K. wonders what it is about her family that makes arm pits an acceptable, nay, appealing topic at the dinner table for them.
K.'s nose was a tad bit bloody this morning. I think the dog kicked me while I was sleeping last night!
K. decided that the humidity today is unpalatable and therefore I will wait to run. This is merely delay tactic #1 for the day. Facebook, is, quite obviously, delay tactic #2.
K. knows it is plain pitiful she can start the dryer, head out for a run, and get back long before the dryer is even close to finished.
K. learned how to drive on two wheels today and can make really cool peel-out noises now too. A dance private lesson, two tennis matches (one loss, one win) in two different places, a last minute trip to Target for a gift card, and dropping the boys at the birthday party destination in a mere 3 hour time frame and I now drive like a teenaged boy.
K. is moving slower than usual today. Might just be going in reverse. Wonder if that means my age is going backwards too?
K. hates swimming up through the viscous layers of sleep when battling out of a nightmare. Not a nice way to start the day.
K. didn't think people really put dish soap in the dishwasher but the cleaning lady today proved me wrong. Maybe she just thought she'd use all the extra bubbles on the floor to mop it. And yes, dishwashers really do spew bubbles (and not clean dishes) when you use the wrong kind of soap in them.
K. doesn't recommend fermented avocados.
K. knows that nature abhors a vaccuum but would it be too much to ask to have the bed to myself when D. is out of town?
K. doesn't want you to envy her glamorous stay at home life too much. You too could spend your day wiping up dog vomit if you only wanted.
K.'s daughter brought home yet another dust collector from yesterday's competition. Good show R.!
K. is raising Eddie Haskell. T.'s take on why other adults think he's charming? "Of course I'm polite to my friends' parents. I want to be invited back."
K. has a very enterprising kid. Since I didn't get his shorts dry last night, I found him aiming the hair dryer at his butt this morning so he could wear them anyway.
K. refuses to buy pants a size larger therefore she needs to get back on the weight loss plan or she's going to be one of those middle-aged women sporting a camel-toe, especially after the gluttony of the weekend.
K. is half way through the middle school book fair. I think there are more hormones in the room than books (and we're holding it in the library).
K. is a little tired of being told her daughter is gorgeous and her mother is gorgeous and then hearing the crickets chirp as the source of this gushing absorbs the whole idea of things skipping a generation.
K. thinks that her husband is the only person around who can go to the bathroom in a bar and come back with a business contact and a potential meeting. Normal people just don't strike up conversations with others in bathrooms, especially in men's bathrooms, right?!
K. is excited for her mom to pick up the little Gatsby girl. Poor Daisy has no idea what stress is about to come into her life.
K. wonders about the compulsion to make her bed whenever a service person is scheduled to be at the house. Unless we're talking about a plumber for the master bath, none of these folks get anywhere near the bedroom and yet the bed Must. Be. Made.
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