So, La, Te, Do
Every now and then I like to take stock in my life, see where I am, where I am going, ect. Then evaluate and the adjust my settings. When I do this I like to write about it. I’m a girl who likes having a record. This however, is not one of those post.
In fact, while my body is tired, my mind is in a silly place. Phil is watching some classic Van Dam movie. The boys are in bed, either sleeping or to scared to face the wrath of mommy. Haylie is getting herself ready for 4th grade field day tomorrow. And while I do have a million things I’d like to do. A million jobs -both mental and physical- that need to be done. I’m sitting here, kicked back on the couch, feet propped, and writing to whomever is willing to read this. Especially since I have no intention of going back to read to see if I have thought faster than I can type. Leaving words out, missing things, and making it difficult to read. Tonight there will be no editing. Because I’m lazy, silly and careless tonight.
I just want to do something so I don’t fall asleep at a quarter til 9, because I’m old, but I’m not that old. Not yet. Summer is a week away and I’ve been so busy prepping for the six kids that will be here during the day, that I’ve somehow not really planned my son’s 4th birthday. He wants a race car cake and I have to figure that out. El, pronto. It’ll be a small crowd, but it will be fine, because well quite frankly, he’s a small guy, he doesn’t need a huge thing, just his close family.
Haylie is days away from finishing fourth grade. I HATE IT! One of my status was all about how she was finishing first grade, I miss those days, she was so sweet. Now, she’s sassy. Carries her emotions on her sleeve. Has an attitude as big as the grand canyon. I can’t believe my sweet little trouble maker has grown into a sassy trouble maker going into the fifth grade.
The boys are good. Growing. Changing. Fighting. Not listening. Being boys. Right now Randy has the underneath of his eye all torn up because Lucas scratched him because he was touching his toy. That is my life, breaking up toddler fights, because they fight a lot.
I won’t write about Phil. Because he is the same as always. He works. He reads. He sleeps. He works again. Occasionally he’ll take a day off work and go fishing. That is it.
My head is starting to hurt. My eye is watering. My silliness is fading, so much so that it hasn’t even woven its way into this blog post. I think I’m going to end this here, and go take a hot shower and then read in bed, until my 30-year-old body passes out, because it thinks it’s a 40 something instead of the youth of my spirit.
and with that
that is all.