Cliche

My house is a wreck. Specifically, my bathrooms haven’t been deep-cleaned in over a week. Bath toys are all over the floor of the main bathroom. Clothes lie in piles (some clean, some dirty) all over my bedroom. Toys and shoes and odd items are scattered around Smooch’s floor. (He’s turned into quite the magpie – he picks up spoons, books, our shoes, all kinds of miscellany – and carries them to his room.) On the plus side, the carpets are all recently vacuumed and the playroom is picked up. Go, me.The checkbook is balanced… but there’s not much left until payday next week. Freakin’ mortgage. Freakin’ bills. Freakin’ resident salary.

Gruff is on-call this weekend, so we’ll see him about 15% of the time that we’d normally have together as a fam. This translates to me getting 0% of the break that I usually do when he’s home and takes over with Smooch for a while.

I don’t feel like cooking dinner. What’s the number for the pizza place again?

Gimme a break…. another toy recall? I told Gruff last night, it looks like Smooch is getting vegetables and socks for Christmas. I mean, why risk it? What’s the point in opening a zillion bright packages at the holidays, if they’re just going to poison you? Unless you’re a total Scrooge or something. Then you might enjoy that.

Yesterday, I colored my hair. Tried a whole two-tone thing with a darker main color and a lighter highlight. I was really happy with it. Woke up this morning and now I’m not so sure. The last time I colored my hair by myself I was about 14. Maybe there’s a reason for that.

And, yeah, did you guess? I’m totally on my period, and totally not thrilled about it. Mama wants a heating pad and something chocolate… STAT.

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