Vesuvius Erupts

I tell myself we are living like bohemians which isn't true, but it helps. See, it's ok for bohemians to do things like spend their last fifteen francs on a box of red wine. However, this behavior is inexcusable in parents. So you see what I mean.

The real bohemians are Mermee and Trey Bien, and I mean to write about them but not today.

I keep trying to write you a lovely blog and nothing comes out right.

I think it must be because I am stressed as heck with job interviews--especially with people calling me in to interview for positions that may or may not actually exist ("Well Ms. Tuttle, we don't know if we're going to have fairies--I mean, we don't know that we aren't going to have fairies, do we--and so, saying we did actually have fairies: would you make a good one?")--and trying to find a house, worried about living on a smaller income, finding a school that will still take Indy (ha! That's a joke).

This stress had lead me to do such things as, well--spend my last fifteen francs on red wine, buy three fancy bars of chocolate, write snarky emails to strangers, laugh helplessly by myself in public, buy Pop Tarts, let papers with sensitive information (such as Mr. V's social security number) fly clear out the window, and watch Bones.

I don't know if you watch Bones but my crush on Mr Special Agent Booth came and went like Rocktober. All was well until this: we learned Booth looks down on organic food, judges even vaguely kinky sex, and thinks only skinny gals should love their own bodies. Seriously? This show is written for women. I am fairly sure there are only three men watching this show. This is who you give me for a romantic male lead? Mr "lose ten pounds get your pansy ass out of the farmers market and don't look at me in the eye"? Who writes this show, Stephanie Meyer? Try harder next time.

Then you read the actor cheated on his wife and even that little bit of you that remains sickly attracted to Booth flies away like sensitive information on windy days.

I'm breaking out. In one day I fed the girls both McDonalds and Chipotle. Along with the Pop Tarts I bought Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. If these aren't signs of mass systematic failure, I don't know what is. All systems overload! Vesuvius forgoes bananas for fruit loops, are we sure she has not been assassinated and replaced by Vesuvius from the Alternate Universe? The library called to inform me I would be sent to collections for an item that I lost and I blew my top.

I also got the fines removed and the fees waived. And no collections for me. Library Fascists.

Things like this are my lifelines: At Target there is a row of motion sensitive baby dolls. Every time we walk past them, they start to shake their heads about and wiggle their limbs and make creepy fake cooing noises.

And every time, Indy looks at them mistrustfully and tells me, "Those babies gonna kill me".

She's not scared or anything. Just acknowledging her own fate.

Now if only I could know mine.

Thank goodness I have a husband who makes me Cuban pork sandwiches and margaritas for mothers day.

And who allows me to select myself this little treasure.

Now we must collect them all. Mustn't we?