Dan is having hernia surgery this afternoon. Not in his groin. In his chest kinda. Between his ribs. He’s had this hernia for at least 20 years, maybe even for his whole life. But it’s getting worse and so now they will operate.

Madison burst into tears last night.

Will they cut Daddy’s skin open?

Yes!

Waaaaaa.

Awwwww.

What will they cut it with?

A super duper very very VERRRRY sharp knife called a scalpel!

Waaaaaaaa!

Awwwwwww.

I don’t want Daddy to get cut.

Ah, heck, it’s nothin’ Did I ever tell you about the time they ripped open my bikini line to yank out a rather large human being? Here, I’ll show you the scar….

I can’t see anything.

Hmm, well lookit that. It’s gone. Nice!

Keep a thought for Dan today that they do not mistakenly do the groin operation once he’s out (ha! no! don’t!) and that he feels next to no post surgery pain. We’d like him to recover quickly because of course, that’s what’s most desireable for him but ALSO I hate layabouts. Passionately.

Secretly, I feel the way Madison does. Don’t cut my honey open with a sharp sharp knife. Waaaa.

You put on your jeans fresh from being laundered. They fit well, you can sit in them without wanting to smash someone in the head with a stick, you see your butt and think your butt looks good, you go out into public and are not constantly tugging at them to cover your godforsaken tummy.

And after wearing them once you think eww, they’re so loose now, i need to wash them again so they accentuate my ass and fit snug against my thighs.

You wonder who said that. Snug against my thighs? Who talks like that? And you realize, people who are finally thin enough, that’s who.

Finally.

When we first moved in here in 2005 my kids were 4 and 2. Jacob was in preschool five afternoons a week but other than that, nothing. No swimming lessons, no hockey, no dance class, nothing, nada, zilch. It was easy to keep my brand new 2400 square foot house clean despite my mother-in-law’s concerns to the contrary. I dusted constantly, vacuumed daily. Never was there a thing out of place. We lived in a Metropolitan Home photo shoot ready house. I was damned proud of myself.

Little did I know that my lack of existence beyond the four exterior walls of our new housing structure were what kept me living this life of tidy. How could I expect that a blossoming social life for not only the kids but also me was about to get in the way of my happy little world? I was not expecting to suddenly be so busy that I would step over a rotting carrot in the front hall and think oh who cares???*

*there has never been nor will there ever be a rotting carrot in my front hall. In my fridge, mind you, well that’s plausible.

It’s not for lack of trying. I make every attempt to maintain a degree of perfection. At this point we’re talking about a ratio of 1:a billion in favor of more imperfection than perfection and while intellectually I go, that’s okay, you have a life and a life is good. Because it is. I like having friends and taking my kids to dance and hockey respectively. I like the social circle we’re a part of. I like that when I turn forty later this year there will be a lot of great people we can invite to my party.

But I hate not having a clean house.

We’re talking about getting someone in. Every two weeks or whatever. Which will absolutely send my siblings and their spouses off the deep end because hello, I don’t have a job. Why can’t I clean my own house? Princess that I am. Only I would prefer to clean my own house but I’d prefer to have a life and write a novel more. No one aims to have their eulogist brag that-

good old jane, she kept a damn fine house. thank you for coming.

I don’t want to be poor old jane. I want to live in technicolor! And 3D! Three dimensional technicolor! Whatever that means!

For now I think I’ll train the kids to do some of the jobs I really don’t like. I’ve already got Dan doing the dishwasher because I’d sooner poke my eyes out. Now if Jake will wash the floors and Madison can vacuum…that’s a step in the right direction.

And I’ll need someone to fan me with grape leaves while I’m eating bonbons and perusing the entertainment magazines. (raises wine glass for refill)

while out running with friends last night.

me: blah blah blah.

friend: i know! blah blah blah!

me: totally! blah hahaha!

friend: true!

me: hey! are we getting our period?

friend: should be, yeah.

me: ah, that explains it.

if we were not in synch and she did not keep track, i would be surprised by it every single month. thank goodness for her.