Tuesday, February 01, 2011

In which I stew the groundhog

I have caught myself several times in the past day or two, making several threats against the person (?) of the Groundhog. You know, THAT ONE that should be telling us it will be an early spring. Except, don'tcha know, it's CANCELLED. This winter is so bad the groundhog isn't coming, kids.

Are we having fun yet? I am hoping that the coldest winter will yield the most beautiful spring. I can't help it. It's how my mind works now. If we have to go through all of this crap, may we each find something wonderful comes of it.

I worked from home today, bully be damned. If need be, I will point out to him that he has never -no, not even once, signed my time sheet, and there's a darn good reason for that. My boss scared me a little today when she set up a recurring meeting, the first of which is 9 am tomorrow. We will be in the thick of the second wave of this whomping storm by then... so I nervously sent her an instant message: "Um, tomorrow? When it's all blizzardy?" to which she replied "Yup."

Oy. So I thought about braces and other good ways (not) to spend a few grand that I may not have if I lose this jobaroooni and I replied "I will do my best to be there on time." I think then she realized I was praying to Saint Bernard and his rescue dogs not to have to drive tomorrow. "Oh, no, I'll probably reschedule THAT one." (thank you thank you thank you)

Today I was scanning baby pictures for the yearbook after I worked. I was mulling over all of those tiny babies, and knowing the teenagers they have become, and knowing how they are struggling this year to get along with each other and stay on the right path. So, it was bittersweet.

I did come up with a solution for my Sunday blues, however. I informed my older child that she needs to plan on coming HOME on at least SOME Sundays for sports, food, and laundry. Bring a friend, or two. I don't really care what ball the people on tv are knocking about. She needs to get home on a regular basis and let me feed her and wash her 1000 outfits to ease me through giving her up to the big wide world. (Seriously. How do my children get SO MANY CLOTHES DIRTY????)

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