Rockstar

It is 3:40 pm. I’m out of my work clothes, into my yoga pants and drinking my first glass of wine. Don’t judge. It’s been a rough week. Here are the highlights:

– Broken oil burner. No hot water. Luckily I know a guy, so this one could’ve been worse.

– Progress reports come home. At least one kid is an asshole. Others are questionable.

– Parent teacher conferences. This is different from any other evening because I have to continue working late into the evening WITHOUT wine and yoga pants.

– Mom wants me to pay her back the money I owe her. (I know you’re reading this… I’m working on it, Ma.)

– My kid showered without prompting… because the other kids told him he stinks. I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed that I have the smelly kid, or relieved that someone finally got through to him.

– The underwire broke on my favorite bra. Only the ladies will understand the enormity of this.

– Hubs’ truck has no brakes, no air conditioning, no tread on the tires, no power steering, and basically no value. Time to finance a new truck we can’t afford.

– Halloween is four days away. Children have planned costumes that require wigs. Need I say more?

– The kids were told to clean their room. They rearranged instead (I am blaming Nana for this gene). For three days, it’s been a disaster area in there. Last night, their dad threatened to give away all the pets if it’s not cleaned by the time he gets home. Tears have given way to frantic cleaning, and I’m hopeful….

– I tore my last contact lens and I’ve been in glasses for two days. I trip every time I walk down stairs.

 

I realize we’re not dealing with any sort of tragedy here.   But I’m going to gripe and sip chardonnay for a little while. Then I’m going to meet up with my friends for pot luck and movie night. And wine. Duh.