So, I had a great post all ready for this past Wednesday. I was going to try to write something every other day this week. Frankly, I don't know how you guys who write everyday do it. My house looks like the Tazmanian Devil spun through every room as it is. I should never be blogging. But, I am addicted, so there goes the house.
Anyway, I had a great post all ready for Wednesday about how certain types of people seem to be supernaturally fertile and how the Fertility Gods like to just throw babies at these people. It was complete with pictures of the Duggars and Cousin Eddie from the National Lampoon's Vacation movies and everything. But, my husband thought it was in poor taste and could be construed as offensive, and seeing how I am crazed and delirious from menstrual hormones and disappointed, once again, by something I peed on, I thought perhaps he might be right.
So, instead, I will talk about this. Health insurance. Now, isn't this more interesting?
No, it's not, but it is politically correct.
Health insurance. What a racket.
Okay, that's it.
I promised myself I wasn't going to think about any of my problems today or tomorrow or Sunday. No thinking time given to money woes, or medical bills woes, or we're-getting-screwed-out-of-our-life-savings-in-order-to-afford-health-insurance woes, or endometriosis and baby-makin' woes. It's a no woe weekend. Starting............................................................NOW!
Let's talk about Star Wars again. Goody, goody, gumdrops!
So, my 3-yr old nephew came over again yesterday and the first thing he said was, "I wanna watch Star Wars." I was so proud.
Until the only part he wanted to watch was the scene he calls the "dirty trash water part", where Luke, Han and Leia are trapped in a giant trash compactor. He wanted to see it over and over and over again. I even tried to distract him with the Ewoks in Return of the Jedi (what kid doesn't love Ewoks?), but he wasn't impressed. "Where is the dirty trash water part? I want to see the dirty trash water part!" Damn dirty trash water.
Then, at lunchtime, my son threw up the chicken nugget he was eating along with everything he had for breakfast because he was throwing a tantrum in his highchair. He wanted the apples and peanut butter my nephew was eating, even though my son doesn't like peanut butter and he is much too young for apples. I eventually had to separate them and feed my son in the kitchen and my nephew in the living room so I could get my son to eat something.
I spent their naptimes on the phone with health insurance companies (oh crap, there I go again) and by the time my husband came home from work, the house looked like I had that dang Tazmanian Devil over for coffee again. Stupid Tazmanian Devil.
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