You know, when you think you have a 5:30 meeting, find a sitter, get your day set, then the meeting is canceled, YES!, pick up the kids, pick up the groceries, are reveling, nay riotously celebrating having the night off, unexpectedly… then you remember no, we forgot piano.

We never figured piano into the original 5:30-meeting-sitter-dinner-late night equation. Huh. How did we forget piano?

Then you think, damn Monday holidays, anyway. No! We need Monday holidays! It’s just… it throws my whole week, y’know?

Made it to piano, made it home (again), now it’s time for a nice glass of Bad Girl Blanc and a little Wuz (Not Wuz).

Yes.

“I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the north star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.”

— Henry David Thoreau, naturalist and author (1817-1862)

Well, well, well. Let’s review this past school year, shall we? (more…)

Is it time to re-run this again? I believe so. The asthma (knock wood) seems to be under control, but it’s on my mind. Our yard squirrel, the one who jealousy guards the compost bin — it’s his. All his. Get away — is fighting with a plastic bread wrapper, in an attempt to get the bread out of it. (Why did I throw plastic bags filled with bread crusts, cilantro-gone-bad, and parsley-gone-bad into the yard? Because I was too lazy to walk to the compost bin, that’s why. Why is the house a mess? Because I work too much and am never home. Yard? Does need to be mowed, thanks. Garden? Halfway planted. Halfway only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, y’know?)

We’ve decided to start playing tennis, the four of us. I’ve played tennis maybe three times in my life. Possibly four.

I’m expecting a few people for a school planning meeting to come by in an hour. My kitchen is covered in sugar ants. My family? Sleeping like angels. Why didn’t I stay in bed? Yes, worry reduction, please:

Worry Reduction Techniques

1. When I find myself worrying, I will divert my attention from the future (or past) to the present.
2. The worst is very unlikely to occur, even if it does, I will handle it.
3. I will try to take one thing and one day at a time.
4. Relaxation will reduce both worrying and anxiety.
5. I will do planning but reduce my worrying.
6. Worry is irrelevant.
7. I am not in charge of anyone else’s thoughts, feelings and behaviors.
8. People and situations do not upset me, I do.
9. I will recognize and let go of those things that I cannot change.
10. I will stop worrying now.

Watching General Hospital with my husband is a little bit… challenging, let’s say. You may already know this.

HG: Who’s zat?

me: Zacchara. Anthony Zacchara.

HG: Mobster? Mobster! New mobster. Like Moreno. Or Alcazar. Zacchara/Alcazar, Alcazar/Zacchara — it’s a anagram, see? Alcazara. Alcacazara. See? Who’s zat?

me: How can you even remember Moreno? Was there a Moreno? I don’t remember. That’s old Carly. Carly 1.

HG: Carly 1? I don’t know this Carly 1.

me: YES, you do. She’s the original Carly, the best Carly, the only Carly. Now she’s… someone Zacchara. But I just call her Original Carly Zacchara.

HG: I liked Carly 2. She was hot and sexy. Also, Carly 3, cuz she’s sassy. But not Carly 1. No. They should have all three of the Carlys back, that’d be good. A Carly-palooza. Where’s Lizzie? It’s back on!

HG (dives under a leopard-print comforter on the couch): Hmmm. Listening to Sonny and Jason — both their voices sound the same. You. Cannot. Tell. Them. Apart. (Emerges from under comforter.) Where’s Lizzie? I like Lizzie. What’s that thing on Sonny’s head?

me: That’s not Sonny — that’s Nicholas Cassadine. How could you think that was Sonny? He had a brain tumor — that’s a bandage. Now he can’t see Elizabeth anymore. She’s dead! Did you know that?

HG (flipping out): LIZZIE IS DEAD? They killed Lizzie? You didn’t tell me that!

me: I meant Emily. Emily is dead.

HG: Geez, that scared me. Eh, I didn’t like Emily that much.

me: I did. Anyway, Emily’s dead, Nicholas had brain surgery and now he can’t see visions of her anymore. So. Carly Zacchara. (Who has somehow ended up in a compromising position with Nicholas Cassadine… at the castle… in a storm… We study Carly 1 Old Carly Original Carly Claudia Zacchara for awhile.)

HG: She’s responsible for Michael gettting a bullet in his head! (Michael, who has apparently been kicked off the show. Jerks. Evil casting jerks. I love that kid. wm) Evil bitch. Evil. (Commercial comes on.) That’s what we need — a little Glad fan. Gets everything all syrupy-sweet.

(Sorry, Internets. He’s getting a little loopy. Better get the big guy to bed. xxox wm)

I cannot get my head straight to write here. I will give you bullets. In return, you will leave me comments telling me what you’ve been up to because hello??? I miss my readers when we don’t talk.

* my daughter, my sweet, awesome incredible daughter, is having some of the worst asthma of her life.

* I hate asthma.

* Would it be too hard to cure asthma, you smart researchers and doctors? Get on it, please. Stat, as you all are so fond of saying. We’re in trouble here.

* I hate asthma as much as I hate my thyroid (or lack thereof). Go read Y’s blog, she’s going through hell. Again. I love that girl so much. She deserves a cruise on the French Riviera, don’t you think?

* I keep e-mailing my husband (we’re not in the same room) in the hopes he will turn off the election results, already, stop blogging and come to bed.

* So far, no luck.

* And how lazy is that, to e my husband instead of walking to find him?

* We were awake all night last night with daughter having asthma attacks. It was awful.

* I am too tired to be blogging, but still, I persist.

* Tomorrow I have booked: too much. I booked, like, ten things for one tiny day. When will I learn that each day has only 24 hours, and at least 3 of those are generally spent sleeping.

* Or blogging.

* Is it summer break yet? Oh, wait — I’m working all summer. No break for you, mama.

* Is anyone even reading this? If you are, probably best to skip it and move along.

* Reading: Odd Girl Out, by Rachel Simmons (excellent); The Giver (freaking me out); Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt (a lot of young adult fiction, because of my job); and The Wanderer, by Sharon Creech. Also, Real Simple magazine and a few blogs because, why not?

xxox

wm

It’s warm here again — 90 or so? I have no idea. But for Oregon? In May? Nice and warm.

Have a great week, everybodeee…

love,

wm

“There is wisdom in turning as often as possible from the familiar to the unfamiliar: it keeps the mind nimble, it kills prejudice, and it fosters humor.”

— George Santayana, philosopher (1863-1952)

The drive-in is open again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK, usually, dear readers, I think you know that I do not do that thing of trying to transfer a particularly annoying song from my head to yours. It’s called… what is the Internet expression? I cannot remember. Song transference or something.

But this is kinda an emergency.

It’s Iron Man. Ozzy, why must you torment me?

A couple of weeks ago, Hockey God asked me, “Why do our kids know all the words to Iron Man?” I’m all, “Their P.E. teacher.” (Wild guess.)

(And who is also why they know how to play Soak ‘Em, have learned some square dancing dances, have incredibly fun field days and is pretty much the only reason they agree to go to school. They love their P.E. teacher.)

“I am the ice cream man/
running over kids/
in my big white van…”

Yes, that’s all they’ve been singing for two weeks solid now.

Head. Hurts. Make it stop? It goes to your head, it leaves mine, yes?

wm

Aw, tricked ya! Just wanted to see something else up here besides political crap. Sick kid at home, I’m working from my home office, which heats up to approximately 120 degrees on hot days AND it’s going to be 97 degrees today here in River City, USA. (No, our screens are not up in the windows, storms still.)

Gotta motor.

wm

ps Wacky Girl would like to say, “Howdy, people of the world.”