My daughter colored today at her Parent's Day Out program... and I got a paper cut. I was carrying her, and she decided she was getting DOWN, and while I was juggling her, it swiped across my wrist, and now it looks like I tried to off myself.
This thing stings too. All freaking day, and probably tomorrow, too. It keeps rubbing against the new bracelet I got for Valentine's Day (THANK YOU, BABY!!!) but I don't want to take the thing off, so with my luck, it'll get infected and somehow I'll end us with a tetanus shot, I'm sure. Leprosy, if I'm really unlucky. And I don't even have any cool pink camouflage bandaids in the house.
If any of you question that line of thought with the leprosy, you might want to check the blog title again, because nowhere does it say, "Memoirs of Someone Who's Got Their S**t Together," or "Memoirs of a Girl With Her Head on Really Straight." Nope. Afraid not. Mostly I started my blog as a place to let my crazy out, without scaring the living bejeezus out of my neighbors. It's also a nice buffer zone for my friends who can't quite handle ALL the crazy.
I'm also really exhausted today, and I'm pretty sure blogging about how proud I am of doing the folding I should have done over two weeks ago could be construed as, well, SAD. But it's true. I did finally get it done. Three days short of three weeks to get it done, too.
However, I did throw out four or five months worth of old coupons and filed away all of our bills from last year, so I feel pretty productive today. Since Cutezilla was at her daycare program, I didn't want to waste it all at the gym, so... I had myself a little party. Just me and the laundry. I cranked up the music, and spent over two hours hopping around like an idiot in the living room, howling my heart out to Sir Mix-A-Lot, The Monkees, The Bangles, Santana, Chubby Checker, Godsmack, Harry Belafonte, and Gwen Stefani, among others. Yeah, it's an odd mix.
It was wonderful! I hate to say this, because I spent last week feeling like the worst mother ever, and this does nothing to help that out... but... if one day a week feels like a vacation, then kindergarten must be like EDEN. Seriously for the last few days, my beautiful little daughter and I have done nothing but scream and argue with each other. Some feat, considering her vocabulary is a handful of spoken words, and some sign language and hand gestures she's put together herself. I feel terrible, though, not enjoying every minute of this short time when she's small and adorable and learning so fast. But today, aside from letting me know exactly how much she hates being confined in the car seat, we had a pretty enjoyable day, for which I am immensely grateful.
But back to where we started: so if her art projects are dangerous now, with just paper and a crayon, what happens when she gets to use actual tools, like scissors, a hole puncher, or God forbid, a hot glue gun. I just hope the house survives.