Christian went on a business trip yesterday and though he has only been gone for one day, a few things happened which he needs to know about. I'm not proud of these things, but I can explain.
All my clothes were dirty--not because I blog all day and ignore my domestic duties, but because I wash Christian's clothes first, my children's clothes second, and then (if there's time before I bake pies) I wash my own clothes. So I had to resort to my "work" pants, also known as Mom Jeans. I wore them all over, to the store, to the library, to the post office, to CARRIE ANN'S house, etc. Understand, I was late to board the bootcut train but board it I did and have not looked back except for this one pair of reverse-fit Eddie Bauer classics. It was bad--here's how bad (with no offense to Christian): Maggie asked, Why are you wearing Daddy's pants?
For dinner the kids had Kraft Macaroni and Cheese--again, not because I blog all day [and night], but because to them it's a "special treat." Of course I wasn't going to eat that crap so I got myself a very big specialty rice crispy treat (made by a deli and sold at the gas station) for dinner. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror trying to take a bite out of it. "I look cool," I thought. And then I hoped someone from our ward might see me driving really fast in my red van on the way home eating my big rice crispy treat. And that, sadly, is a true story.
And finally, as there were no clean pajamas, I put on Christian's thermals. I used to wear these [not his, but some like it] all the time in high school and they were very cute--very baggy. Not so baggy anymore. Not so cute. Instead I looked very much like a male ballet dancer. I was so taken by my resemblance to a male ballet dancer that I did a (phonetic spelling to follow:) potta boo-ray in the mirror. Mind you, I have a vivid recollection of learning this move in ballet class as a child when I was young and dainty and presumably cute and showing my mom and she (not a mean person) laughed at me because she thought I was joking. I can tell you this, it certainly hasn't gotten better since then.
That's it. That's everything. Oh yes, and our church stinks but that has nothing to do with me--rotten broccoli or 1000 cloves of garlic or something. Note to non-Mormons: We don't believe in vampires or stockpile garlic for any reason other than cooking (you may get your occasional freak who uses it medicinally but that's not church-sanctioned). Just trying to be helpful.