Or at least, it feels like one.
We have a television in our bedroom.
We have kids.
You do the math.
Sometimes when I roll over, popcorn kernels - you know, the old maids - go flying across the room and pitter patter across the hardwood floor with alarming noise.
Sometimes, I swear, I have croutons in body places there should not be croutons.
Wrappers between my toes, and gummies between my...well, never mind.
And someone's five year old (I'm looking at you, Mike Williams) colored with a highlighter on my bedspread. With his mother sitting right there, coloring her Megamind page and not even noticing! Can you believe it. Some people's parenting skills. So, now I have orange highlighter all over my bedspread, which is covered nicely by a Lightening McQueen blanket (romantic, I know. I should probably get a photo and pin it on Pinterest so you too can have the sexy getaway we call our boudoir) and food in the sheets.
Ah well. I like to think of the cracker crumbs as an exfoliating scrub that some women would pay upteen dollars for. And the hot cocoa scented pillow cases? Moisturizing and better smelling than the Axe body spray I bought Gianni for Christmas, which I had to hide posthaste because my eyes were bleeding from the odor emitting from his neck, like Pepe le Pew.
Speaking of Christmas, my eldest has inherited my holiday depression: sadness that all this merry making is over which starts around 2 days BEFORE Christmas. We started in with our depression last Saturday, and drank our weight in eggnog as we cried into our cheese ball. We perked up slightly by the sight of our gifts - well, she did anyway. She got a Kindle and I haven't seen her in 3 days now. I hope she's eating. I can just picture her emerging from her bedroom with a Rip Van Winkle beard, a withered old crone. Yes, a crone with a beard! Use your imagination.
In other news, the girls are enjoying school, though of course, they're off right now. In all the sold out theater for Les Mis, Anna was the only kid. I don't know whether other parents feel it was not appropriate for children (I covered her eyes during the prostitute scene) or if kids these days are uncultured ignoramuses. Good think I spelled ignoramuses correctly the first time, or I would have had to delete that whole ironic sentence. Anyway, she was enthralled since she's known every lyric since she was eight. The sequel to Shadows Gray will be out momentarily so naturally, I feel like throwing up. It's like giving birth, except -
nah, it's nothing like giving birth, never mind.
But I am nervous. I hope you'll read it.
I'll leave you with a quote from the G-ster:
Said to his father: "I love you more than Christmas and tacos."
Cora pipes up: "What about me?"
G, thinking hard: "I love you more than ... geckos."
(He only has a slight love for geckos, so no one knows if this is a compliment or an insult).
And looky, looky, what Santa bought me!! A camera!!
What? Chocolate reindeer butts before 7 am? Why, don't mind if I do, old chap!