*Since the last post, I have gotten no less than three billion emails from people who also hate their uterus. To me, it is HI-larious. They typically start out... "You don't know me, but I also want to break up with my uterus"... then they go on to give advice and describe fabulous hysterectomies. Y'all have some great medical advice when it comes to one's girly bits. I'm wondering, can one sell a faulty uterus and cysty ovaries on the black market? I'm putting that one on my agenda of things to figure out today.
*My daughter's class had a slew of Derby festivities today. Around these parts, the Kentucky Derby is about as big of a deal as the second coming of Christ. Sadie was named the Derby Princess. I'm not exactly sure what that means. I think it is a fancy title for "girl in the class who is a teacher's pet and gets to wear a paper crown."
*One of the Derby activities was a family picnic, so I loaded up the boys and we took our lunch to school to eat with our newly crowned princess. We were quickly joined by a whole gaggle of little girls who kept me in stitches the whole time. One little girl that I've never met came and sat next to me with her lunch. Her opening line was, "You need to know this. Michael Jackson is NOT dead. He is just walking around in disguises. One of them is a blond wig." I'm just envisioning the conversations that must go one at that girl's house around her dinner table.
*I also kept tabs on the boy that I've picked out for Sadie to marry when she is older. This little boy is the cutest thing since X-Men underoos. He calls me ma'am just like a perfect little southern gentleman and hugs me every time he sees me at school. I joked with his mother last year about how I wanted to arrange a marriage and she looked at me like I had three heads. I couldn't figure out if it was because she didn't want her African American son to marry a white girl or if she didn't want her little boy to have such a whackadoo for a mother in law. I'm guessing it's the latter.
*Miles choked on some chex mix the other day and while he was sputtering and trying to catch his breath, Noah started screaming, "STOP, DROP AND ROLL!" Wrong emergency, buddy. But good try.
*I've worn the same outfit for the last 6 days. I've washed it, but I just can't muster up the energy to put together another look that doesn't involve pajamas. I need an intervention.
*Something in my sink smells bad, but rather than just wash the dishes I keep running the water and turning on the disposal hoping it will just grind up and eat the stench. So far it hasn't worked. Candles are my next fix cause God knows I'm not going to actually just wash the flippin' dishes.
*Must. Make. Self. Go. Do. Something. Productive. Like make my boys go put on some underwear. They are running around nekkid threatening to pee on things. Is it the weekend yet?
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