy.  Further to that point I've been coveting an article from Saturday's paper.  I wanted to post about it.  Then slightly panicked the other day when I almost recycled it.

What is this astounding piece of literature I'm holding so near and dear to my heart?  Well, it's about walruses.  Walruses with giant penises. 

I may need to get out more.

The whole article is about how they're in danger of becoming extinct because the Arctic Ice is melting so they're trying to breed captive Walruses.  Trouble is, the girls are ready to rock when the boy isn't and vice versa. So instead, people are spending a lot of time, and I'm guessing money to figure out how to jack off a Walrus.


Well, it's no easy feat given that a Walrus penis weighs in at 30 pounds, is 3 feet long and is 22" in circumference!!!  No I'm not making that up!  Which just led me to wonder about the capacity of a Walrus vagina, but I guess we'll leave that for another day.  Anyway, they essentially are fashioning an artificial Walrus vagina out of PVC pipe and such, making sure it can support his 2900 pounds and his giant schlong.  Then they have to make it attractive to him so he gets in the mood.  Apparently his turn-ons are strollers, running children and power tools.  For real.  It's like Playboy for walruses.  He lives in a zoo.  When construction is being done at the zoo he growls and postures and is ready for some lovemaking.  Say that last part like Will Ferrell in Anchorman and it's even funnier. 

You're welcome.

Why all this trouble to fashion an artificial walrus vagina?  Why for artificial insemination of course.

The moral of this story is my aspirations of becoming a published paid writer someday may be a little far off given how easily distracted I am by limp noodles and stories of giant Walrus penises.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Clean Up in Aisle Hell

I'm not exactly sure where to begin....I berated 2010 for being a pretty awful year but 2011 seems to be starting out only sad.  Thankfully the sadness is only touching my life and not invading it.  What I mean is my family is safe, happy and healthy.  We ourselves have not met any tragedy so soon into the New Year.  We are lucky.

I am torn between acknowledging the pain and loss of others or doing what I think I sometimes do best, and that's making people laugh (duh).  So I think that's what I'll aim for and if I miss the mark, at the very least I hope I've provided a small distraction for a moment that was at the very least somewhat enjoyable.

As has been discussed ad nauseum here at Driven, I was fired this summer.  Before being fired, I worked a 40+ hour work week at times.  Now I stay home and have a couple of part-time gigs.  And I am left feeling just as strapped for time, if not more so.  Why?

Well I no longer set an alarm.  I typically wake up between 7:30 and twenty to eight every morning.  Except for yesterday morning when I was woken by a telephone call at five after eight.  A phone call from my credit card company letting me know I don't currently owe them any money.  Yep, you read that right; they were calling to let me know I do NOT owe them money.  Thanks Tips.  However it was good they called as it did get me up.  Next my 16 year old son was in our bedroom asking for a ride to school because he had neglected to plug his car in and so it wouldn't start.  For those of you living somewhere decent and always have, the rest of us here in the tundra need to plug our vehicles in on these nights when it drops to -30 (Celsius).  Anyway, I needed to get my ass in gear as he and his sister needed to be at school in twenty minutes.

Downstairs I went, bedhead and all, to find my cat had vomited on the floor and on the couch.  My six year old had also slept in and needed to be fed and readied for school as well.  This all needed to happen in the next half hour.  Never mind the mob of animals surrounding me for their breakfast, which by this point was nearly half an hour late as well.  It was pandemonium.

Luckily, Steven's car started.  I got Reese fed and cleaned up all of the cats offenses and just when I thought I might get cheeky and sit down for the first time since I'd gotten out of bed?  This call came from the bathroom:  "Mom, I pooped in my underwear".

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

He hadn't had an accident since I don't know when. 

So off to the bathroom I went and sure as shit (tee hee) he had pooped in his underwear.  And not just a little.  So it was off to the tub for him.  While waiting for the tub to fill he said he was sorry for pooping in his underwear and that he didn't mean to.  Which of course I knew he didn't, but it was some timing.

I carried on with my day.  By 2 p.m. I was in full swing of getting ready for a meeting I had to attend last night.  During make-up application, the underwear pooper decided he needed to brush his teeth.  Fine.  Then he fell in the toilet.  Don't see the connection? Neither do I.  All I know is that it necessitated another clean up in Aisle Hell.

Off I went to the meeting.  It was facilitated by a less than dynamic speaker.  And lucky for those of us attending, a number of the guest speakers could be described as 'less than dynamic' as well.  And the meeting finished with my favourite thing of all: we were read aloud to.  I think I've covered this before but I am 33, possess a University Degree and by every definition am highly literate.  My feeling is I was not alone in my level of literacy.  Yet, there we all sat, being read to.  Not that anyone was listening anymore.  At this point people had lost all focus completely and a number of conversations were being held as the facilitator spoke. It was a monumental waste of time that ended with driving home in near white-out conditions to find my dog eating sticky tack on the couch while my husband and oldest son sat near by completely oblivious.

On days like yesterday, I long for an office.  An office where I would go and drink coffee quietly in the morning.  That office would be free of vomiting cats.  I would read silently to myself.  Bliss.

In the meantime I will be grateful for the fact that my family is happy, healthy and in tact.  I will be grateful that I no longer work at a job that I hate and brings out the absolute worst in me.  And finally, I will be grateful that yesterday is over and today, everyone managed to keep their bodily functions in check.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Oprah & Play Doh

Okay, so I'm sticking to my resolution to blog everyday, or at the very least trying to, but I can't think of anything to write about.  My day was largely uneventful. I did a little cleaning.  One load of laundry.  I got groceries.  Did some work and attended a fundraising meeting.  Blah. Boring. Blah.  I did make a huge effort and wore jeans to the meeting.  Then came home a whole hour later and slipped right into my pajama pants.  I'm nothing if not high maintenance.  I haven't worn make-up since Saturday when work necessitated it.  No I'm not a streetwalker or stripper.  Work didn't actually request I wear make-up, I just feel a little less like Rosie O'Donnell with it on.  I am wearing my glasses which people assure me look fine but I feel about 70% less confident/attractive in but my contacts are bugging me again so I have no choice. Hair in sloppy ponytail...wait, is that Vogue calling?

I am taking part in an on-line seminar at 9 p.m. in regards to my hawking of the jewellery.  It's referred to as a 'Webinar' but when I say that I feel like a giant douche bag.  Douche bag makes me think of Chelsea Handler and Jo Koy and my immense gratitude to the TV Gods who saw it fit to make E! available on my cable service again. Chelsea, Chuy and the gang are all back every night at 10 p.m.  If you haven't watched Chelsea Lately, please do.  Even if it's only to earn back my respect for a moment.  If you have watched it and find it crass or un-funny.  Fuck off.

My boys are going to daycare tomorrow to provide me with a day of uninterrupted working time.  This should be great.  I always feel like a million bucks by the end of the day.  Number one, I accomplish things.  I accomplish things without interruption to "wipe off (some body's)bum".  I complete tasks without having to stop to get the Wii to work.  I listen to music and not Toy Story 3 or Diary of a "Wumpy" (that's how my three year old pronounces it) Kid" for the umpteenth time.  Nor do I have to play Play Doh.  To be honest though, I like the Play Doh part.  Those assholes make a lot of money off that shit though and it's shoddy at best.  I mean the actual Play Doh is good and smells good (don't judge me) and all that jazz but I'm telling you right now, the ice cream maker contraption does not work like it suggests it will on the front of the box.  Nor does the sprinkle maker.  Do they even try this shit out?  And if they do, can someone hook me up with a job there?  How sweet of a job would that be?  Playing with Play Doh every day?  I wonder how much they get paid and if they'll let you work from home...

Yeah, so um anyway, this might be a good place to stop.  At the very least, my resolution is holding on and it's the 10th already!  Eat your heart out Oprah!  (Oprah likely resolved to be more grateful and aware and rich this year and to dispel the lesbian rumours).  I don't think she's a lesbian at all and am even more confused why people would be so alarmed if it was...

Okay, yeah, so stopping here instead.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Miss Popularity

Okay, so now that I'm thoroughly back in the swing of things in the blogging world I am discovering some things I had forgotten.  Being part of the blogging world is like being part of a big high school.  It's a giant limitless popularity contest.  Much the same as when I was actually in high school I continue to fail in this regard.  I was not hated or bullied or bothered.  I was also not popular.  I was just there and in Grade 11 I became known as another one of the myriad of girls in the school who was pregnant and then as one of the girls with a baby in the daycare at school.

Now, I don't even have that notoriety.  Does it bother me?  Duh.  Why do you think I'm writing about it.  I know it shouldn't bother me and that first and foremost I should write for myself and I do but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate appreciation.  I want to be a 'Top Blogger' or get some other kind of blogging award that no one else will acknowledge or know what it means unless they happen to blog as well.  I have read a number of blogs in the past few days.  Some of my old favourites and one or two new ones.  The ones that are official looking and have little buttons declaring their popularity make me jealous.  They are the popular rich girls who never say or do anything embarrassing or get knocked up.  They have all the name brand clothes and perfect hair.  Sigh.

Blogging is a job for some people.  They have put in some serious time and effort to attain the level of notoriety they have amongst other bloggers.  This summer I put in a pretty solid effort myself but then let it go.  It's time to get back in there.  Shut down the pity party and break out my acid wash jeans and curling iron and make these bangs as big as they can be.

Stay tuned.  By the time Spring rolls around I should be a shoe-in for Prom Queen!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Day 2

In the spirit of Resolutions and such I'm here to report.  Obviously I'm so far sticking with the blogging resolution and I'm not doing horribly with the procrastination issue either.   I'm sorry, I need to digress here for a minute to talk about how much I dislike Queen Latifah.  I attempted to watch the People's Choice awards for about thirty seconds but gave up because she's too much.  She's not funny.  Neither are the Kardashians and why is that one so much taller and bigger than the other two?


Anyway, I did get some laundry done but this is nothing...

Okay, twenty-five minutes later and I'm back.  Where did I go?  Well in the midst of promoting a successful productive life in the day of this modern-day do it all woman, I realized I forgot to pick my daughter up from rehearsal.


To be fair it was only five after nine and I was supposed to be there at 9 and we only live about five minutes away.  Yes, I am defensive but also had a good laugh at myself.  She found it funny too.  Eventually.

Heh heh.

Okay, so anyway, I did some laundry.  My son's.  This is because he started cleaning his room the other day and this led to mass dumping of a clothing and other articles in the laundry room.  Clothing we thought was lost for good.  Clothing that likely hasn't fit him for at least two years.  Clean clothing.  As in still folded but because he failed to put it away properly so it eventually ended up on his floor and as such, he's decided to just put it back in the laundry.  Teenage boys are a special gift.

As are teenage girls but at least they are clean.

I got a solid five hours of work done today.  Not bad in between parenting the three year old, the 14 year olds orthodontist appointment, pick ups and drop offs of the six year old and the stupid laundry and making supper.  So I forgot to pick up a kid, big deal!  In all reality, something had to give.

I had to run out to pay a bill too and stopped at the store to buy some dishwasher detergent and picked up some discount Christmas candy too so part of my multitasking included mass consumption of grocery-store brand chocolates.  So basically I'm efficient and pretty...Pretty on the couch stuffing my face full of candy but too lazy/tired to get up off the couch and go get the drink of milk I was desperately craving.

So, all in all, not a bad day.  I'm a bit rambly and scattered I know but deal with it.  This is a much more positive post than the one I was/am contemplating about the capacity of humans, especially family members, to be such complete assholes to one another, but I'll save that for another day.  But seriously, how can some people be so desperately unaware and ignorant?

Ooops.  That was a little slip into Negative Nelly land.  So sorry.


Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Happy New Year

Okay, so I'm not big on resolutions but given that 2010 sucked, a lot, in a variety of ways, I've decided to make 2011 better any way that I can.  And just how am I going to do this?  Well first of all, I'm going to get back to blogging on a daily basis! Starting today.  I know, I know, resolutions are supposed to start on the first but given it felt like a creature from a Stephen King novel had burrowed itself into my brain and I vomited like it was 1999 on the first?  I was in no shape to blog.  Then on the second I felt so good not being hungover that I tackled a number of household duties and prepared for my mother's visit the next day.

Which leads me to resolution number 2: quit procrastinating!!!

What I was preparing,on January 2nd, for my mother's visit, was her and her husband's gift.  Yes.  I'm aware that is late.  However I knew I wouldn't seen them until after Christmas so I left it.  Longer than I should have.  I leave everything longer than I should.  And then when I finish whatever it is I left, I feel so good.  You'd think I'd learn but much like hangovers, I'm not a real quick learner of the whole action and consequence thing.  Slow slow learner, in fact.

So there it is, blogging and no more procrastination.  Of course I have plans to return to the gym too.  Who doesn't?  Given that I was blessed with PMS during the yuletide season I'm sure my intestines are currently coated in chocolate and the Type 2 Diabetes fairy is chuckling with glee at my future of finger pricks (as opposed to the kind I'm used to dealing with, heh heh) and sugar spikes and drops.

As luck would have it though I purchased a lovely new pair of elastic waisted pants just prior to Christmas and they are divine.  I'm wearing them right now.  And just to the left of me is a small-ish pile of wrappers from some after dinner chocolates I was enjoying.  Again, reference the slow learner paragraph above.

So tomorrow it is off to book my son's birthday party, drop off some donations and tackle some work projects and laundry.  And with any luck at all?  No one in this house is on short supply of clean underwear because who am I kidding?!

Happy New Year!