But I'm here now, so let's try this again, shall we?
I don't understand why my children keep taking my office supplies. Every time I need to grab a pencil or a pair of scissors from my desk, they are gone. And I can just forget about the Scotch tape. I haven't seen an intact roll of Scotch tape laying untouched on my desk since 2000.
These children are not deprived; they have their own scissors and tape and pencils. In fact, they get pencils for just about every dadgummed holiday celebration/birthday party they have at school. Right now, I am looking at no less than ten - TEN - Halloween pencils in my desk drawer.
Apparently, they are purely aesthetic.
And another thing? On the off chance that they actually remember to return my things to my desk, they always put the scissors and pencils in the cup point side up. My desk is totally booby-trapped.
I should put my retirement fund money into Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, because I am keeping the company in the black these days. It took two of them to get the green marker off my bedroom door. And there is still a faint green tinge when you look at it in a certain light. It's like I'm sleeping in the Emerald City, even though it feels like I'm in Munchkinland on most days.
You will be happy to know, however, that the marker was not a Sharpie. I dodged a huge bullet on that one.
I don't know if you've heard, but there is this holiday called Thanksgiving coming up. In less than a week. Now would probably be a good time to get myself a turkey, since I am hosting the dinner and all.
My hair salon freaks me out a little bit.
I go there because my stylist, who used to run her own little place, moved there. And she doesn't charge me as much since I am a long time client.
It's one of those big, fancy salons in the city near us, and I feel so out of place when I go. There is thumping techno-music, "avant-garde" canvases covered in glitter on the wall, professional stage lighting, men wearing more eyeliner than me, people drinking cocktails, women older than my mother wearing skinny jeans with knee high motorcycle boots, lots of DRAH-ma, and lots of dogs. Dogs that are treated like children.
I have nothing against dogs, but I am not used to seeing them all over a hair salon. The owners of the salon have set up a giant gated play area for their two dogs in the center of the salon, and clients are encouraged to bring their own pups for a playdate.
Also? There is a frosted glass door at the back of the salon that is the entrance to the spa. When any of the clients or employees want to enter the spa, they have to do what seems like a secret knock and then they open the door about 1.75 inches and slip their way in without fully exposing the inner sanctum to the rest of the rabble waiting for their color to process. I guess that's why none of the employees are larger than a size 2.
I think I've become over-sensitive in some ways to Fiver's school situation. I find myself having a hard time lately distinguishing between reactions of justified concern and stark raving lunacy. I can't tell if I'm overreacting, under-reacting, or reacting just right. I'm like the Goldilocks of reactions and I'm starting to get a little batty.
I finally got Bun in for his nine month check-up, now that he's in the waning days of his ninth month. Apparently, Bun is short for Paul BUN-yan because this child is a big'un. His weight has actually tapered off a bit now that he's crawling and climbing all over; he only weighs 22 pounds. But he is 31 inches tall! He wears 18 month sized clothing. Maybe a blue ox is in order for Christmas.
While perusing a highly reputable entertainment news outlet (*ahem* "People" *ahem*), I saw a celebrity couple named their new baby boy Bronx Mowgli.
Really? Bronx Mowgli? I mean, I'm not trying to judge here, but what's up with that name? It's great if you are going to be a drummer in a rock band or a boy orphaned deep in the Indian jungle, but what if he wants to be a CPA or something? Hmm.
******************************************************************Now I must go and start my Thanksgiving planning or we'll be ordering pizza on the big day. Have a good weekend, my friends!