Crazy Candy Compulsion

Game Over?

What do you mean, game over?!?

Oh, it’s not like I’m lacking for things to do.

Quite the opposite, actually.

But you’d never know it with the way I’ve been procrastinating.

I’ve got laundry to sort through.

A dishwasher to empty.

Meals to prepare.

Floors to vacuum.

And an assortment of other tasks I’m legitimately forgetting…

Or choose to forget about.

It’s been raining every single day this week.

No sun + tons of rain = no motivation.

I’m behind on everything.

So why not take a break and play a round of Candy Crush?

Or maybe a few hundred rounds, while I’m at it.

Yikes.

I hadn’t played Candy Crush in years.

Yet, this week, I completed over 290 levels in just 3 days.

I don’t know whether to be proud or ashamed for allowing myself to get sucked into such a major time drain.

I might be in need of inspiration.

Or a nap.

But look at all those pretty colors!

It’s candy, for goodness sake!

Candy!

Besides, the game’s claim of “swiping stress away” is too appealing to pass up.

Ooh, look!

I just earned infinite lives!

For two hours only!

Must. Keep. Playing.

It’s rather unfortunate that domestic pursuits don’t motivate me more.

But no.

The curse of being an Undomestic Goddess.

And every level successfully completed rewards me with a declaration of Fantastical!

Which should, theoretically, make me feel good about myself.

Except for the fact that I can’t help but question the actual existence of any such word.

Fantastic, yes.

Fantastico, sure.

But fantastical?

Hmmm.

When all five of my lives are used up, it’s time to do…

Well, whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing that I clearly would rather not be doing.

Sure, I could buy more lives.

But I won’t.

The offer to buy a little extra “help” is just not that appealing.

I’m not necessarily arguing the fact that I need help.

But my guess is that isn’t the kind of help I probably need.

I rarely download games to my phone.

But I do still have a few on my Kindle.

I’ve been reading the same page of the same book over and over for the last two weeks on that very Kindle.

And Candy Crush was just kind of there

So I’m too distracted for distractions like reading.

But I can play for hours on something that’s meant to be played in short bursts.

Go figure.

Suffice it to say, my priorities are sorely lacking lately.

But I did manage to put up Halloween decorations.

And I also walked the dog during a lull from the rain.

So I managed to do something productive.

Oh, and I also scraped a sticky, melted wad of cherry Starburst out of the dryer.

Eww.

I may not excel at domestic things.

But at least my problem solving skills are still intact.

Maybe Candy Crush is good for something, after all…

~Happy weekend, friends! So… What’s your guilty time-wasting pleasure? Haha!~

Swipe the stress away, huh? It's not like I was doing anything productive, anyway...

Swipe the stress away, huh? It’s not like I was doing anything productive, anyway…

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Friday Night Fumble

Is it over yet?

I mean…

Go team!!!

Yeah!!!

High school football.

It’s quite the production in The Lone Star State.

Even people without kids religiously attend every Friday night.

It’s that big a thing out here.

Hell, there’s even a 10 billion member marching band at every single game.

And the marching band is typically more fun to watch than the actual football game itself.

Sort of like the halftime show during The Super Bowl.

At eight dollars a ticket for the privilege of sitting on rock-hard metal bleachers for three to four hours, watching the clock move in slower motion than logically possible…

How could it be anything but exciting?

Right?

I personally pass the time alternately playing on my phone, staring in disbelief at my watch, and glancing at the score board.

But I’m sure some people are actually watching the game.

Probably.

What better way to spend a Friday night?

I mean, besides sleeping.

Never mind the fact that I have to get up at 3 am the next morning for work.

If I’m having such a blast, why do I keep going to these games, you might wonder?

Well, to support my amazing mascot, of course!

But at eight dollars a ticket…

I could go see a movie for that price.

Or at buy a great cocktail.

Especially after sitting on those sadistic ass-numbing, back-breaking bleachers.

Sure, it’d be more cost-effective to stay home in my pajamas, watching reruns on Netflix.

But I suppose it beats sitting at home.

Sometimes, at least.

Especially when things get really exciting.

Between evacuations, stampedes, and near-electrocutions, it has been a fairly exciting season so far.

Almost every home game has kicked off with a lightning evacuation.

During the very first quarter.

Which is especially thrilling when lightning menacingly illuminates the sky and rain comes pouring down in an attempt to recreate Noah’s Ark, right there in the middle of the football field.

The bleachers are at full capacity.

Of course.

Because everyone in town is at the game.

Did I mention the bleachers are metal?

And metal conducts electricity.

Which is ever-so-slightly concerning.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t enjoy high school football games enough to risk electrocution.

And so the stampedes begin.

Which is a rather refreshing break from some of those obnoxious, screeching, know-it-all fans.

Yeesh.

Perhaps this is why I never bothered to attend any games when I was in high school.

Nothing against school sports and all the good qualities they help foster.

But sometimes I wonder why I pay to get hit in the head with rogue balls at games where excessively vocal away team fans conduct themselves as though the home team had the audacity to cross into Oakland Raiders territory.

Yikes.

The things we do for our children.

We support our kids.

Even when it risks our last remaining thread of sanity.

Because our kids will always remember that we were there for them.

Especially if we embarrass the hell out of them with our mere presence.

Because embarrassment and support apparently go hand in hand.

Go team, go!

Woooo!!!

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

It's Friday night! Um, yay?

It’s Friday night! Um, yay?

Motivation for Turbulent Times

Some days, we just need an extra dose of humor to compensate for life’s crappy challenges.

Some days..

Some weeks…

Hell, even some months…

Yeah.

So here’s a bit of humorous inspiration for anyone who could use a little boost right about now.

(Have you ever seen a sad Cookie Monster? Case in point. Now go eat a cookie and cheer up.)

(If you believe passionately enough, you might soar higher than you ever thought possible! But you might want to put on a cape first, just to be on the safe side…)

(Much like the brain, utilizing one’s entire ass is twice as impactful as using half of it. It’s gotta be all ass or no ass. There’s no in between. Speaking of asses…)

(Butt prints are sooo unflattering. So get up and make amazing things happen!)

(If you do nothing else today, do this one little thing. Talk about an adrenalizing mood booster!)

(They say you can’t keep doing things the exact same way and expect different results. Right? I mean, left…?)

(I’ll be the first to admit, I hate to lose. Hate, hate, hate it. This is where having a warped sense of humor comes in handy.)

(To quote the great Homer Simpson, “Shut up brain, or I’ll stab you with a Q-tip!”)

(But seriously, it can kill you if you’re not careful. So be smart and use your brain. You know, the same one you just stabbed with a Q-tip. Whoops!)

(Plants need sunlight to thrive and grow. So do human beings. Without sunlight, we wither like shriveled prunes. So step outside and get your daily dose of mood boosting vitamin D.)

(Amen to that.)

(If all else fails, always remember this one thing: you’re awesome. Because I said so. Enough said.)

~Have a great weekend, friends! Smile, laugh, and always look for that elusive silver lining.~

Frantic Feeding Frenzy

It’s become an unofficial contest.

A challenge of sorts.

How quickly can these two boys of mine eat all the food in the house?

Or better yet…

All the newly purchased groceries?

Before they’re even out of the shopping bags?

Last week, I bought an overflowing cart full of groceries on Saturday.

We were nearly out of food by Tuesday.

Almost nothing left for dinner.

Almost nothing left to pack for school lunches.

One over-dramatic child resorted to drinking from an expired gallon of water from our makeshift storm shelter closet.

(Wait… Water actually expires?!?)

What’s next on the to-eat list, Jett’s dog food?

At least The Bigly Bestest doesn’t eat all his food in one sitting.

Gotta love teenagers.

Especially boys.

The time it takes teenage boys to eat seems to be directly proportionate to the quantity.

For instance:

A box of eight waffles will get devoured in approximately eight seconds.

Which averages out to one second per waffle.

And a six-pack of yogurt cups will last all of six seconds.

This pattern continues in a sickening whirlwind for several minutes.

Until all that’s left are raisins.

And so they move on to rummaging in my purse.

Until they gleefully discover a tin of mints.

Snacking on mints.

Wow.

At least these two haven’t yet resorted to drinking maple syrup out of the jar for a quick pick-me-up.

Sheesh.

They’ll claim that there’s nothing to eat, when clearly there is something still left.

Sure, it may not always be their first choice.

But when you’re snacking on mints, is that really the time to be picky?

How can you tell me you refuse to eat blackberries?

So don’t tell me there’s no food in the house when there are perfectly good berries here.

Eat the damn berries!

Oh, you’re starving?

But not enough to eat that delicious asparagus sauté , huh?

Or some plain yogurt?

Well, that’s fine.

More for me!

And whatever we don’t eat, we apparently save for the ants.

That’s right.

Ants.

Entire freaking colonies of ants.

Because we have yet to master the art of properly closing bags when we’re done snacking.

And so they march across the bottom shelf of the pantry, systematically working their way up the shelves like some kind of microscopic parade.

Until they’ve effectively invaded every last item in the kitchen pantry.

Cereal boxes.

Crackers.

Cheese puffs.

Jett’s special dog treats.

Well.

At least there was hardly any food left to begin with.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Driving Mr. Mascot, Part 2

Slow down.

Slow down!!

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SLOW THE @&*% DOWN!!!

With 30 minutes to spare after dropping my younger child off at his guitar lesson…

It was the perfect opportunity to continue working with my older son (a.k.a. Mascot Boy) on his driving skills.

And so he took the wheel.

Figuring it was only three miles from the music school to our house, it wouldn’t necessarily be an unreasonable walk for my younger one if scary driver Mascot Boy and I didn’t make it back alive from driving practice.

Unfortunately, the fact that it’s been unseasonably hot out made it a less than optimal scenario.

But it’s always good to have a plan, right?

Mr. Mascot decided he’d like to practice in a shopping parking lot that day.

Did you know different rules apply in parking lots?

Namely, there are no rules .

Especially in a Walmart parking lot.

Between vehicles blindly pulling out in front of other traffic with no regard to right of way, and overall mayhem in general…

The very notion of safe driving seems to go right down the toilet.

All I knew is that I sure as hell didn’t want to die in the Walmart parking lot.

I’d rather get eaten by my dog.

Not that my precious Jett would ever eat me.

But still.

Dying at Walmart/in the Walmart parking lot is definitely not the way I’d like to go.

Especially with a 16-year-old driver behind the wheel.

And not only does this 16-year-old believe he already knows everything there is possibly to know about driving…

I’ve somehow recently ended up with two backseat drivers whenever I’m driving.

Because even though my 13-year-old hasn’t had any formal driving instruction, he too  believes he now magically knows everything there is to know about driving.

Specifically, that he and his brother know everything.

And I, the driver with two decades of experience, know nothing.

As if I suddenly need coaching on how to safely maneuver a vehicle.

That didn’t feel like a complete stop.

You forgot your turn signal! Right in front of that cop over there!

I’m pretty sure even I have better judgement than you!

Meanwhile, Mr. Mascot has taken a liking to barreling full-speed toward red lights.

I’m starting to think I ought to be wearing a blindfold when I’m in the passenger seat.

He attempted to park next to the only car in the back row of the parking lot.

Which happened to be a BMW vaguely resembling The Batmobile.

Which happened to be one that we really can’t afford to gently nudge from behind or do a drive-by mirror sideswipe on.

After one unsuccessful attempt of parking straight in between the lines, I strongly encouraged him to find a different spot.

Away from other cars.

All other cars.

After surviving the Walmart parking lot, we headed back to the music school to pick up child number two.

We arrived safely.

The parking lot was under heavy construction.

So we soared over a massive mud bump, Dukes of Hazzard style.

But ultimately, we didn’t get pulled over by any cops.

And even more importantly, we survived.

So it’s a win.

I’ve come to realize that my son’s learning to drive comes at a price.

The expense of fuel.

And the expense of my sanity.

Which has long been precariously dangling by a thin thread.

Oh, but at least I’m getting a break from driving, right?

If your idea of a break is anxiety, panic, or a heart attack, then yes.

Thanks to me, my dear child, you are gaining experience.

Thanks to you, my dear child, I seem to be losing experience.

Or my sanity.

One of the two.

Or both.

~Happy Saturday, friends! Click here if you’d like to read Part 1 of our exciting driving experiences. Have a great weekend, and watch out for nervous Student  Drivers and their equally terrified parents! Haha!~

The Danger Zone... it's a real thing.

The Danger Zone… it’s a real thing.

The Baddest Apple

I swear, eating while distracted is every bit as hazardous as driving in your sleep.

You know those little preservative packets in packages of food?

They’re called desiccant packets.

But I’ve always called them Do Not Eat packets.

Have you ever wondered what happens if you consume a Do Not Eat packet?

It’s not really something I ever gave much thought to, personally.

Until recently.

The thing is, I may have accidentally eaten one.

You’re probably wondering how that’s even possible.

Either you ate it or you didn’t, right?

Oh, I’m still scratching my head on this one, too.

It all started innocently enough.

I was ravenous, so I bought a bag of freeze-dried Fuji apples to devour on my drive home from work.

Shoveling handfuls of apples into my mouth, I found myself backed up in traffic about 10 minutes into my drive.

Figuring I had time to pass while waiting at a red light, I turned over the bag to read the nutrition facts.

Yeah, I’m weird like that.

It was a single serving bag.

Which was great, because the thing was dangerously close to empty already.

At least the ingredients were simple enough:

Freeze dried apples, ascorbic acid, and citric acid.

Not bad at all.

And 220% of vitamin C per serving.

Whew!

More than enough to ward off any threat of scurvy.

More importantly, it was made in the USA.

Because if I wanted to eat a toxic Chinese import, I’d chow down a box of so-called “non-toxic” crayons.

Or one of those questionable McDonald’s Happy Meal toys with 500 microscopic parts.

On second thought, those toxic little toys could also lead to asphyxiation.

Disturbingly enough, they aren’t not the only things that could present a safety hazard.

Further down on the apple bag was a warning.

Just some nonsense about a desiccant packet.

Yada yada yada.

Hey, wait a minute…

Holy crap!

The Do Not Eat packet!

Where the hell was the Do Not Eat packet?!?

Still sitting in an endless line of traffic, I dared a frantic peek into the bag.

There was hardly anything left in it.

Mostly crumbs, really.

And no sign of the packet.

Maybe they had forgotten to put one in this package?

Or…

Could I seriously have just eaten the stupid thing?

I mean, really?

How would I have missed that?

Even among generous fistfuls of apples, surely I’d have noticed a difference in texture or flavor.

Especially once biting into the packet and unleashing sand-like particles.

Were my senses that off?

Were my standards that low?

And I may very well have reached a new low with this dilemma.

You might think I’d have been more concerned for my safety.

After all, I could have ingested a potentially hazardous substance, for all I knew.

Yet, I found the whole thing mildly amusing.

Did this kind of stuff actually happen to other people?

Or was it truly just me?

By this point, I’m pretty well convinced it’s just me.

When I arrived home 20 minutes later, I Googled “accidental ingestion of desiccant packet”.

Which immediately directed me to the poison control website.

The information was surprisingly reassuring.

Apparently, one can safely scarf down the equivalent of an entire shoebox-worth of those packets and likely only experience stomach discomfort.

I can (almost) understand accidentally wolfing down one of those suckers…

But who would unknowingly devour a whole box of that crap?

A dog, maybe?

One with lower standards than me, perhaps?

Continuing on with my online self-diagnostics, I grabbed a couple of mini blueberry muffins.

Still needing a little more reassurance, I decided to test out a theory.

Leaving the wrapper intact, I made a simulated attempt at eating a muffin.

Would I notice when I bit into a chunk of the thin paper?

Would I?

I was genuinely intrigued now.

I immediately noticed the texture difference between the yummy moist muffin and the grainy paper.

But then, I also wasn’t distracted the same way I had been while driving.

I still wasn’t convinced.

A tray of sugar packets caught my eye a few days later at a restaurant.

I swiped one and shoved it in my purse.

To test something out a little later, just for kicks.

Let’s just say I didn’t get too far with that one.

The paper had the consistency of notebook paper, and the sugar felt like grains of sand.

But there was no mistaking a foreign substance’s assault on my palate.

Even so, a Do Not Eat packet was still smaller and not as grainy as a packet of sugar.

Whether I did or did not eat a desiccant packet still remains a mystery.

But the fact of the matter is, I’m more or less okay after maybe or maybe not having eaten one.

I think.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Do not eat? A little late for that, don't you think?

Do not eat? A little late for that, don’t you think?

(The Baddest Apple originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 09/17/15.)

Super Pooper Pukey Pups

Aren’t doggies the best?

They give sweet hugs.

And affectionate kisses.

They keep us warm on chilly days.

But sometimes, they’re kind of…

Well, gross.

They cram strange things in their mouths.

They sniff crotches and lick butts.

They poop and pee whenever and wherever they see fit.

They inhale their food in one big gulp.

And then sometimes puke it right back up.

Then they eat their pile of puked up food.

Because there’s nothing more appetizing than eating dinner and noticing your doggie quietly sitting in the corner and chewing on…

What, exactly?

A spider?

Oh, if only.

Nope.

It’s a pile of vomit.

Of course it is.

And apparently it’s mmm mmm good.

So lovely.

But at least dogs love to be active!

You know what’s the best part about taking doggies for a walk?

Watching them lift their hind legs to an astounding assortment of things!

Basketball hoops.

Real estate signs.

High voltage electric boxes.

It’s all fair game.

But it’s one thing to pee on fire hydrants…

And another altogether to plop dead center in some random neighbor’s front yard and proceed to take the biggest dump in history.

And so you might find yourself on your hands and knees as you valiantly try to do the right thing.

Which is hard, because you realize you’ve completely run out of doggie waste bags.

But luck for you, there’s exactly one crumpled tissue left in your pocket!

Of course, it’s not the easy to grab kind of doggie doo.

And so your efforts ultimately result in ripping out fistfuls of some random neighbor’s well-manicured lawn.

For the sake of courtesy and thoroughness.

And because, once again, it’s the right thing to do.

The cleaning up part, that is.

But because you’re working with one measly tissue, keeping your hands clean during cleanup is utterly out of the question.

And so spitting on your hands and rubbing them together vigorously is your only means of “washing” up.

Why is it that you never carry hand sanitizer with you?

Ugh.

You head home in defeat, with your poopie hands and one paradoxically happy doggie in tow.

But in this modern time of digital technology, you can rest assured the entire freak show of chaos has been recorded on someone’s home security camera.

And they will watch the video footage later.

And they will be baffled by what on earth it is you’re doing while your happy doggie stands by, kicking up dirt and licking nearby trees while you’re crouched down in their yard yanking up their grass with a filthy-looking tissue.

So much for always doing the right thing.

Maybe it’s better to just stick to your own backyard, huh?

Oh well.

Pets can be downright messy and gross.

But damn, they’re just so irresistibly adorable!

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Ah! The perfect place for a little hind leg-lifting action!

Ah! The perfect place for a little hind leg-lifting action!

Failing at Fashion: Denim in Distress

So, I almost strangled myself to death the other day.

In a fitting room at Kohls.

With a sundress.

It’s true.

The sadistic contraption had way the hell too many straps.

Clothing and injury.

These two things evidently go hand in hand.

I’ve said  it before.

And I’ll gladly say it again.

I don’t understand the world of fashion.

Not one teeny, tiny bit.

Upside down jeans are poised to be the next big trend in denim.

Whoa.

And not the good kind of whoa.

More like, woe.

Upside down pants with upside down pockets and useless belt loops that graze your ankles?

Hmm.

Too kooky.

The best part, though?

They’re only $495!

But at least they cover one’s butt.

Unlike crotchless jeans.

Which are essentially a couple of scraps of denim, held together by…

Chains.

And complete with a fully exposed rear, to boot.

Definitely worth $142, don’t ya think?

Or how about the practically nonexistent jeans that couldn’t?

Couldn’t cover a thing, that is.

With 90 percent less fabric than the average pair of jeans, the $223 extreme cutout jeans with exposed pockets and exposed butt cheeks are really something.

Or not much of anything, depending on how you look at it.

And let’s talk about floss jeans.

Described as extreme lace-up jeans…

The floss-like threads comprising the leg portion are essentially thin bungee cords that wrap around the legs.

They look insanely time-consuming to put on or get off.

And downright dangerous.

It would be more efficient to wedge a wild and wiggly lunatic into a straight jacket than to squirm and squeeze your way into a pair of floss jeans.

At least they’re only $168.

Nice, right?

Ha!

For that kind of money, I expect clothing to…

a) Not to be safety endangering.

b) Not make me die of hypothermia from lack of coverage.

c) To cover my literal butt.

Is this so unreasonable?

Oh wait.

Maybe that’s just, like, not cool.

Or something.

I don’t know.

I’m not a fan of holey stuff.

Especially paying for intentionally damaged goods in the name of fashion.

Not with my hard-earned money, thank you very much.

I refuse to pay for “distressed” monstrosities.

And for heaven’s sake, no more buttless jeans!

Oh, now here’s a real winner!

Clear knee jeans.

For only $95.

Complete with…

Stylish knee windows!

And fully covered butt and crotch areas!

Jackpot!

But why stop at clear knees…

When you can rock a full pair of clear “jeans” for only $100.

They’re pants… without actually being pants.

Or how about half jeans, a.k.a. one leg jeans?

They’re perfect for those who can’t decide whether they’re hot or cold.

Nothing like half a pair of pants.

With even more butt cheeky exposure!

Oh, and  let’s not forget about zipper jeans that zip all the way around.

Presumably to air out your cheeks at your discretion.

Wow.

What a mess.

Fashion fads.

They come and they go.

But the fashion industry is clearly flying by the seat of their buttless, crotchless pants.

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone in the market for pantless pants? If so, you’re in luck! I’m sure some designer, somewhere out there, is busy turning your dream into reality! Haha! Have a great weekend!~

Pants? Torture device? You be the judge...

Pants? Torture device? You be the judge…

Spatulas and Spiderman

Crash!

There’s only one explanation for this.

My house clearly was designed for a ginormous NBA player.

While Shaquille O’Neal would likely be in his element here…

I can’t reach past the second shelf in any of my kitchen cabinets.

Not easily, anyway.

And so I climb.

Or I whack things off those higher shelves.

With a spatula.

Which is why sometimes things go flying off the shelves and hit the ground instead of landing in my hand as intended.

Like that glass I just tried to knock off the third shelf.

Thank goodness it wasn’t the fourth shelf, or everything might’ve come crashing down at my feet.

Usually I can thread a spatula through the handle of a mug and hoist it down like a firefighter valiantly rescuing someone from a burning building.

But not everything in the cabinet has handles.

And so it doesn’t always work out quite the way I plan.

Evident by the occasional crashes and thuds.

Cake pans.

Touch up paint cans.

These things are all out of my reach range.

The cereal boxes are also well out of my reach, in the pantry.

But I don’t feel bad whacking those off the shelf with my spatula.

Because at least if they hit the ground, they don’t shatter and spew shards everywhere.

Sure, there might be a few rogue Cheerios on the loose.

But it’s preferable to glass shards all over the floor.

In case you’re wondering, I do have a ladder.

Several, actually.

But I don’t always feel like hauling one around.

By the time I locate one, haul it over, yank it open…

I could’ve already scaled the kitchen counter faster than Spiderman and grabbed whatever I needed.

So yeah.

I save ladders for more pressing matters.

Like for when the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night and I’m a solid two feet away from even reaching the damn thing to deactivate it.

Fortunately, I’m a pro at climbing random fixtures.

I seem to be part Spiderman, part monkey.

Wait.

Would this make me a spider monkey?!

Hmm.

At barely over five feet tall, so many things are just out of my reach.

And so I am forced to resort to climbing onto the kitchen and bathroom counters to gain a few inches.

Or feet.

But not just at home, either.

I also scale the shelves at various stores without a second thought.

Oh, come  on.

Whose bright idea was it to stock products  so far above my head?

I rest my case.

I gotta do what I gotta do.

Especially since I don’t bring my handy spatula to the store with me.

Because that’d be weird, right?

The mighty spatula.

Small but powerful.

Just like me.

The Spiderman monkey girl.

I can’t reach much of anything.

And I’m okay with that.

On the bright side…

At least I’m rarely in danger of hitting my head on a doorway.

And yet I still manage to whack my head on car doors.

Go figure.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

An actual image of me in action...

An actual image of me in action…

Back to School Blues

It’s that time again.

Back to school time.

Yippee.

More like back to gaaah!

Can you feel the enthusiasm?

Yeah.

Me, neither.

Nobody wants to get out of bed bright and early for school.

Including me.

Especially me.

The novelty has already worn off.

And it hasn’t even been a full week.

Sure, my boys have been complaining of acute boredom for the last ten weeks.

But rarely is a child so bored that they eagerly anticipate returning to school.

My younger son seems especially over it already.

By day two, his alarm clock lay on the floor in pieces, its batteries scattered haphazardly.

It’s no fun for me, either.

There’s the stressful challenge of packing lunches they’ll actually eat.

And having to make sure they’re sanitary enough to be seen in public.

And worst of all…

Homework.

That’s no fun.

For anyone.

Not only that…

Yesterday, we had to do a second round of school supply shopping.

Because once obviously was neither fun enough nor expensive enough.

Or sanity-endangering enough.

Hooray for Walmart and their disorderly heaps of leftover back to school crap!

I mean, supplies.

And so it’s back to battling the clock.

And traffic.

And Walmart.

Yikes.

But now that the kids are back in school, it’s a great time for me to work on catching up on all the things I’d fallen behind on this summer.

Like cleaning.

And writing.

And reading.

And more cleaning.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I’ve somehow managed to fall behind in life as a whole.

I’d probably settle for catching up on sleep, at this point.

But there’s no rest for the weary.

Or the worried.

It’s hard to sleep while my mind gallops off like a crack-addicted race horse.

By the same token…

It’s also hard to accomplish anything that way.

So much to do.

So little motivation to do any of it.

But, hey.

At least my kids are being more productive at the moment.

They’re probably learning something  at school.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

So long, lazy days of summer.

Hello, back to school madness.

If nothing else, it’s back to devising ways of embarrassing my kids at school functions.

I suppose that counts as being productive.

Right?

~Happy weekend, friends! And Happy Birthday to my favorite mascot boy! Woo hoo!~

Augh! Not this again! Didn't summer just start?!

Augh! Not this again! Didn’t summer just start?!