As I stumbled into the kitchen this morning with mascara smudges beneath my eyes, hair all over the place and my t-shirt smelling of last night's buttered popcorn...I was greeted by the obnoxiously smiling face of my handsome husband as he sweetly presented me with a breakfast tray of hot tea and scrambled eggs.
"Why?" I whined. "Why are you so nice to me - I'm such a mess." And in true Billy Joel fashion he replied, "I love you just the way you are". Now, I'm pretty sure Billy never intended for his song lyrics to be abused in such a way, seeing as how those words were written about the always perfect Christie Brinkley. That wench probably doesn't even eat buttered popcorn.
As for the Dickman, I really think the man is crazy for putting up with me. Him with his OCD and me with my 'Oh What the Heck'. We both find it hilarious when we come across people who actually think I have my crap together. Because seriously, I haven't had my crap together...in years.
I'm not exactly sure when the bottom of my pathetic box of organizational skills dropped out like an overloaded flimsy paper plate. Although I have always had a penchant for procrastination, it seems my descent into disorganization progressed rapidly in direct correlation to my never-ending trek into the wretched Valley of Menopause. Well, that and the fact that I have pickled my brain with mass consumption of Diet DP.
This lack of having my sh*t together has never really bothered me until lately. Lately, my tiny 4-year old powerhouse of a G-girl has begun to notice "things". And in all her well-meaning diligence, she never hesitates to point them out to me. Or anyone else within earshot.
Last night it was my legs, and the fact that I hadn't shaved them since my cruise in January. I really didn't think anyone would notice the sparse hairs showing below my capris. Silly me. How could I have forgotten Mandie Lee the Nazi Inspector? She not only noticed, she became thoroughly engrossed in watching the very few and fine hairs blowing hither and fro in the wind like brownish stalks of hay.
So, I did what any self-respecting G-Mom would do. I went straight home and shaved. (Out of the mouths of babes and all that crap.) When I put my reading glasses on so I wouldn't mutilate myself with the razor, I was amazed to find a 3/4-inch long hair growing right below my knee. I became fascinated with this long and lonely dark straggle of hair. I took pity upon that hair and decided to keep it for awhile. As a, uh, scientific study...to see how long it will actually grow. The hope here is that it will eventually grow long enough for me to string brightly colored beads on it and let it hang down my leg. Thereby distracting Mandie Lee from the fact that my second toe is freakishly longer than my big toe.
It's not that I'm scared of her (okay, she scares me a little). It's mainly that I want her to be a bit older before she realizes just what a hot mess her MiMi really is.
Now, please excuse me while I go from room to room collecting last year's receipts to begin working on my taxes. I was so hoping the government shutdown would buy me a few more days...
"Why?" I whined. "Why are you so nice to me - I'm such a mess." And in true Billy Joel fashion he replied, "I love you just the way you are". Now, I'm pretty sure Billy never intended for his song lyrics to be abused in such a way, seeing as how those words were written about the always perfect Christie Brinkley. That wench probably doesn't even eat buttered popcorn.
As for the Dickman, I really think the man is crazy for putting up with me. Him with his OCD and me with my 'Oh What the Heck'. We both find it hilarious when we come across people who actually think I have my crap together. Because seriously, I haven't had my crap together...in years.
I'm not exactly sure when the bottom of my pathetic box of organizational skills dropped out like an overloaded flimsy paper plate. Although I have always had a penchant for procrastination, it seems my descent into disorganization progressed rapidly in direct correlation to my never-ending trek into the wretched Valley of Menopause. Well, that and the fact that I have pickled my brain with mass consumption of Diet DP.
This lack of having my sh*t together has never really bothered me until lately. Lately, my tiny 4-year old powerhouse of a G-girl has begun to notice "things". And in all her well-meaning diligence, she never hesitates to point them out to me. Or anyone else within earshot.
Last night it was my legs, and the fact that I hadn't shaved them since my cruise in January. I really didn't think anyone would notice the sparse hairs showing below my capris. Silly me. How could I have forgotten Mandie Lee the Nazi Inspector? She not only noticed, she became thoroughly engrossed in watching the very few and fine hairs blowing hither and fro in the wind like brownish stalks of hay.
So, I did what any self-respecting G-Mom would do. I went straight home and shaved. (Out of the mouths of babes and all that crap.) When I put my reading glasses on so I wouldn't mutilate myself with the razor, I was amazed to find a 3/4-inch long hair growing right below my knee. I became fascinated with this long and lonely dark straggle of hair. I took pity upon that hair and decided to keep it for awhile. As a, uh, scientific study...to see how long it will actually grow. The hope here is that it will eventually grow long enough for me to string brightly colored beads on it and let it hang down my leg. Thereby distracting Mandie Lee from the fact that my second toe is freakishly longer than my big toe.It's not that I'm scared of her (okay, she scares me a little). It's mainly that I want her to be a bit older before she realizes just what a hot mess her MiMi really is.
Now, please excuse me while I go from room to room collecting last year's receipts to begin working on my taxes. I was so hoping the government shutdown would buy me a few more days...
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