A Week's Worth of Random

I have been away for awhile because my mother-in-law fell and hurt her knee at work, so the kids and I moved in with her until my father-in-law got back into town. You'd think this would provide a couple thousand excellent blog posts, but sadly, I had access to only a laptop, and I can't type on those, which means no blogging about the last week.

The kids are going to stay with my other-mother-in-law this weekend, so I'm going to be doing some serious partying in the form of studying and cleaning the house and washing all the clothes and bathing the dog.

Here's another thing: Did you know they got rid of the extra space between sentences? When I was learning to type as a kid, there were TWO spaces between sentences. Now, all of a sudden, with no warning, someone decided there should only be one space. Right before I have to take a bunch of typing tests that require only one space. Who did this and what is the meaning of it? I don't think it's right to just arbitrarily change something so fundamental as the two spaces. That's like saying we should all start inhaling twice before we get to exhale. Or we all need to start looking behind us before we reverse the car, right? Ridiculous.

In other news, I have found a job. I found it, but I don't have it yet. The main requirements are smiling and the ability to run a cash register. I can do both of those things as long as I have coffee and nobody tells me what to do. That is what I plan to tell them at the interview, so I'm pretty sure I can land it, no problem.

I took two weeks off from homework and received a note from Huston's teacher about a report he didn't turn in. I should say, I allowed the kids to take off from homework, because they've had a rough week and I just couldn't fight them over it anymore. I warned Huston that he was going to get an "F" on his report, and he chose to flub it and take the grade. The note informed me of this fact. At the end, his teacher apologized for the "bad news". I wanted to move into her house as soon as I read it.

If there is a world where a third grader's F on a book report can be big enough of a deal to be labeled "bad news", I want to go to there. Please, take me there. Because in my house, "Daddy's in a coma" is bad news; "Grandma needs us to move in for a week" is bad news; even "Donovan has screamed for three days straight" is bad news. "The child who can nearly out read his mother got the first bad grade of his life because he was bored with the assignment" is akin to "Emma went outside barefoot and stepped on a sticker". It's not bad news, it's just sh*t that happens, yo. Here's how long I care about a bad grade he got because of laziness: As long as it takes for the report card to go from my hand into the trash can.

Not to say that it's ok for him to be lazy or disobedient with his schoolwork. He was punished for that part of it. I only mean that I just can't bring myself to work up a real good upset over it, because in the grand scheme of things, that book report isn't going to matter a bit. My sincere hope is that I can get to a point where I can worry about book reports and where my keys are and if my cell phone is charged and if someone is going to break into my car and who stepped on a sticker and who made their bed and where the dog went, because oh! what a beautiful world that would be.

Until then, I am going to try to convince Donovan that the people in Japan have it worse than he does this week, and maybe even convince myself that my bad news still pales in comparison to someone else's.

My Hair is Still Stupid

Tomorrow is Party Day, and yes, I'll admit it, there is a bus involved. A bus full of awesomeness and fun. There will be friends and music and silliness and tequila, which is my favorite kind of fun.

My kids lucked out when their aunt married a guy who is willing to babysit them, along with staying home with his own four while I steal my sister to go party. The kids get to ride in the bus to my sister's house, so they think they are in for Big Partying, too. They only want to be sure they will be served snacks and get to play with the radio. It's So On.

One serious problem with this is that my hair still looks insane. I mean, seriously...I look like I should be...I don't know...sitting on the sidewalk selling crayon drawings or something. And I have school all day tomorrow, which leaves me no time to find anyone to fix the cut. So I'm hoping I don't get kicked off the Bus of Awesomeness or dropped off at a psych unit or beat up by the cool kids or whatever. Or maybe I'll do the unthinkable and skip class to get it fixed...I just don't know.

I'm very glad I don't care about looks, because for the most part, I walk around all day forgetting how stupid my hair is. But every once in awhile, I pass a mirror and I'm all "Oh yeah, that's some seriously bad hair. That sucks."

Or maybe I'll just slick it all sideways and go emo with some pajama pants and a black coat, because I'm totally not too old for that.

Or maybe I'll wear the combination of things the kids have made for me over the years, and people will just assume I let them cut my hair as well as make my clothes and jewelry.

Or maybe the Bus of Awesomeness is a time machine that will take us back to the 80's when I'll be the cool one and all the other people will have stupid hair.

But this is my last post about hair. I promise.

Where Did Y'all Put Greg?

Yesterday I had an hour to kill, and I've been meaning to get my hair cut, so I thought I would just knock that out real quick.

I go to one of those cheapy places because I don't really care and also because there is a guy named Greg who works there and I can say "I don't care, make it cute and easy" and he does. Only Greg was gone. This should have been my warning, but I had already unloaded the kids, so I was committed.

I also should have known better when the lady before me left with the worst haircut in the world, but I was too busy thinking "Who would get their hair done like that? She's an idiot!"

Then, the hair lady was obviously mad that I brought six kids in, even after I told her we were only there for one cut. They bugged her through the whole thing, and I should have left then, but I didn't realize she was out for revenge.

I wear glasses, and without them, I am blind. The problem with this and haircuts is that when they take your glasses to cut your hair, you can't see what they're doing to you.

I said "I want you to leave the length and add some layers, that's it." She said "OK". She lied.

She did leave the length, but only in the back, so I have a mullet. On the left side, I have a normal short haircut with a few cute layers. On the right side, I have bangs that are longer than the rest of my hair, and right behind those is a giant clump of frizz, and right behind that is a bald spot.

I look like a guy from the 80's who cuts his own hair with a chainsaw. I tried wearing a hat, but that just makes the mullet stand out even more. I asked her to put some stuff in it just so the cut wouldn't show until I could get home and look at it, so she did, and then she ratted it up and slicked the front part straight back over the tangles. So I left looking like one of The Outsiders with a really tall head.

It's bad, yo. I'm going to have to fix it, but I'm not going to have any hair left, especially after they even out that bald spot.

Moral: Don't take my kids with me anymore, leave the glasses on, and FIND GREG.