I dream of being I dream of Jeannie and other random declarations

If only I could nod my head and things would happen.  Christmas lights up.  Laundry done...folded...put away.  Random trip accessories organized and stored. Fish tank cleaned. Library books returned. Sheesh.  Thought it would be therapeutic to blog about it but I am sliding further down this slippery slope. So let's move on.

We did a big road trip.  In the words of Julius Caesar: We came. We saw. We Coloradoed.  So much fun. So much food. So much cleaning up to do...oh wait, we're not going to talk about that, remember? (I wish you would stop bringing it up.) Great trip.  I will dig around for my camera. Then send out a search team for the cord.  And then find a shovel to uncover my laptop. (What's that? Am I using my laptop right now? Well, yes, I guess I am being a bit overdramatic.) What was I saying? Ah, yes- pics to come.

Had a funny moment with Drew this morning.  He was contemplating his new Christmas gift and how it might become a part of his every day life.  "Mom! I have a good idea.  Instead of RE-cess, we could have Wii-cess!" Clever little guy.

And now...a sonnet for my favorite Starbucks drink:

Oh, Peppermint Mocha, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways:
In the winter
In late fall
But you are seasonal
So that's all. 

Are you still reading? Sheesh.  I can't believe I am still typing. 

I feel like I need to get you all caught up- on new movies I like (The Secret Life of Bees, anybody?) and a new book I dig (Saving CeeCee Honeycutt) and a very brutal confession about why people with little kids should not undertake to maintain large fish tanks. But I guess all that will have to wait. 

I went shopping on Black Friday.  At the mall. Maybe that's why I'm so tired. 

Alright, enough.  

You hang up. 

No, you hang up. 

We'll both hang up on the count of three. 1....2.....3

1 comment:

Teresa said...

You are hysterical.

Didn't see 'The Secret Life of Bees,' but I read it ... do I feel a book club idea? Anyone? Anyone?

And now, for your listening enjoyment:
"Ode on a Dusty Urn"
THOU still unravish'd grime of quietness,
Thou fossil-child of Silence and slow Time,
Silvered historian, who canst thus express
A dingy tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What grubby-fingered legend haunts about thy shape
Of cleaning sprites or overworked housewives, or of both,
In South O or the dales of Suburbia?
What children or toddlers are these? What mothers loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What cries of "Mooooommmmm!!!!!"? What wild thoughts of a quiet evening at home?
.... 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'