I am probably going to kick myself in the morning for writing about this again. But hell, I have nothing really to lose. Perhaps if I write about last night, the gods will be with us again tonight. Otherwise, I’ll look back on this blog entry as the ultimate jinx.
These jeans are not unlike the jeans Chloe put on this morning. Back in September, when she and I went shopping for school clothes, I convinced her that a pair of jeans was an essential piece in any well-dressed person’s wardrobe.
I first wrote about Sophie’s recent difficulties sleeping through the night a few days ago. But I feel it needs mention again, since it’s now about 11:30 pm on Saturday night, and I am afraid to go to sleep.
The last three nights IN A ROW have been horrible, and last night capped it off. Little Sophie woke up two times – once at 1:30 AM and again at 4:00 AM. Screaming. For the whole world to hear.
I am not my mother’s daughter. The arts & crafts gene skipped my generation. I have no patience for it. It bores me. Surprising, since my mother is an artist and loves to create things.
Chloe loves to wear lip gloss. I hate it when she wears lip gloss. She glops it on, and basks in the glory of it. Of course, the girls’ kind always contains glitter, and makes her look more like an arts & crafts project than a real person.
Sophie was in one of her funny moods tonight. Her word of the evening was an emphatic “no” every time we tried to talk to her, laugh at her or smile at her. She circled the dining room table like a shark, waiting to pounce on us for any perceived slight, or any hint that we were enjoying ourselves at her expense. Our daughter is extremely amusing, so she had occasion to pounce quite a bit.
I spent the earlier part of the week visiting my grandmother, who is approaching 90 and has been dealing with serious health issues over the last nine months. All things considered, she’s doing well, at least right now, and I’m glad I took the trip to see her before I start the new job.
Pardon me for feeling a bit nostalgic today. It’s my 39th birthday. With only one more year to go before the big 40, I’ve been thinking about my youth a little more than usual. Spending a lot of time with Chloe and Sophie over the last few months has also caused increased reminiscing on my part, to be sure.
I love Fridays. Mostly because the dawn of a Friday means I’ve just about survived another week of parenting. An added bonus is that it means the husband gets to enjoy the girls for the next two days while I try to avoid (not always successfully) doing anything with the girls that I don’t think is fun.
It happens every single time. The phone rings, or I make a call. I’m having a conversation with someone, and it’s usually a conversation of substance, whether it be with friends or family, or business-related. Suddenly, out of nowhere, one of my two darling (the italics are there to signify sarcasm, by the way) daughters starts yapping away in my free ear. About something completely inconsequential, of course. And when I’m having a really great day, it’s sometimes both of them at once.
