I have a killer cold. If I was a man, it would be a "man cold". And if I was motivated at all, I would put a super duper link to the "Man Cold" on YouTube, but you can "Tube" it yourself, cause I'm lazy like that. I fell asleep at 8:00 last night. It rocked. But I still feel like total crap.
*Oh, alright, I linked it. Geez. Now I need a nap.
Gretta is repeatedly trying to wedge herself under my computer chair. With each and every attempt, she bonks her head, hard, on the frame. And yet she continues to try. Tenacious, yes. Mentally ill, possibly.
I have seen Sugar Daddy a total of 15 minutes this week. No, that's a bad thing. See, it's his busy season, getting everything sorted out to different retailers for their Christmas sales. Which means he works at 5AM and gets in just after 7PM. I know I shouldn't complain because it's much harder on him than it is on me, but it's my blog, so I can complain about whatever I want. And tonight he's partaking in the Cubs vs. Brewers game in Milwaukee, so that means he won't be home until after midnight. I don't feel bad for him, though.
Maggie had her first dance class yesterday. Yeah, I'm such a good mom, I forgot the camera.
Emma missed the bus yesterday. Again. So she was late.
Gretta has a fever, a rash, and a limp. This warranted a trip to the ER, but she checked out fine.
My slutty dog has decided it's much more fun to spend the days philandering around the neighborhood than being cooped up in the house with a sick bitchy mom. I rarely know if she's in or out. And to be honest, I don't care anymore.
Oh, and I've been wearing the same pair of denim capris all week. I change my shirt and bra, of course, and my undies, but the pants, they just keep calling my name. I need a new pair. Or pairs.
Feel free to slap the Mother of the Year award right here.