Note to Self #1:
The next time you think of trying on your pre-preggers jeans to see if you’ve made any progress (because while you have not lost ONE SINGLE POUND, they ARE getting looser) you might want to check the calendar and make sure it’s not the day before your period.
It will save you vast amounts of frustration and perhaps a little brain damage via headbanging, as well, and NOT the recreational “I heart Metallica” kind either, but more of the “WHY THE EVER LOVING HELL CAN I NOT LOSE ONE MOTHERFARKING POUND? while your forehead bleeds profusely” kind.
You’ll get a pass this time because the ruiner-of-all-underwear and bringer-of-many zits DID come a few days early but please, pay attention next month.
And lucky you, this year you won’t have your period at BlogHer and have to hit up the maids for some super plus tampons from their private stash because you didn’t want to leave a quarter mile trail of blood to and from those crazy ass vending machines where you could buy cell phones and ENTIRE BAGS of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies.
Now thank the baby Jesus one more time for nice maids with heavy periods.
Note to Self #2:
The next time you’re goofing off on your computer when you should be doing something educational or horizon-broadening with your toddler, look at him very closely when he climbs up on your desk for the seventh time in 15 minutes.
Had you done that today, you might have noticed that he had removed his diaper (because you were too lazy to put shorts on him after changing him) and you might have been better prepared for him to pee ALL OVER YOUR DESK, mouse, mouspad, camera USB cable and God knows what else.
And right after you finished cleaning the first massive pee tsunami, it was really awesome the way you caught shower number two with a Guinness glass full of ice. Pee. On the rocks!
But the point is that even though you caught it the second time, you should have been diapering him instead of skimming yet another forwarded email extolling the virtues of George Bush from you know who. She knows you’re not a fan but she still sends them which is really just obnoxious and maybe even a little passive-aggressive?
Next time just hit delete because it’s only going to be more of the same anyway and put a damn diaper on your son instead.
Note to Self #3:
The next time you think it might be fun and kind of a special treat to take the kids out solo to eat dinner (because you’re still mad at your huz from this morning) and decide Pizza Hut will be a good kid-friendly choice, stop thinking that thought immediately because it will NOT be a good choice.
Sure, it was nearly empty in Pizza Hut but they have one of those stupid ass crane machines where it costs $100 in quarters to win one crappy stuffed animal that was probably made in some Chinese sweat shop by a four year old and is probably filled with lead shavings and little balls of mercury instead of little white balls of polystyrene and of course, it’s like a ginormous and totally irresistible magnet to both of your kids.
So while you stand around watching them molest this machine in every conceivable way and listen to a medley of eighties gems by New Order, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and OMD while waiting for your food, you spy a girl playing air guitar to a song that clearly and rather curiously has no guitars in it and it occurs to you that for one brief moment this feels like a G-rated David Lynch film and you halfway believe that at any moment a midget in a pink tutu sporting a ZZ-Top-like beard will come rollerskating out with your food.
Then you snap out of it because your son, age 25 months and way cuter than a speckled pup, decides he’d rather go behind the counter of Pizza Hut and then kicks it up one more notch and runs into the little alcove where the drive through window is. And then he’s laying on the floor laughing at you. And then he decides to run from you into the bathroom except he can’t open the door.
On and on the circus continues and suddenly, being at home with your husband doesn’t seem so bad and you might even accept his previously offered apology after all. You tell the nice lady your order is now “TO GO!!!” and she nods in total appreciation of this capitol idea!
The point? Eating out with the kids during the witching hour (5-8pm), even at Pizza Hut, is a bad, bad idea.
NEVER, EVER have that idea again.
All you have to do is leave a comment telling us which one you want if you’re the winner. It’s a total no-brainer and even if you don’t have kids, they make a great gift!