Sunday my prince will come. But right now, that's not soon enough.
"I'm wishing I'n wissing
For the one I love
To find me To fiiiiine me
Someday. Sunday.
I'm hoping. I'n hopping.
And I'm dreaming of
The nice things The nice ings
He'll say He'll say."
And that is exactly what we are doing. Right. This. Second. We are waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more. For our Prince to come. And when he does, I will greet him at the door with my purse and keys in hand, kissing him on his way in and my way out.
Here's a brief rundown on the past 3 WEEKS:
Was without car for 4 days.
Replaced radiator in said car.
Chopped plum tree and cedar tree branches.
Talked with parents of a child that was bullied by my child.
Dealt with and recovered from Dr. confirmed (well, she's 99% sure) Pig Flu in 1 child.
Toddler gave up naptime.
Chased kitty all around neighborhood trying to catch her. Twice.
Found out daughter took a pocket knife to school and succeeded in keeping it a secret from school authorities. And temporarily, me.
Dropped 3 cans of enchilada sauce on baby toe, all at different times.
Dropped baby in tub.
Gained 5 pounds.
Had breakfast for dinner 4 times.
Had spaghetti for dinner 2 times.
Lost 5 pounds.
And last but not least,
Managed to keep house somewhat clean the whole time.
This last one is particularly special because somedays, it's all I can do to breathe in and out. But guess how many loads of laundry I did? Four. Four loads of laundry in 3 weeks, people. Amazing what the absence of one person can do to your laundry basket. What's more, it all got folded and put away.
I'll repeat, capitalize, make bold and center that last sentence for you in case you missed its significance.
IT ALL GOT FOLDED AND PUT AWAY.
That my friends, is huge. Most times, it sits in the corner of my room and becomes the wintering range for migrating spiders. Which reminds me of something someone told me they heard on Dr. Laura Schlessinger's talk radio show one day. It really had nothing to do with migrating spiders, but with house cleaning. (Duh. She's Dr. Laura, not National Geographic.) She said when her son was little, her whole house was one giant toy box. It was constantly messy, and (here's my favorite part) she made no apologies for it. She said she was busy being a mom, and if her house had been declared a hazardous waste site, so be it. So the next time you come to my house and you see dollies protruding from every nook and cranny and you find the clothes to the dollies shoved into your shoes while you visited, and you see the dog gulp down and then regurgitate the kitty, and you smell something resembling the aroma of a melted tupperware container in the oven but can't pull it open to check because it has automatically electronically locked you out, and you find me hyperventilating under the kitchen table, just remind me to breathe in and out. Slowly. Thanks.
While we're on the topic of spiders, I'll leave you with this.
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