Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Title Schmitle

Can I not act my age for just a minute?  Maybe more like 13?

Because this is like, totally the WORST WEEK EVER.

Not just because my teenagers are at Girls' Camp WITHOUT ME.  Rude.

Not just because I snuck up to Girls' Camp with a baby yesterday evening to deliver a late camper and some forgotten supplies and, like, got totally caught sneaking around the back of the silent, silent fireside to hug my teenager.  And they were all like, "What are you doing?  The Stake is watching!"  And I was all whispering, "Dude, I know, I'm gonna go."  And then the baby was all, "BURP."

Not just because (and this is for the two people I haven't whined to about this yet) my baby is extremely sensitive to dairy AND eggs AND wheat, AND I'm on an antibiotic that must be taken FOUR times a day on an empty stomach and I'M HUNGRY.  Like, whatever!  (As my sister tells me, it would appear that karma is calling me FAT.)

Not even just because I'm finally writing a hasty post for the first time in months and why the heck is blogger making me chase my cursor thingy all over the page?

It's mostly just because J-dub is moving away forever this weekend and I'm soooooo sad.

SO NOT FAIR.  (I just stomped my foot.)

Dear Arizona:  You totally stink.  Thanks for stealing one of my favorite people.

(My lower lip is now quivering, and I'm about to flounce into my room and throw myself face down on my bed.)

Except now the baby is waking up and I have to be a grownup again.

(Seriously, WHERE did the cursor go??)