Lies - All Lies!

Dear Popo:

Those parents that say you should never lie to your children must have kids who do what their told the first time they're asked, move at a normal adult pace and never repeatedly ask "why" to the same question.

I can tell you I have lied to my son multiple times in the short time he's been with us.  Though I'm not setting a good example I understand he is 3 and has no way of knowing whether I'm telling the truth.  Part of me dreads the moment he turns 5 and starts understanding more things.

So far I have told my son the following:

- Mom doesn't have to eat carrots because she is allergic to them.  Surprisingly I'm only allergic to raw carrots, whatever it is that makes me sick cooks out of them.

- In the mornings we need to hurry so Dad can get to work on time.  If he isn't on time he could be fired.

- Eli is growling because he thinks I'm hurting you.  He's trying to protect you. (No, Eli is growling because he's trying to figure out if he can eat you.)

- At 4:00 the zoo lets all of the animals out of their cages.  So, if we don't leave now we'll probably be eaten.

- We don't have any batteries, we'll get them next time we're at the store. (No, sorry - we are never buying batteries for that loud and obnoxious toy you have.  I will tell you they no longer make batteries before I actually buy them for your toy.)

- No, I'm not eating your Halloween candy.

Love,
Kiki

Even Mom's Need to Go Poo!

Now that I’ve mothered a 3.5 boy for a week, I feel I am capable of giving advice.  As you know, parenting is not as easy as one might think.  However, you can work with what you’ve got.

1.       Kids are afraid of the dark: Use this to your advantage.  For example, when I need some alone time (like to go number 2) I go into the basement and don’t turn on any lights.  A 3.5 year old won’t venture down stairs and into a dark hallway if they are afraid of the dark.  Instead, they’ll stand at the top of the stairs and yell “Mom? Mom, what are you doing?”  Adding some heavy breathing to the darkness can scare them away from the top of the stairs and back into their room.

2.       Kids get a lot of colds and that’s not necessarily a bad thing:  Sure, your kid might be cranky during the day and almost always covered with snot, but there’s also Children’s Night-time Cough Syrup.  I recommend the grape flavor, it goes down smooth.  And 30 to 60 minutes later you have a snoring child who won’t wake up for at least 10 hours.  Now’s the time to turn on Hulu and catch-up on all of your shows.

3.       Things we said we’d NEVER do, DO them, even if just for the laughs: Remember when we said we’d never make our kids eat foods they don’t want to? Yeah, we’re doing that now.  Someone didn’t want to eat his celery today.  He was given a choice; he could eat the two pieces of celery or take a five minute timeout and forgo television for the rest of the day.  Three hours later he chose to take the timeout.  There were a lot of laughs for us parents during the three hours – and even more after he finished his timeout and asked “can I watch TV now?”

4.       Don’t read movie related books at bedtime, read Dr. Seuss instead: When a child LOVES a certain movie, like Cars, they know the story by heart and get excited at all the right parts.  When you’re trying to calm them down for the night, reading them a Cars themed book is NOT a good idea.  It’s better to read a book that has a consistent cadence (like a rhyme) and makes no sense. I mean, How Many Thinks Can You Think?

Beaches Part Duex

Dear Popo:

First, you should understand I am using D's computer to type this.  His computer no longer has a backspace button.  So I have to type very slowly, or this would be illegible.

I've been thinking about it more and I think it might be better for Kristen to play the Cancer Chick.  The Cancer Chick was attractive, so is Kristen. Though Kristen does have good physical humor (like Bette) I don't think she's used to wearing awkward costumes, like the bunny outfit and Otto Titsling's Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder.  I think instead they should cast someone like Rihanna who is used to wearing crazy shit.  She may actually be wearing a titsling in this picture.

However, if Rihanna gets cast as the Broadway star that means Kristen is in the secondary roll.  Thus, we will have to rewrite Beaches so Kristen is the primary character. I'm thinking Kristen should get into a fight with Rihanna in a car and bash her head into the window.  After a big dramatic whirlwind of publicity everything works out in the end because the traumatic brain injury Rihanna suffers makes it impossible for her to realize that someone who would beat your head against a window is not actually a friend.  Wait, I might have gotten off track here a bit.....

Love,
Kiki

The Best Use of My Time...

I have spent most of my day wondering who would be amazing enough to play opposite Kristin Bell in a remake of Beaches.  Who could match Kristin's poise, strengh of character and beauty. 

And I think....Ann Hathaway? 

Hmmm...Or perhaps Drew Barrymore

But then I realize it needs to be someone with class...

Someone with a smiling personality....

Bubby and charming...

And ofcourse a snappy dresser..

I am still coming up blank. 

The Real Facebook

I'm not going to lie - I've had those moments.  Sadly, no one has ever been willing to hold my hands while I forced one out.  It's making me start questioning my friendships.

I'm sitting here, by myself, drinking a glass of wine and watching the CW.  I may, or may not, be crying at some of the more emotional parts of Hart of Dixie.  All of a sudden I was wondering how my FB friends would respond to a status update that read "alone, tipsy and crying over the CW."  I figure I can break my FB friends into categories based on their responses.

Actual Friends: "If you really want to cry you should watch Beaches.  Oooh they should remake Beaches and cast Kristen Bell as the one with cancer."

Semi-Actual Friends: "LOL. What kind of wine?"

Not-Actual Friends: "Where's Dustin?"

Who does #2 work for?

I uploaded blogger to my phone.  How cool is that?  Now I have no excuse not to post. 

Sydney had a heck of a time pooing yesterday.  Poor baby.  She was making weird noises and grunting.  At one point she started crying and grabbing me while she bared down.  So sad.  But she finally won the fight. 

I have a team member who is not pulling her weight.  It is impacting my team and has been for a while.  It is frustrating that it has been allowed to go on for so long.  And now has fallen in my lab to deal with.  But it is also a good learning experience for me.

Great, Now I Want A Pie.

Dear Popo:

Dustin is playing Fable, a video game.  I’m not exactly sure what the point is – but I do know he has to fight his brother, who is apparently a badass.  The following are actual conversations we’ve had surrounding Fable.

Dustin: Last night I spent an hour making pies. I make really good pies. I sold so many pies I was able to buy land.  Now I’m a land baron.  I am worth so much money.
Me: Is that the point of the game?
Dustin: No….but the money will come in handy when I want to buy weapons. 
Me: Or you want to retire?  It’s interesting to me that you can’t shed your actual personal characteristics when playing a video game….maybe you should make pies in reality, see if that works out for you.

Kiki walks in to living room and watches Dustin fight the big boss.

Me: What is that you’re wearing? You look like a pirate.

Dustin: Hang-on I’m fighting the big boss.

Me: Is that a dog following you around? Whose dog is that?

Dustin: It’s my dog. He’s my friend, like Eli.  (Dustin kills big boss). I’m dressed this way because I forgot to change after the masquerade ball.

Me: What? (Laughing uncontrollably)

Dustin: And this guy is my friend, who is now blind and I have to lead him out.  (His character grabs his friend’s hand).

Me: That’s so sweet.  Look at you guys holding hands, and your little dog to.

Dustin: Yep, we can hold hands in this game.

Love, Katie

Dear Kiki,
The next time you fart in public I will remind you of "the price of gas".  Or just buy you some watermelon. 

My Friday has not started off quite the way I had expected.  I am in a bad mood and not very inclined to be forgiving either so that makes it harder to shake off lifes little inconveniences too. 

I just found this post.  I have no idea why I did not publish this post back in early July when I started it.  So you get it a month late.  I also have no idea what was going on at this point either. 

The Price of Gas

Dear Popo:

First off, why would anyone collect Jason masks? I’m glad you jotted down the license plate.  I’m beginning to think Portland really is turning in to Portlandia, what with the possible public-transport masturbator, the facemask collectors and the stupid f’n fireworks that are still going off all hours of the night in “celebration” of the 4^th of July.

Really quickly, because this is not the topic of my letter, but why do we choose to celebrate our independence by replicating sounds of war?  I bet all those veterans with PTSD hate this time of year, just as much as Eli and I do.  It seems like the 4^th could be better spent, than blowing-up loud, unsafe, pollutants and possibly burning your eyebrows off. 

I actually want to tell you about our night last night.  We finally completed our last Foundations Class and have graduated from the DHS program. Once our homestudy is completed this month, we will be a certified Foster/Adoptive Family.  We had been putting off taking the last class for several months.  In fact, we completed the other 7 way back in April.  But going to the classes was becoming more and more laborious for multiple reasons:

1.) Depending on which instructor you get (there are only two) you either have to wade through a thick Spanish accent, or you have to put-up with long bull-shit ridden stories about children in custody and life experiences.  I actually really like the woman with the accent.  She stays on track, answers questions fully and leaves her personal life out of it.  However, Dustin has trouble understanding her.  I do not like the other woman.  She spends at least five minutes of every class complaining about how she isn’t given enough time to get through all of the material.  But half of her class is just her talking about her experiences, both personal and work related.  We had to sit through her class last night and heard the following stories:

a.) She is so addicted to Dr. Pepper that when she tried to stop drinking cold-turkey, she suffered flu like symptoms and was bedridden for five days.  (Sometimes, my mind has trouble shutting my mouth before I speak. While she was telling the story I actually asked “seriously, how much Dr. Pepper are you drinking?”  Everyone laughed; she didn’t answer.  I take that to mean the story was a bit exaggerated.)

b.) She knew a woman who tried to nap with her 3-year old foster son and fell asleep.  He wasn’t tired, so he escaped the bedroom, escaped the house, walked to the truck, opened the door, climbed in, put the car in reverse, accidently fell out and his head was run over by the front wheel.  He apparently survived, but he is severely brain damaged.  Possible morals of this story: Don’t ever sleep with children in the house, or if you must sleep, restrain the child; or Always keep the car door locked.  (Now, picture this actually happening.  A three-year old boy was able to get out of the house, figure out how to climb into a truck, figure out how to put the car in reverse, then somehow fell out of the car face forward under the wheel?  It seems to me if a child fell out of a moving truck they would have gone out sideways and maybe their feet would have been run over….if this incident actually occurred it’s a one in a million thing and really sharing the story was pointless).

2.) The people who attend these classes range from normal with above-average intelligence (like us) to crazy ex-drug users trying to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Lord.  To me, those people seem to be looking for a way to get what they consider to be ‘easy money.’  Maybe they have felonies and can’t get jobs, so instead they turn to fostering, knowing they’ll get paid.  Last night we ran into our first mentally stunted couple.  We’ve concluded they are mentally challenged, but there is a possibility they could be current drug users.  Their clothes were dirty and it looked like they weren’t 100% into personal hygiene.  It was also unclear to me if they eat regularly because the two of them ate half of a big tub of watermelon all by themselves.  When they heard we were graduating they wanted to talk to us about the process and we chatted with them a little before class.  It turns out they already have an 11-year old biological son, but the other day they were watching KOIN and saw a special on Wednesday’s Child (extra marketing for children available for adoption).  They decided to pursue adoption solely due to the television show.  I actually thought they were cute to begin with, and felt sorry for when thinking about how their adoption worker is going to have to tell them they won’t qualify.  But then, class started and the farts began.  The woman farted so loud I thought she had sharted.  The first one was a little funny and I was embarrassed for her.  But by the 10^th one, I was disgusted.  Then they started to stink.  Dustin leaned over to me at one point and said “I’m fairly certain I’m going to get pink-eye.” (I will never again fart in public; I have learned my lesson.)

3.) Because most people are pursuing Foster and not Adoption, about 70% of the classes we take are specific to fostering.  Once we have a placement you are considered Foster Parents for the first year before the adoption is finalized, so these are things we probably should know.  But it’s easy to check-out when the classes don’t really apply to us.  Some of the information is very informative and interesting. But last night part of the class felt like being a High School Health class, because we were informed on the negative effects of meth in adults.  What that has to do with children…..I’m still not sure.

Love,

Kiki

Car of Death

Dr Kiki,

Today on the drive in to work I happened to notice the car in front of me is an old Crown Victoria.  Now I am sure you have seen these cars.  They are ususally two toned, blue and white, with a gigantic spot light attached to the driver side of the car (you know, just in case) and are typically driven by either (#1) teenage gangsta wanna-bes or (#2) middle-aged men with military hair cuts, large bellies and an over developed sense of justice (watch out Neighborhood Watch).  My general feelings regarding people who drive around in these cars is not very flattering.  But regardless, I found myself driving behind the Crown Vic with subject #2 as the driver and subject #1 as the female passenger (it was like a melding of genres) and as I am admiring the extra large spot light attached to the vehicle and imaging all the fun they must have crusing Rock Butte.  I begin to take note of the 4 (not kidding, four) Friday the 13th like masks that are perched in the back window.  FOUR Jason-isq masks in varying colors of white and beige.  WTH!!??!!
It is at this point where I feel the need to jot down the license plate for future "Have You Seen This Face" possibilites.  As well as change lanes and create some distance between myself and the car of Death. 

Love Popo

PS.
I was proven wrong.  Husband did not get drunk and was able to watch the baby on Wednesday am.  I did let him sleep in until 9am (because I am awesome) as a reward for not getting drunk (see again how awesome I am).

BBQ with Translations

Dr Kiki,
So I had a great letter drafted in my head for you that I couldn't wait to get to work and type up...sadly after getting to work and getting side tracked a few times I can no longer remember what my blog topic was going to be. 

Instead I will post a conversation I just had with my husband:

Husband: "I have been invited to a BBQ tonight, is it okay if I go?"
Me: "Sounds fun.  Who's hosting?"
Husband: " A PSU friend.  They don't have work tomorrow so they want to celebrate The Fourth with an early BBQ.  (translation: They don't have to work tomorrow so they are going to get drunk tonight, I want to get drunk with them.)
Me: "I think it's fine that you go, but please becareful as I would like us to be able to enjoy some of our day off tomorrow together." (translation: I know you are going to get stupid drunk tonight and then sleep the day way tomorrow, please DON'T.)
Husband: "Well, I really want to sleep in tomorrow since I have to get up before 7am every weekday." (translation: I work really hard, have nothing in my life to look forward to and deserve to get drunk and sleep the day way when I have the option.)
Me: "Oh, okay...sure.  I am going to Katies at 9am tomorrow and will take Sydney with me then if you are not available.  We should be done at 2pm. (translation: sigh...do whatever.  I am going to enjoy my day off regardless.)

The End.

Love Popo.

What's That Smell?

Dear Popo:

I'm fairly certain my feet stink, but I want to take off my shoe and smell my foot, just to make sure.  However, I'm afraid my cube-mate will turn around just as I bring my nose close to my foot for the "big whiff." I guess I could always take my shoe off, rub my foot against the carpet a few times, then pretend I'm doing a push-up, but really I'm trying to see if the carpet soaked up any of my foot smell.  I'm afraid that won't be very accurate though.  I dropped a lot of egg on the floor this morning while eating my breakfast bagle, so there's a chance I'll just smell scambled eggs.  Oh, maybe I'll go lock myself in a bathroom stall and smell my feet in private. I'm not 100% sure what I'm going to do if I confirm my feet stink....maybe wash them in the sink?

Love,
Kiki

P.S. Someone just came over and told me not to drink from the drinking fountain because the water is brown.  This week we've also run out of company envelopes and lined yellow note pads, and have had significant internet slowing.  I'm becoming a little concerned, are there any job openings at your employer I might qualify for?

Hey There Glitter Butt

Dear Popo:

Off the top of my head I can think of nine women who are pregnant.  Of the nine, I personally know six; the other four are comprised of a facebook friend and three celebrities.  That's a lot of pregnant women for me to know and/or know of.

I've accepted the fact we won't have our own biological children, and honestly I'm not certain babies and I get along (ask Sydney about our morning together).  But there's something about having the option to reproduce, stolen from you.  One minute you're thinking "we should make a baby!" then you put all of your parts together with all of his parts and suddenly it turns into "why aren't we making a baby?".  Our doctors were no help, particularly when they said "it's not impossible, but it's highly improbable" that you will get pregnant. What the hell does that mean?  I imagine it's not impossible for my butt to turn in to an automatic confetti machine, but it's highly improbable, especially since I don't regularly eat glitter.

I'm excited about adopting and actually more excited about adopting then having to be pregnant for the next nine months.  But there are those moments when I look at Dustin and think "how is it possible that the etheral being who supposedly created us, would not want him to reproduce?"  Can you imagine what America would be able to accomplish with more Dustin's?  We'd be a country full of super curteous, physically fit, financially minded people with organic gardens (but we'd also be slow drivers who are afraid of heights). 

In order to make myself feel better, and the nine women feel worse, I have come up with a list of ten things I can do over the next nine months, that they can't.

1.  Sit through an entire movie without having to use the bathroom three times.
2.  Post a status on facebook that is not about being pregnant, having a baby, having a mood-swing due to hormones, or food cravings.
3.  Sleep next to my husband without worrying my big belly is going to push him out of bed.
4.  Eat cold cuts straight from the fridge.
5.  Drink coffee, lots and lots of coffee, even consider getting a coffee enima.
6.  Get so drunk I fall down the stairs.
7.  Bend over and touch my toes.
8.  Spend money on frivilous items without having to worry whether we'll have enough money for formula.
9.  Continue to support Proctor and Gamble by purchasing Costco sized packages of Always with wings.
10. SEX!!!

Love,
Kiki

Kitchens

Dear Kiki,
Speaking of kitchen duty, B and Keija are the same way as Dustin.  They think that by loading the dishwasher they have cleaned the kitchen.  The counters can still be covered in food and the floor sticky and dirty yet they want a gold star for cleaning.  It is so strange living with other people. 
B thinks nothing of putting his dirty stinky feet on the coffee table or leaving a drink half spilt on a surface but has to wear gloves when changing his daughters diaper and can't bare to eat food with his hands (knives and forks with pizza).

Love, Popo

Micros and Cubes

Dear Kiki,

Holy Shit! 

Work is crazy.  I wish I could clone myself.  It would be so nice to have minons I could rely on to help me get things done.  Instead of control freak micro managers and freakishly retarded people afraid of stepping outside their tiny life cubicle. 

A "cubicle thinking" co-worker decided that she would change our office mailing address to a PO Box downtown.  She just let Linda and I know about this....we were both like, um why?   - WTF!?!.   She explained that once a week she will swing by the post office and pick up the mail sort out the bills and bring us the rest.  What you have to understand is that out of the box of mail that we recieve every day only about 5 pieces of it is actually for her.  Seriously short sited.  This of course was okay by our office manager and financial manager - this sound planning is part of why we are now being accquired by The Portland Clinic. 

Love,
Popo


DAMN IT! I just realized that my quarterly shipment of wine will now be headed downtown. 

33 going on 15 *in my pants*

Dear Kiki,
Today I am annoyed. 
I realize this is not really a new thing.  Annoyance and I have a back and forth relationship on any normal day, however today is special.  I am annoyed because I am having a hard time interacting with some of my new co-workers.  This difficult interaction is due to the 'Hotness Factor'.  I know you and I have a varying defintions of hot.  Lets just say that one of these guys is Katie hot and the other is Heather hot but they both are still good looking.  Normally I do not have any trouble interacting with guys...in fact I LOVE working with guys; relaxed attmosphere, goofy syfi comments, sexual discussions about random people.  But I have realized an important fact of my exsistance - I am still immature around guys I find attractive.  Sigh. 
I am at war with myself constantly.  One moment I am a calm, married, 33rd old mother of 1 asking a perfectly resonable question and having a normal conversation and then the next I am a fast talking, loud laughing 15year old with raging horomones trying to draw attention to how cool I am.  Ugh. 


Love,  Popo

P.S. Eye contact is really difficult to manage as well (I completely understand your sideways bus seat issue). 

What's That In Your Hair?

Dear Popo,

I had what I would classify as a traumatic experience on the bus this morning.  They recently moved our bus stop farther from the house so they can start working on the new MAX line.  The new bus stop is probably only two blocks from the old one, but for some reason it feels like it’s an additional mile.  I can’t bring myself to walk the additional mile every morning, so I’ve started driving to the park-and-ride a few minutes from the house.  This has been a good compromise with Dustin, because my other option would be driving in to work, and parking costs $10.  The good thing about driving to the park-and-ride is that I’m almost guaranteed a seat, and don’t have to stand in the aisle.

I get car (bus) sick these days, much more than I used to.  I find that if I get a seat facing towards the front of the bus I do just fine.  But if I get stuck with one of those sideways seats (the ones where you try to avoid staring at the person across from you, but ultimately make eye contact multiple times which makes you feel obligated to smile and or start-up a conversation) I start getting sick after just a few stops.  Today was one of those mornings when I got stuck in a sideways seat.  The guy across from me was fairly attractive, though about 10 years older and I felt awkward looking at him.  Attractive men always make me feel awkward – I remember the time at Safeway where I was chatting with the check-out guy (he started it) and after a few minutes of conversation he abruptly said “I’m married!”  I realized I’d forgotten to wear my wedding ring and apparently he felt that casual conversation with a woman equated to “she wants to bone me, right here in the dairy section of the supermarket.”  Ever since then, I have trouble with attractive guys and I want to blurt out “I’m married this is ONLY a conversation “anytime I see one.  Or maybe I should have a t-shirt made...

Anyway, partially because I was beginning to get nauseated and partially because I was feeling awkward occasionally catching the eye of the guy seated across from me, once a forward-facing seat opened up in the back, I darted for it.  I didn’t realize, until after I sat down, that the guy who had vacated the seat had moved to a different one towards the front of the bus.  At first, this wasn’t a red flag because sometimes people need to talk to the driver if they aren’t sure what stop to get off at.  But then, I started hearing it…this weird sound, like when you rub your hands together quickly.  But maybe you aren’t rubbing two hands together, maybe you’re rubbing one hand against another something that sounds like it’s also covered in a skin-type material.  The rubbing seemed to quicken after a few moments, the tempo slowly increasing every few seconds.  I knew there was a man sitting behind me – and I couldn’t fathom what he could be doing that would make that kind of sound, except for one thing. 

There was no way I was going to turn around, but suddenly I was thinking that maybe the other guy had moved to the front of the bus because he was aware something fishy was going on behind him.  You know when you see a spider and even though you know it’s not walking on you, you start feeling like you’re covered in spiders?  I knew, if the guy behind me was doing what I thought he was doing, he was far enough away from me that it wouldn’t impact me in any way  when he got to his stopping point.  However, I started picturing that scene from Something About Mary and became concerned that maybe, just maybe, I might have a big glob of something on my coat or in my hair by the time I got off the bus.  And what if I did, how do you handle that situation? “Excuse me sir, I spent the time to wash, dry and style my hair this morning and I don’t appreciate what you have now deposited on me.  Do you happen to have a handkerchief?”  The rubbing sound stopped just before we crossed the bridge into downtown and then I heard the sound of a paper bag crinkling.  I’ve been too scared to reach up and touch the back of my head since the incident, but since it’s nearly noon and no one has pulled me aside to point-out a glob of ejaculate in my hair, I think whatever was deposited probably went into the paper bag.

This is why I hate riding public transportation.  It is possible the fellow was doing something totally innocent, maybe trying to iron his pants with his hands because he didn’t have time to use his dryer this morning, like the rest of us lazy people.  The problem is, I’ve had so many crazy public transportation interactions (the guy that pulled the knife on me on the Broadway bus and the homeless guy who told me I had pretty teeth, then smiled to show that he had absolutely no teeth) that my mind immediately goes to something horrific.

The good news is that I was super tired this morning because I didn’t sleep well last night.  But I found the incident on the bus was better than two shots of espresso (graphic pun not intended) and I am wide now wide awake.

Love,

Kiki

Underwear and Perry Mason

Dear Popo:

It’s been a boring Monday, the status-quo for my day off.  I worked out (agility and endurance today at boot camp, sounds a little like a doggy training course).  I then cleaned the house, which had not been done for weeks.  Dustin and I had been playing the passive-aggressive game of “I cleaned the kitchen last time” and I lost.  Honestly though, I’m fairly certain he did clean the kitchen last time.  I was just hoping my laziness would win out over his stubbornness.  I do want to note, though he does the dishes more often than me, he rarely actually “cleans” the kitchen.

Remember how Dad used to make us do our chores (mine was always cleaning the kitchen) every Saturday morning before noon?  According to Dad cleaning the kitchen wasn’t just putting the dishes in the dishwasher.  Remember we had the whole list of things that had to be done, including moving and cleaning under the fridge and stove at least once a month?  That is what I consider cleaning (thanks Dad) and so when I clean the kitchen I actually use bleach and counter cleaners.  A few months ago I moved all of the cleaning supplies out from under the kitchen sink (one of the requirements for our home study) and I don’t think Dustin has noticed yet.  Dustin is a fantastic husband and great at 98% of the things he does, but deep cleaning isn’t one of those.

I’m also doing laundry today.  I bought some new underwear at Aerie last week and I have this fear that if I wear them without cleaning them first I’ll get crabs or a flesh eating bacteria.  I figured since I have to clean my new undies, I might as well do the other laundry piling up in the bathroom too.  I need to stop going to Aerie though.  I have so many pairs of underwear now I am running out of space in my small underwear drawer.  I actually spent some time on Craigslist this afternoon searching for a small dresser to put in our closet.  But, I got bored and decided to create this blog instead.

I’ve been watching old television shows today (between the cleaning sprees).  Hawaii Five-0 and Perry Mason were on earlier.  It made me think of Ma and her nightgown, sitting in front of the television drinking her tea and eating fresh ginger bread.  I kind of yearn for those afternoons.  I think if I’d realized how stressful and monotonous adulthood was going to be, I wouldn’t have raced so fast to get here.

Love,

Kiki