Turns out Stella is not the most exciting pet. Jeffrey says he goes days now without noticing Stella-turns out things might need to hairy and smelly and/or loud to captivate my children, too. What’s that they say about like attracting like? Yeah. I know. Turns out Stella may be a boy. Meh, we have a trend of accepting a little gender confusion in our house. Stella fits right in.
Watching a sweet, gentle, whisp of a kid for a friend today. He’s an only-child, and I fear by late morning my kids will have him tied to a spit in the backyard, pretending they’re on the Discovery Channel, chanting boom-de-yadda, boom de-yadda…
I’ve given up on my hair completely. Yeah, yeah, I know- the hair challenge was great, but having to wait three hours every morning for it to dry, not touching and chanting backwards in the mirror at midnight to make it look good was just too much. Come on, I’m tired. Sleep is better than good hair. You hear me? Sleep wins! So I cut about 10 inches and it lives in a knot again.
Couldn’t sleep last night, but I found a cache of old design blogs and thus spared the world more midnight ramblings. Lucky you. I have to say, while I like clean lines, it’s just not something I can pull off. Best I can do is a clipped sentence. Mid-century design just makes me wish I held onto all the crap at my grandmas house so I could get rich on e-Bay.
You know it’s bad when your 75 year-old uncle comes over and pulls a lawnmower from the trunk of his Cadillac and mows your yard. Derelict. The yard, not the uncle. Broken-handed hubby couldn’t mow (did I mention the broken bone?), I would be a heap of hives not even a bottle of Bennedryl could help and alas, none of the kids are old enough for power tools yet. *sigh*
On my to-do list: Sew something. Make cherry jam with the remaining metric ton of cherries. Go to the post office. With. Four. Kids. HAHAHAHAHA! Ok, really, nevermind. Get the Bumble bee tuna song out of my head. Somehow.
Return the three Netflix movies I’ve had since June I haven’t even gotten around to watching. Now that’s lazy. They come to my mail box, and I can’t even be bothered to tear open the paper sleeve. Uuuuuuugh. Too hard. Send them back. No, really, it’s just because the TV screen is so glommy with fingerprints and mystery smears I can’t see anything anyway. When I grow up, I want to be organized.
The kids popped my exercies ball. Yeah, ’cause I used it so much I’m devastated.
I like Stell(a)(one). Even if no one else notices he(r)(im) it for days. Her little chirpy noises make me happy. That’s good enough for today. Well, that and maybe a job…