Chris needs a cornea transplant! Do you have a spare?
My father-in-law spent the weekend in the hospital. He’s fine, full recovery and all that, but I keep thinking, selfishly I admit: I’m not ready for this kind of thing.
My car requires $700 worth of repairs. We don’t just have $700 lying around. I guess we’re going to be eating a lot of rice and beans and Cheerios (not all mixed together) in the coming weeks.
I’m turning almost-40 (i.e. 39) tomorrow.
I’m really tired of the cold weather. My fingers haven’t been warm since before Thanksgiving.
Mallory is resisting, with all her strength and might, learning her multiplication tables.
Neither child can go more than five minutes without complaining about some kind of bodily pain. My finger hurts! My stomach hurts! My nose hurts! My foot hurts! My complete lack of sympathy has yet to staunch the whining.
I always thought that by the time I was almost-40, I would just have $700 lying around. Hmph.
(I don’t mean to go on about the $700. We’ll make it work. It just sucks.)
My boss is taking his grandson to Disney World in March and is telling me about all his plans, including making reservations for not one but two Character Breakfasts. I am consumed with guilt for not making similar reservations when we went, even though the reason I didn’t was that such dining experiences were hugely expensive ($40 per child, $60 per adult, see above re: not having $700). My kids don’t know what they missed and had a fabulous time anyway. Why do I let such things bother me?
I’m taking the day off work tomorrow, and for some reason I volunteered to help out in Phoebe’s classroom. Instead of, say, spending the morning in bed with a book, or something relaxing like that. Why did I do that?
The next time I post, I’ll be almost 40. And less whiny, I promise.
My father-in-law spent the weekend in the hospital. He’s fine, full recovery and all that, but I keep thinking, selfishly I admit: I’m not ready for this kind of thing.
My car requires $700 worth of repairs. We don’t just have $700 lying around. I guess we’re going to be eating a lot of rice and beans and Cheerios (not all mixed together) in the coming weeks.
I’m turning almost-40 (i.e. 39) tomorrow.
I’m really tired of the cold weather. My fingers haven’t been warm since before Thanksgiving.
Mallory is resisting, with all her strength and might, learning her multiplication tables.
Neither child can go more than five minutes without complaining about some kind of bodily pain. My finger hurts! My stomach hurts! My nose hurts! My foot hurts! My complete lack of sympathy has yet to staunch the whining.
I always thought that by the time I was almost-40, I would just have $700 lying around. Hmph.
(I don’t mean to go on about the $700. We’ll make it work. It just sucks.)
My boss is taking his grandson to Disney World in March and is telling me about all his plans, including making reservations for not one but two Character Breakfasts. I am consumed with guilt for not making similar reservations when we went, even though the reason I didn’t was that such dining experiences were hugely expensive ($40 per child, $60 per adult, see above re: not having $700). My kids don’t know what they missed and had a fabulous time anyway. Why do I let such things bother me?
I’m taking the day off work tomorrow, and for some reason I volunteered to help out in Phoebe’s classroom. Instead of, say, spending the morning in bed with a book, or something relaxing like that. Why did I do that?
The next time I post, I’ll be almost 40. And less whiny, I promise.
Comments
But I do hope that you enjoy spending time in Phoebe's classroom tomorrow. And I also hope that you have a great 39th birthday.