Perhaps the thing I will miss about Facebook the most is sharing the constant shenanigans (which, in retrospect is probably what I should have named this blog) that go on in my world - in real time. Something about telling my Facebook friends about my minor snafus, quips from my kids, and other major randomness made me feel like I was providing a service, even if only in the form of someone else being able to read what I had written and say, "Better you than me!" But all is not lost. I still have this blog. (wink, wink)
So, if I had been on Facebook today, these might have been some of my status updates.
All of the maternity shirts that fit me at this point (which is to say, all five of them which will have to last these next six weeks because I absolutely refuse to buy new ones - even if only two of them are acceptable to wear in public) have stains on them. I'm dirty. And I'm okay with that. Quite frankly, I'm too tired to care. And too round to notice. You're the only ones who have to see the greasy spots on my belly.
My girls went "shopping" in their closet resulting a play grocery cart full of previously hung up/sorted clothing. Tell me why I haven't installed a lock on their closet door yet.
The neighborhood boys (Ben included) claimed a pile of scrap wood from the neighbors trash pile to build a fort. It's now in my front yard. Taking bets on how long it stays there before I flip my lid.
Sarah: Leah's awake. I hear her!
Grammie: You woke her up.
Sarah: Prove it!
My kids think it's perfectly acceptable to park their bikes on the porch directly in front of our front door. It's cool. Sorry guests, just veer around the bike parking lot.
As I lay on the couch trying desperately to claim some long-overdue, much-needed sleep, I reached into the couch crevice and touched...a chicken nugget. It's okay though. It was a plastic chicken nugget. This time.
Anyone else get angry whenever an American Girl catalog shows up in their mailbox? No? Okay, then I'll spare you my cynical speech about excess and commercialism. (No hate mail on this one, please.)
Pre-registered at the hospital for Shep #5's birth. The woman at the counter laughed right at me when she realized she didn't need to rescan my ID or insurance card since she'd just done it last year. That's right, lady. I'm a regular baby factory. (Okay, it actually *is* a little funny.)
Seem to be suffering from pregnancy-induced amnesia. As I set my cup o' joe in the cupholder of the car during errands, Sam commented, "That's good coffee." I looked at him and said, "What coffee?"
And these are just the ones I remember. (See above re: amnesia.)
With that off of my chest, and with other, more blog-worthy subjects on the mind, I will be back. I think that's a promise. If, that is, I don't forget all of those things about which I intend to write.
A BREAK IN THE ACTION
6 months ago