I saw the picture on the left Tuesday as I drove to work. For just a moment, I was pleased that I was sitting in bumper to bumper traffic so I could snap this photo. I knew it would be useful at some point.
So what am I doing instead of writing and reading blogs? Well, it's a varied list.
(1) Fretting over things (nothing new here)
(2) Doing the happy dance because I'm down another clothing size
(3) Actually working
(4) Trolling for just the right birthday card for someone special
(5) Wrestling with my desire to nap
(6) Being passive-aggressively difficult and annoyed because it's Thursday which means that I have to drop everything and take another kid to the doctor. This time it's not because someone has blood pouring from an open wound on his leg. No, it's someone who has something itchy on her leg and foot.
Hmmmm. While I'm there, perhaps I can ask about my unresolved itch. No, that's not a metaphor.
Well, at least I've managed to create enough guilt in The Spawn that they are sufficiently obsequious when they know they are causing me a pain in the ass. Upon realizing that I would have to leave work, drive 35 miles back to C'ville to take her to the doctor because she's one week shy of 18, and then come all the back back down to MathMan's school to pick him up later,
The Dancer sent a text of apology that read "I'm sorry I have disrupted your day. Thank you for taking care of this."
To which I responded "It's okay. I assume one day you'll come rescue me every Sunday from the swarming hordes of old coots who follow me around the assisted living facility by taking me to lunch somewhere nice."
Smart girl that she is, she replied quickly. "Of course, but what about Daddy?"
From me: "He'll be busy being cougared by the older gals. I don't think he'll want to leave the joint."
Her response: "I should have guessed. We'll bring him some takeout."
The Dancer is nothing if not practical.
Yes, she finally committed to a school. Phew. Details later if she says it's okay.