Some days are easy, and you throw your old crap on your front lawn and you make $900.
And then, some days, EVERYONE'S toothbrush ends up in the toilet before 9 a.m., and because you don't function well in the morning, your husband throws them in the dishwasher before you have the presence to toss them in the trash can. These sorts of days continue with your 6-year-old (and most outgoing and social child) throwing a 40-minute crying fit over attending one of his friend's birthday parties, and then having to leave because you realize you have LOST this fight. I am trying REALLY hard not to take Little J's decision to leave that party personally; mostly because I know him, and in that context, this was a really poor and fearfully made choice. How do you teach kids your kids the difference between fearing terrorism and a sports-themed birthday party with cake? It just all seems so immature and ridiculous.
Now that's the crux of parenting, right there.
And then we had a weenie roast (using skewers I bought at Target for $1, 3-4 years ago...for the first time. BOOM, hoarders WIN). This was before Mike threw a piece of wood that was *obviously* treated in some sort of chemical, on the fire--and I'm pretty sure that our entire suburb smelled like burning plastic for 2-3 hours.
And now. This day is gonna end with TWO episodes of Friday Night Lights, because I am obsessed with Tim Riggins. Welcome to the new week, friends.
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