I’m a little melancholy at the moment. First, because my darling husband left early this morning for Minneapolis for business and won’t be returning until late Friday night. I am not so much sad because of how deeply I love him and will miss him, but because the rat bastard has left me in the unfortunate position of acting the part of a single parent for the next 72 hours. Which means that I have to deal with this (among other things) all by my lonesome self:
Try going head to head with that death glare with no back up -I dare you. 3 year olds are frightening. They smell fear, exhaustion and weakness and are not afraid to pounce at the slightest sign of apathy. That photo was taken this past weekend at the water park-I had just told Miss A that it was time to leave. She did not want to hear this-hence the strategic covering of the ears and previously mentioned “death glare.” *shudder*
Second, I’m a bit sad because my dog, Skeeks, just leaped up from her perpetual nap to bark loudly at the window and pace around the house. Considering that my sweet Golden Retriever only finds it necessary to bark approximately 3 times per year, I’m pretty convinced that I’m about to be murdered. There is for sure something or someone lurking in the bushes outside deciding how best to torture and dismember me. So, that sucks.
Finally, I’m sad because I’m pretty sure that Oprah taped her final show ever today in Chicago and It feels a bit like someone I love has died. Have I mentioned that I’ve met Oprah? No…oh, well-I’ve met Oprah. We’re tight. Okay, so “met” is a strong word but I did sit in the front row at a taping of her show several years ago and she made eye contact with me. Since then, I’ve kind of felt like maybe she and I were meant to be best friends, or maybe she was my mother in a former life, or something. I love her. It’s true. I love her as much as someone can love someone who they’ve only kind of met through eye contact. I’m as far to edge of being a stalker as one go without actually being a stalker. I maybe should stop now. I’m obviously exaggerating a bit but I’m sitting here picturing those last few lines being read on 48 hours Mystery after they find my dead body in the bushes later and start to theorize as to whether or not my untimely death had something to do with Oprah (because obviously, that would be the most logical conclusion to leap to). I clearly watch way too much 48 Hours Mystery.
On to a slightly more upbeat subject…my handsome (non pouting) boy. He had sooo much fun at the water park. It’s hard to believe that last year at this time he was terrified of water let alone an entire park full of water. Not only did he go down all the water slides all by himself he actually willingly stood under the big 1000 gallon water dump thing:
And finally, lest you think that Miss A was nothing but evil for the entire trip:
Doesn’t the ballerina swimming suit just kill you?? It’s so her. Oooohh, do I love that feisty little beast.
I’m off to go check the locks for the 32nd time…