1. The end of May brings about the perfect storm: cookouts, graduation parties and scurrying around at the last minute trying to put some teachers’ gifts together.
2. Throw in a kid with a sinus infection and a mom who has had two migraines in the last four days and it’s the storm of the century.
3. And, you’ll have the longest break in blogging since the swine flu/pneumonia diagnosis/pulmonary embolism scare of 2009.
4. The shot of Toradol your doctor gives you may not help your pain and the Treximet he wants you to try might make you feel like your skin is wiggling off of your body and cause you to throw up your beef Quesadilla.
5. But, he could prescribe you some Ambien.
6. Which makes everything much better.
7. Though, if you get another migraine, you might want to stab yourself in the temple.
8. Which would make a good blog post, but it could totally ruin your carpet.
I have five more work days until summer break starts. FIVE. I am excited about this for many reasons, but mostly because it will free up time to paint peeling ceilings and doors which dogs slam their noses into because they think they are ajar. Judging by the velocity at which our two dogs run into our storm doors, they clearly picture an enormous lamb shank on the other side.
I also work as a cook (read: lunch lady) in an old school with a single window air conditioner which blows out such a lack of cold air that we might as well have a politician standing in the corner. Or my hair dryer. Same difference.
I took the job because my son sometimes chokes when he eats, which has happened this school year exactly none times. I’m pretty sure my boss thinks it was a lie and that I really wanted to work there because I truly enjoy smelling like pepperoni.
There are benefits to my work outside of that choking thing and the fact that I have the same days off as my kids and never have to worry about child care. Mainly, that I can occasionally sneak a curly fry and that when we make green beans there is a veggie steam that coats my skin. That’s right. Free facial.
But, my house misses me. A lot. If I could read her emotions by looking at her cluttered basement or weed-filled flowerbeds I would see her crying. Crying like she just watched The Champ. She’s tired of her stained carpet and unwashed windows. I think my house would leave me for another owner if it could.
So I have started my list of summer chores. It’s long and ambitious, but I’m confident that I will have the energy and motivation to get some stuff done. If I can cook for 200 people in a kitchen that is to me what water was to the Wicked Witch of the West, than I can certainly get a few chores crossed off of my list.
Because even though my house is falling apart, the central air conditioning works like a charm.
There has never been a show that made me think as much as LOST. I would like to offer a huge thank you to the writers for making me use my brain. I will miss this series. A lot.
What in the world am I going to do with my Tuesday nights now? Well, I suppose there is always Dancing with the Stars.
See? My mind isn’t working right already.
To my daughter:
“Although I did pass fifth grade, it was a long time ago. You will have to ask Dad to help you with this math homework.”
To a friend who is pregnant with twins:
“I wish I was pregnant with twins so I would have an excuse for this body.”
To my back:
“Don’t you dare go out on me.”
To the dog:
“Please stop barking!”
To my son:
“I know that you love icing, but that does not make okay for you to lick it off of your classmate’s cupcake.”
“Please stop barking!”
“I’m sure that it’s fun for a boy to wear his first cup, but you probably shouldn’t slam that stainless steel water bottle against your private parts to make sure it’s working.”