My computer has been on a slow decline into the dumpster. I’d be working and it would start doing things like sending random instant messages to the zsar of russia (there is no zsar of russia! silly computer!) and other things of a completely fictitious nature. Finally it got to the point where it would only work if I kept it plugged into an electrical outlet. Unplugged it would last eighteen seconds.

You have come to the exact proper conclusion if you surmised that there were battery related issues. Smart cookie, you are! Mommy pats you on the head!

So now I’ve got it back and there are no more drunken russian messages waiting for me on Yahoo! I prefer it this way. Drunken Yahoo messages should be outgoing from this computer and not the other way round.

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Today I wore my new (favorite!) jeans to drop Madison off at school. I also wore my red (red!) coat and a pair of three inch black boots (jeans! are boot cut!) and one of the other moms said to me, she said,

“You look awesome! With your boots and your jeans and your coat!”

So I struck a little pose wherein it is safe to imagine that I thrust my hips forward not unlike a supermodel might do and she said,

“What? Are you telling me you’re pregnant?”

“No,” says I, “that’s my fashion pose. Don’t you know a fashion pose when you see one?”

~ ~ ~

I bought ink cartridges the other day. We had to swiftly remortgage the house to compensate for the financial strain caused by said purchase.

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I am going to make lunch reservations for Dan and I at our new favorite bistro (and yes, I will wear the new favorite jeans to samesaid favorite bistro) for next week because Dan and I do not do enough nice things together anymore. We were the people who vowed that we would read just as many books after kids as before. We’d go to movies and carry the children along in backpacks where we would let them enjoy healthy snacks like bananas and figs and flax seed oil. We’d eat fine food and drink fine wines.

Well, the wine, it’s still getting drunk but that’s more because of the children than in spite of them.

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My dog absolutely fucking adores me. The same dog I swore I was going to send to the doggy fur coat making factory when he was in the business of pissing all over my new furniture last year. Same dog. He does not pee on things anymore and he acts like I am a beautifully wrapped present on christmas morn every single time he sees me. Even if it’s only been five minutes since our last encounter. In the morning he will not go downstairs until I do and if forced to go before I am ready he will wait for me at the bottom of the stairs and wiggle like I am the second coming of the dog bone making lady. He is my entourage. He applauds when I enter the room.

~ ~ ~

Madison is four and reading and will be way bored in Kindergarten next year because she will reading at a grade one level by then and nevermind, when she gets to grade one she will probably be ready for Chaucer’s The Canturbury Tails. I’m sure they have that book in grade one. I’m not worried.

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Don’t you love when you feel like a bucket of shit has been dumped on your head and you’re told it was no accident but totally on purpose because you’re a right pile of garbage and no one likes you? That kind of feeling makes a person’s mood go out the window with the baby and the bath water. And you try to catch the baby by way of saving it like any normal person woul do then you go, ah heck, who cares, I’m too grouchy for some stinkin’ baby and it all starts right round again because look, see, you ARE a jerk, just like karma was telling you to begin with.

Man, I hate that.

But am better now and totally in a great mood. Like lay down to sing your wee girl a bed time song but end up giggling like an idiot instead.

Hey, did I tell you guys (I know I didn’t so why am I asking if I did?) that I’m reading Jacob the Mr. Gum series by Andy Stanton? He got books one and two for Christmas and by golly we are loving them. He begs for more chapters more chapters every night. Once I had to read him five chapters before finally telling him holy crap, kid, go to sleep already. I highly recommend them – especially for people with boys. I think boys right up to twelve and thirteen would enjoy these books but what do I know? I have never been a boy of twelve or thirteen. Not lately anyway. I bought book three today and hope Stanton gets book four out on the shelves lickety quickety because I’m not sure we could stand waiting long. I know there are other books and some of them quite good, but we’re Mr. Gum fans now and we wants our fix.

Other than all that above therein written as per what you just read, I’ve got nothing to say. I’ll speak with you all tomorrow when I think I might share my opinion on cat blogging. Preview: It’s stupid, cat blogging is.

i apologize. i am in no mood. i have eighty thousand things to do in the next hour and won’t get so much as two accomplished. however, have started working on novel again (no one is sick? no one is home from school? someone will be soon, don’t you worry!) and am really enjoying it. when i sat down to work yesterday i fully expected to find that the 1000 words last written sucked ass. i had to read them, you see, to know where i was at. it had been so very long since i’d last written. it was a relief, you may imagine, to discover non-suckage.

today though, the happy high of all that has given way to the hysterical grouchies. when i accidentally type a letter that i do not need i damn near throw the computer at the wall in complete hatred and frustration. it’s that kind of day. later when you hear me screaming (and you will) just carry on with what you were doing. my fits don’t last.

i’ve started posting at the near.daily.visual again. check it out, ch’y'all.

I started scrapbooking when jacob was wee. I loved it because it involves paper and I love paper. Lay me on a bed of paper and I will be – well, laying on paper which isn’t so thrilling, but you know what I mean even if I have not said it well. That’s what I like about you. You get me. We have that bond or whatever.

The hell was I saying?

Oh ya, record keeping. Well Dan got me a scrapboking magazine as a stocking stuffer at Christmas and I’ve been beating myself up since. I’ve done but little scrapbooking sicne having Madison and I’m pretty major bummed about it. And after I am pretty major bummed about it I am going to go listen to some eighties music and crimp my hair.

Walk Like an Egyptian.

I was just over at fluid pudding and she had a year in review type of thing going on and I was all the more pretty major bummed. Because if I sat down and tried to review my year I don’t think you’d get more than:

I got one year closer to forty and that made me pretty major bummed

Because I keep no sort of record. Not even here, on my website, my journally type website. Because I disdain blogs as journals. Rather, I do not disndain them in gneneral but disdain the thought of keeping one myself. I fancy myself above that sort of thing. I fancy myself more of a sporadic-pointless-poster more than anything else. It’s my recipe for success, might not be yours.

Today I am going to try to do some kind of record keeping planning scrapbooking paper related goals for the year setting slash photography inspired thang. Between loads of laundry and the eighty five thousand times Madison will bounce in front of me saying MomMomMomMomMomMomMom and completely breaking my concentration.

What? What was I doing? What is my name? Who are you?

See, like that.

I’ll let you know how it goes. Only I won’t. Because as soon as I walk away I’ll forget I ever made such a promise because I will be busy getting crackers and keeping a certain four year old from jumping on top of her brother’s 200 dollar robot that he had to have but never plays with.