Boo Boo The Fool

What do I look like, Boo-boo the fool??

Wait a minute! Don’t answer that!

I said, don’t answer that! *sigh*

Oh well... if you answered yes to that question, then you aren’t in the boat by yourself. Apparently my soon-to-be-thirteen-years-old daughter thinks so too.


I must admit, there are a lot of things that I’m not good at remembering:

I may not remember what movies I’ve bought.

I may not remember which CD’s we have.

I might not remember the name of a book I’ve read or a movie that I’ve watched.

In fact, it’s very possible that I won’t remember your name – I’m horrible with names!

So maybe it seems odd to her that I would be able to remember each and every outfit that she has.

But… I do!

If she would stop and think about it for a minute, it probably wouldn’t seem so strange. After all, where does she think all those clothes come from? They don't just magically appear in your closet. (HA! I wish!)

Noooo…someone has to go shopping for them and had to pay for them.

And who does she thinks washes all those clean clothes that she throws in the laundry basket, instead of putting them back up after being worn for all of two seconds?

And after all of those clean dirty clothes have been washed, who does she think folds them and then looks at them, sitting on the couch for a week while waiting for them to grow legs and make their way back upstairs?

Yeah, that would be ME!

So, can someone please help me understand why she would think that she could come downstairs this morning wearing a black skirt with a pink jacket over it AND a pair of jeans, and expect me to believe that the black SKIRT is a strapless SHIRT?!?!

I swear, sometimes I wonder what planet that girl hailed from.

Not One to Complain...

Monday's - noted to be one of the least favorite days of the week.

Now, I'm not usually one to complain, much but today has been a stereotypical Monday...

Nothing puts me in a grumpy mood quicker than when my much needed beauty rest gets interrupted.

This morning - one full hour prior to wake up time - I hear the sound of my oldest daughter singing a little tune that went something like this:

♪♪ Time to wa-ake up ♪ Wakeup Sugar ♪♪
♪Time to wa-ake up ♪ Wakeup Sugar ♪
♪♪ Time to wa-a-a-ake up♪♪
(repeat three times, getting progressively louder)

Alright so, admittedly, I really did enjoy hearing that little jingle this morning - it made me smile. However, I would have enjoyed it much more had it actually been time to wake up.

I'm just sayin' ;)

This, accompanied by the vibration of the phone, continued every ten minutes for an hour and I finally gave up all hope of trying to latch on to the last precious minutes of my cherished slumber. I rolled out of bed to get this cold and dreary Monday started.

But I'm not one to complain, much...

Looks like I'm definitely going to need my morning cup of java, which I go into the kitchen to fix only to discover that my coffee maker is now disassembled. Apparently the oldest was trying to be helpful so she took my coffee maker apart and cleaned it in the dishwasher - leaving instead a sink full of dirty dishes.

But I'm not one to complain, much...

With the coffee pot now reassembled, I set it up to brew and go off to take my shower, brush my teeth and get dressed.

As I'm finishing up on the last touches of my morning routine I notice a strange gurgling sound coming from the kitchen. I learn that the source of the noise is my coffee maker, complaining because I forgot to put the lid down when I put it back together causing percolation problems.

But I'm not one to complain, much...

At work, my computer locks up and I lose a report that I had just spent two hours putting together.

But I'm not one to complain, much...

After work, Spice had her first golf lesson. For an hour, I stand out in the cold, wet drizzle - while my baby learns to identify all the parts of a golf club as well as the proper grip and stance - fighting off the worlds largest mosquitoes.

But I'm not one to complain, much...

Once practice was over, I decided a quick meal was in order so we drove to McDonald's where it was clearly obvious that they would not be getting my order correct... so we left in favor of Wendy's.

I placed our order and pulled up to the first window to pay.

As I'm searching for my card I vaguely recall hearing the manager and cashier talking about her being afraid of/allergic to bees. I finally found the card and as I hand it to the cashier, I immediately feel the relevance of their conversation as a sharp, stinging pain shoots up the back of my arm.

"Well," I announce, as cheerfully as possible to the two lovely people having a conversation about bees but don't bother to warn my that he's IN.MY.CAR. "You don't have to worry about that bee anymore because he'll be dying soon since he just stung me."

But I'm not one to complain, much...

Now I'm home and Sugar comes out to help me carry the food in. I tell her that I got stung and she informs me that the culprit - a wasp, not a bee - is still on the car.

Guess he was going to hang around and see if he could get me again, since my arm was only swollen to half its regular size.

But I'm not one to complain... oh, who the hell am I kidding?!?!? That shit hurt! (and it's still hurts!!)

Without complaining, I'll just say this: I'm glad there is only one Monday in a week - and that this one is almost over (pray for me y'all; I still have a couple more hours to go before it becomes official *sigh*)