Tuesday, January 15, 2008

And these are the days of MY life, here in la-la land...

I wish I could tell you that I've spent the last few lazy days reading quietly and sipping tea.
Instead I didn't even get to watch Jane on Sunday! I'm home with a sick kiddo. But what school-kid-age mom isn't in January? Liv picked up some dear old strep germs last week - either at preschool or Walmart. If it was Walmart, they were the super-duper fast acting variety that had her losing it by the time we hit the deli. Nothing clears a path to the restroom faster than a 4 year old shrieking "my head hurts and I have to PEE". Yeah, half way through my deli order.

So, I'm home with her. And an 8 pack of Poptarts. Yeah. I'm my worst enemy. I should have just thrown myself in front of the train and bought the big box of Lucky Charms too. So, my internal talks - or as my friends may call them - the voices in my head - are complete with Rain Man circles past and back to the pantry. So far, so good. I've stuck to the WW Core ALL freaking day, 'cept for the Starbucks treat. A necessity for sitting in the car with sicko kid while her sister danced for an hour and insisted that I not abandon her there. I got the skim milk and no whipped cream. Next time, I'll do the skinny latte. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah. No processed piece of white flour with cardboard consistency for me tonight and I'll reap the reward of an overpriced coffee. I can live with that.And I'm Cookie Mom. A title that only strikes fear if you know what that means in Girl Scout terms. Yeah, I'm in charge of the cookie sales for our fledgling little troop of Brownies. So, my life will soon be consumed with Thin Mints. And avoiding actually eating them this year. My own little daughter is plotting her door-to-door cookie sale. Truly, I'd rather do just about anything else - like I'd rather clean the toilets than do it. She's a type A - must be successful type so she sold 24 boxes in the first 1/2 hour and has been begging to beg the rest of the neighbors.

My gal friends, those ditzy, bitchy Orange County housewives are on at the moment. Perfect teeth and foreheads. I'm wondering if my obsessing about food will be replaced with fitness. Botox? A boob job, perhaps? You know, just to hike the ones I already have up to where they once resided.

I'll stop here. No need to go any further in this post than my sagging breasts.

'Night all!

No comments: