sa-batty-cal

Today I was just a typical mommy - running errands. While I was in the bank filling out my deposit slip, my darling angel ran around the lobby, through the maze you have to go through to get to a teller window, and went through all the suckers until he found a red one. He took a few licks off a sucker and then started to search for a place to stick the sticky mess, with a helpful teller shadowing him to make sure it ended up in the garbage. After the bank, it was to home where I made us lunch and he went down for his afternoon nap!

Only this wasn't a toddler, it was my husband.

The P is on sabbatical. I'm not really sure what that word means, but I think it might be Latin or something for "annoy your wife."

I am literally wolfing down an entire Godiva chocolate bar as I write this. Stressed much? He's always been like a tasmanian devil the way he tornadoes through the house and leaves piles here and piles there. Now it's even worse. There are books everywhere, and trust me they are books no one wants to read.

And he's so helpful.

Maybe a little too helpful. It was nice to have his company on this beautiful errand running day, but he feels the need to (when he hasn't lost all patience and turned into an unruly toddler at the bank) give me helpful hints on how I can be much more efficient on everything I do. In fact, he was just standing over my shoulder as I write this giving my helpful hints on this post. He didn't want me to include the part on orange juice (below). He said that doesn't mean he didn't say it, but for some reason he thought the post was better without that tidbit.

Maybe I need to stick a how-to-listen-to-your-wife book in one of these piles or perhaps download one to his Kindle. Hmmmm.

Anyway, while I have spent the last five years trying to find as many ways as I can to make things take as long as possible (there's a lot of hours in the day) he thinks I should be faster and more efficient, so I'll have more time to do what, I'm not sure.

Then there's the issue of the household budget.

The P's got these elaborate schemes to fly here and there. While I appreciate the lovely trips, I also like the idea of having luxurious items in my fridge, like I don't know, orange juice. Yes, not only am I a very bad girl for my daily Starbucks, I'm also completely decadent for having luxurious oj in the fridge. I will admit I like the fancy kind where someone has taken care of getting rid of all the pulp for me. I don't like pulp.

On the plus side, I never thought I'd be so happy to go to the gym. My safe place. My girl's only gym where I can go "work out" for hours.

I may seem a teeny bit cranky. I'm not, it's just that I didn't have my coffee - and juice - this morning.