- An exhausted, grouchy wife with matchbox-dry winter hair who has managed to gain FIFTEEN pounds. The baby weighs about 8 ounces. HMMM. Someone needs to stop inhaling Cheez Whiz and liquid lard, apparently.
- Disrespectful, shitey kids. Exhibit A: when they woke up to a dusting of snow the other day, they were sure they were going to spend the day playing Nintendo and throwing snowballs. When I broke the news to them that the roads were perfectly clear and hence that meant YES, there was still school, I might as well have told them that their dog, XBox and Nintendo DS had all been decimated by an errant lightening strike, so distraught and stupefied were they. And the names they called me! IDIOT! DUMMY! You know, because I'm in charge of the weather! What am I doing WRONG, dear friends?
- A house that is covered in little red spots and stains. No, I don't have a dog in heat. Sylvie has been on breathing treatments for a dry little hack (I keep thinking it's going to turn into pneumonia, but the doctor will throw me into the street if I bring her back). Apparently breathing treatments deplete one's supply of potassium, so the doctor told me to give her Gatorade. Sure, OK - she loves it! Except of course I buy the RED Gatorade - WHY, people? After a jillion kids you would think I'd buy the most innocuous color, like yellow! - so red she has dribbled all over her clothes and the carpeting with her bottles and sippy cups.
The great irony about all this is that I'm tentatively starting a book about why I think people should have bigger families. Ha! Ha! I can't even handle my OWN family - who in the freak is going to listen to me?
Oh, I need to stop complaining. So I think I will content myself with shopping: since I can't wear flip flops anymore - how dorky would that look with my hose from hell - I think these flats will make a lovely everyday mom shoe:
With all the money I'll be saving in pedicures, they'll pay from themselves, oui?