Eich, the party is in three hours and I feel like someone just thew a metal garbage can (you know, the kind Oscar the Grouch lives in that makes a LOT of noise when thrown around) over my skull. Then they picked it back up, wilted lettuce and orange peels and all, and rolled it like a bowling bowl all the way down the street until it slammed into my back. Then, while I was lying there on the cold, wet concrete with trash and decomposing rat tails in my hair, they ran over and put a boot in my eye.

But, yay, party!

I just remembered I have three days now to finish my stepson’s poncho. Ouch. I am crazy sick right now, though, so if I don’t get it done, at least I have an excuse. But, really, I need to get it done. It was supposed to be done by Christmas, and before that…last summer. He’ll think I am the biggest loser if I don’t have it by Tuesday! And I can’t have that.

It did not stop yesterday.

Result: a few leaks and some wet walls. This is the time when I thank God I don’t own a house. I can live with passing on the problems to someone else (the landlord) for a little while longer.

Shit, we’re out of coffee. So much for not having to leave the house. It’s not good. It’s really not good.

So, now my stepson is sick and he’s home from school today. Fine by me. It’s a rainy, rainy morning, so I don’t mind not having to leave the house! I just pray that Squid isn’t next.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa. You know what? I had to convince you I didn’t want sugar or jelly or honey or bananas or raisins in my omelet. “Plain?” You couldn’t quite wrap your head around “plain.” But when all is said and done, I would give anything to have one of your outrageous omelets today. I miss you. Always.

Yeah, yeah, I love me some Little Mermaid and Snow White. And, yes, I’ve heard all the stuff about how Disney is sexist (think about it…every movie - every SINGLE movie (save Fantasia, maybe) - portrays male dominance over women), and I just go, “Whatever.” So, Disney is inappropriate and chauvinistic and all that. Okay, I can live with that. They’re just movies, and they are fun. Plus, I love Disneyland.

But, then, last night I started reading Cinderella to Squid. I didn’t get past the first paragraph and here’s why:

“Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a young girl named Cinderella. When she was a child, her mother died.”

At that point, I shut the book and selected another (non-Disney!) story to read before bedtime. C’mon! What the hell is that? Her mother died! Is that really necessary?

Squid’s diaper leaked last night and he was soaking wet and crying this morning. Needless to say, his diaper rash didn’t go away. Tiniest Squid! Arg. Between his butt burn and my sore throat, we’re a perfect mess.