Wednesday, September 29, 2010
How can you cancel a tv show after just two episodes?
Around 2:15pm my chest starts to feel tight. My head feels like it is ready to explode.
If I had three wishes right this second, I would wish for our house to be complaint free, thicker skin and that I could never lose anything.
I need three more wishes.
A house keeper, one meeeeellion dollars and a wardrobe entire made of clothing by Sigrid Olsen who is currently no longer designing clothes but I would wish her out of retirement.
Is that technically four more wishes?
I need some cider and donuts from Parmenters. Really fresh ones. Not the old hard ones that are on my counter. I also need a Coke. I wish that all the fountain pops here were like in Provo. Caffeine free. That's all I wish that was like Provo here. Except for fry sauce. And Sconecutter. But I think, technically, Sconecutter was in Orem. But that's it.
How many wishes am I up to now? 7?
If Jon Stewart ever quits television, I am too.
Come visit me in the snack shack on Saturday. Bring me valium. Or anything you may have that is stronger. And doesn't transfer through breastmilk.
It's conference weekend. Big breakfast. Conference bingo. Hip Hip Hooray! Oh yea, and the only living prophet on the earth today will counsel us. Just a small detail I forgot.
Genny peed in my bed this morning. I still haven't changed the sheets. I'll know if Chris has read this by tonight if he asks be about it before he gets into bed.
Calvin has a project due tomorrow to display his family tree. We are supposed to work on it as a family which I think is teacher code for, "Mom does it." I found a cool picture of a tree and mounted it on posterboard. I printed out pictures of ancestors to glue on tree. We are writing names and details by the pictures. I think it will be cool. I talked to Calvin about it last night. He said a girl in class turned hers in already. Its a real tree with faces hanging from the branches. Its really cool, he says. I'm ready to disembowel myself. Chris whispers to me, "She's an only child." Sometimes he knows the exactly right thing to say.
Sometimes I'm pretty sure my children don't think of me as a real person.
Sometimes I'm pretty sure I'm really stupid.