Family Fun Time?

Percent chance I can convince the very girls I've ignored all weekend in favor of not being very productive preparing for classes tomorrow to agree to a round of the greatest letters-on-tiles game since the dawn of Scrabble?

Probably zero percent.

But I'm gonna try... because I'm just that good of a mom.

Beading Day!

I can't decide which is worse:

spending two rainy hours on the sidelines of a soccer game with my ex-husband satelliting around me, talking to all his new friends about their super-fun party last night

OR

spending two stuffy hours in a bead store with a gaggle of women who believe themselves to be true artisans but who steadfastly ignore the paying customers, especially those age 13 and younger, who clearly require their assistance.

Both scenarios are maddening in their own way, but only one of them ends with three newly blinged girls.

So I guess the soccer game sucked more.

New Respect for Raid

Earlier today I had an email exchange with one of my favorite co-committee members regarding the infestation of Belize by missionaries in bible-quoting matching t-shirts. During that discussion, I mentioned that the sight of said Christian crusaders atop a Mayan temple made me long for a gargantuan Raid-spraying fogger to unburden the ancient jungle dwellers of their ant-like swarm of arrogant invaders.

I still hate the thought of those Christians.

But now I really want the Raid to off the 17 fruit flies currently swarming the rim of my wine glass. WTF?

Truth in Advertising

Popular mythology suggests that a creature called a Maytag Repairman exists, but I'm not convinced.

I'd write more about it here, but I have to go wash dishes.

Three Days---not so serious version

1. I've been to real refugee camps and lived with a nomadic tribe... and neither scenario involved pink tents or costumed blow up dolls. Still, the camp in Marymoor park was a trip.

2. Under no other circumstance than a fundraising three day walk can I imagine collecting pink beads, wearing a feather boa, and cheering for a man whose t-shirt reads something like "I heart my wife's boobs."

3. I used to think it was sexy when women used the word "tits" to refer to their own breasts. Now all the mammary-related terminology sounds dull. Sigh.

4. The cynic in me is troubled by the fact that the same organization that raises $8.6 million for breast cancer research also serves mass-produced bacon for breakfast, hands out Lays potato chips at lunch and encourages participants to just throw away anything they don't eat/use after dinner. I guess you just have to pick your battles.

Three Days---Serious Version

1. People like me aren't meant to walk 60 miles in 3 days with no prior training.

2. People who weigh 50+ pounds more than I do and/or are 20 years older than I am and/or start the walk on crutches and/or just made it through a round of chemo REALLY aren't meant to walk 60 miles in 3 days.

3. We all did it, and it was incredible.

4. I might be the luckiest sister-in-law on earth... my teammates were hilarious, inspiring and impressive the entire 60 miles.

P.S.

Dear Inexplicably Be-Wigged, Borderline Incompetent Division Secretary,

I don't have a husband.

Love,
The Colleague