On Monday, I have a dilemma. I am on a strict diet, but I have a coupon for a free Cinnabon. I call rail-thin mama and tell her.
“Should I throw it out, or do you want it?” I ask her.
“What?” she says. “I am upset. How can you think of throwing out food. People starve to death in Leningrad during war because no Cinnabon. And you want to throw out free food because you are too fat? Give it to someone thin.”
“Yes, that’s why I called you,” I tell her, ruing the day I got rid of my No Good Deed Ever Goes Unpunished cross-stitch. “Do you want it?”
“Of course I want it. Do not offer it to anyone else.”

On Tuesday, I get a call from my 11 year old daughter. She has a headache and wants to come home.
I’m in complete agreement with her, except I think that instead of going home, she should take Tylenol and stay in school.
“How are you feeling?” I text her later.
“Better but chorus is tiring and I want to come home right at 3,” she tells me.
I call mama to see if she can pick up my daughter. Mama just left Cinnabon where her coupon was refused! Now Mama thinks that I gave her a counterfeit coupon, because apparently I have so much free time that I traffic in stolen breakfast pastries that are not part of the Weight Watchers regimen. Mama is happy to pick her up!
When I call after the scheduled pick up, I learn that mama and my daughter are having pizza together and that the headache is all gone.
“It’s like a miracle,” I tell my daughter.
“I know, right?” she agrees.

On Wednesday, I implement a new zero-tolerance policy with Young Ladrinka.
“I don’t want to hear any complaining,” I let him know. “And no talking back, either.” I have a few dozen more rules, but I decide to dole them out over time.
The time comes for Young Ladrinka to unload the dishwasher, which is his least favorite chore, except for the other chores that he hates just as much.
“Why do I have to do this?!” he says, nominally to himself, as he takes each utensil out. “This is so boring.”
“No whining,” I remind him.
“I’m not whining,” he defends himself. “I’m just talking.”
“Sounds like whining to me,” I say.
“To you, it’s whining, to me, it’s talking.”

On Thursday, papa picks up the kids from school, because I have an event at the school. I see him there and come over to say hi. Oh, what’s this? Papa looks…hmm. New haircut? No. A new tie? No, not that, either. Oh, I know what it is! Papa is wearing my PINK CROCS.
“Why are you wearing women’s shoes?” I ask him, keeping a safe distance in case the pink crocs thing is a sign of worse things to come.
“Because I like the color,” he tells me.

These are my legs in the Crocs. I didn't want you to think that Papa had Heidi Klum gams.

On Friday, I confront Husbandrinka. “You know, I’ve been serving my country honorably all week,” I tell him. “You could express more of an interest.”
“You’re on jury duty, not in the Marines,” he tells me.
“Still, you could pretend to care.”
“I asked you what the case was about and you said that the judge told you not to discuss it with anyone.”
“That’s right.”
“So I stopped asking.”
“Because you don’t really care.”
“You’re not wrong.”

Cinnabon, rescue me!

Normally I wouldn’t post so soon after my last post, but I am leaving for the weekend to an internet-unfriendly place, and Blogger has been unfriendly about posting my scheduled posts. I assume it’s because Blogger is in deep mourning about Michael Jackson and Farrah, but who knows, could be latent anti-semitism.

So here I am.

This week has been amazing. Two of my bloggy friends had babies and I actually teared up reading about it. Check out their beautiful babies here and here. Congratulations! And thank you for letting me part of the journey/a beloved aunt.

Three posts made me laugh and laugh and laugh. Sometimes a post just hits the spot and they did for me. Last but not least, see who The Mouthy Housewives awarded our Seal of Approval to this week. It’s a must-read.

On the sentimental front, this reminded me of my own father and this was one of the sweetest things I’d read in a while.

So have a great weekend!

I’ll be back next week with The Story of My Header, How Michael Jackson’s Death is Tearing My Family Apart, Remedial Blog School and more! Vicki suggested that I blog about placenta eating, but I as I keep telling people, this isn’t a food blog. Maybe Southern Fairy Tale can take this on?