Tuesday, March 24, 2009


While flipping channels waiting for the 11 p.m. news, Patrick says "Hey, we could watch The Bad Girls' Club".
"I founded that club," I said.
After he picked himself up off the floor and stopped laughing, he patted me and said "Sure, honey."


Me: Hey, Mary! Quit hugging my boyfriend! (Patrick)

Her: He's not your boyfriend.

Me: He's not?

Her: He's your hon.


James wants to grow out his hair. He wants to look like a skater. Fine. I'm okay with that. The arguing about combing his hair may do me in, however. He seems to think that the skater look involves major bedhead and multiple rooster tails. I have tried to convince him that even skaters don't want to look like they got into a midnight brawl with an eggbeater and lost. For some reason, he does not find that funny. Or convincing. I explained to him that the guys who look like they spend zero time on their hair are actually spending plenty of time and product on their carefully coiffed 'dos. They work really hard to make it look like their not working really hard. He's not buying it. He says that he'll be the first one to actually spend zero time on his hair. So there!


I am mad at myself for not finishing a book. Also, I'm mad at myself for being mad at myself about this. It's dumb, I know, but I can't seem to help myself.

I started a book by an author that I generally like. I've read several of her books and like her writing. This time however, I just couldn't get into any of the characters. It started out promising, but then I just kept thinking " I hate all of these characters! I couldn't care less about what's happened to them in the past, what's happening to them now or what will happen to them in the pages to come--unless they all die. Then, I'm in!" Horrible, I know. I kept trying to press on thinking that the story would hit its stride and then all the time I'd already invested would be worth it. Halfway through it still hadn't. It was at that point that I argued with myself about quitting the book. Should I keep reading because I'd already invested my time and so had the author, who obviously had a story to tell and a point to make? Or could I just stop reading and thus stop wasting any more time on a book that I was literally forcing myself to pick up and read? I mean, this was supposed to be a book read for pleasure and I was not getting the least bit of pleasure from it. So I quit reading.

I don't like doing that. There's something about it that bothers me and I'm not sure quite what, but I get very irritated with myself for quitting. It's too late now, because I've already returned it to the library. I think I'd better find another book soon, just so I can quit fighting with myself already!


Why is everyone else on the road a much worse driver than me?


I am in a recipe rut. Seriously. I need to find some new things to do with chicken. Or the weather needs to warm up so my husband can grill more often.

This is one of the things I'm concerned about? Kill me.


Tomorrow the kids have a half day of school. It is supposed to rain. Patrick is heading out of town. Kill me.


Why do my children decide that they need my undivided attention the moment I get on the phone? What is it about the act of picking up the receiver that causes them to lose their little minds? I have actually told them this: "I'm on the phone!! Do not interrupt me again unless YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE!!"
I know that Sean is totally plotting a way to do this. If only so he could interrupt me.

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