Despite every promise to spend time every day blogging, or at least every other day even for 5 minutes fall by the wayside. Busy with work, busy with home, most spare minutes I want to spend zoning out. As I strive to have the great career, the martha stewart house, and the happy, well adjusted family I find myself covered in hole punches and disfigured staples, exhausted, starving and going home to a house that looks like its been ransacked by monkeys.
The Norman Rockwell Christmas that I've dreamed about giving my son devolves into letting him watch yo gabba gabba so I throw together some chocolate chip cookies, which I don't even let him eat because I'm trying to hold him off on chocolate until his two. He had a different idea and reached up and grabbed one from the cooling rack. It's amazing how much that boy can shove in his mouth, especially when it's something he's not supposed to have like a cookie, or a penny, or a leaf.
In my fantasy world everythinging isn't sticky, the dining room table is cleared, the smell of cinnamon replacing that uriney smell that seems to linger (due to strange rash of midnight diaper leaks this past week). My desk at week is in an actually office that is climate controlled and has door I can shut so I don't have to smell anyone else's lunch/BO combo.
A girl can dream can't she?
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