There are signs that our van is getting old.  Really old.  The paint is peeling off the outside.  The upholstery is peeling off the inside.  In a crate next to the driver’s seat, I carry essential supplies - motor oil, water for the radiator, and my cassette tapes from college.  Ok, so the cassette tapes aren’t essential, but I think it’s significant that the van is the only place where I can listen to them anymore.  When the little electronic key fob thingy disintegrated, I said to my husband, “Ok, I have read the signs, and the signs say it’s time for a new car.”  He thought about it for a minute, and then said, “Nope, it’s time for a new key fob.”

Postscript:  Shortly after I wrote this, the van’s radiator exploded.  Now that’s a sign!

You know it’s been a long day when the question “Will that be credit or debit?” is too difficult to answer.

I think government agencies interested in lowering the reproductive rate may be secretly involved in the bath decor industry.  Think about it.  Why is it toothbrush holders are made with space for 4, and only 4, toothbrushes?  That’s enough for you, your spouse/significant other, and two children.  What about larger families?  Does the bath decor business have no concern for us?  Are we not a viable marketing target?  Do they just assume that with more than 2 kids, we don’t care if we have coordinated bath accessories? 

My theory:  it could be part of a plan to induce population control. 

If procrastination pays off now, then what am I waiting for?

My darling daughter has some mannerisms that are, well, annoying.  These mannerisms had to come from somewhere, but I couldn’t figure out where until I finally realized that my mother does those same things.  I remarked to my husband that it was amazing to me how the child could pick things up from a grandmother who lives 2,000 miles away and visits once a year.  He just looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said nothing.  About ten minutes later it dawned on me that there’s a link between my mother and my daughter. 

Just the other day, I was thinking……..but I put a stop to that real quick.

My parents and grandparents were heavily influenced by the Great Depression.  I’ve always thought that while I appreciated their teaching me to be careful (also known as parsimonious or just plain cheap), I was grateful to have escaped the more extreme manifestations of care that they showed, such as slicing the mold from bread to make a sandwich, or saving 30 years worth of twist ties.  Then today I had to change the word “wasn’t” to “wouldn’t” on the computer, and I found myself carefully maneuvering the cursor to take out just the ‘-as-‘ in “wasn’t” because the other letters could all be used for “wouldn’t”.  What’s really scary about this is that I probably do it all the time without noticing, but today I mis-moused, taking out the ‘w’ by accident, and was genuinely distressed to have wasted a perfectly good letter .

After several days of waiting to see if my spouse or children would take care of things, I finally gave up and removed the following from my front porch:  a bicycle innertube, three Girl Scout bead swaps, a 32 oz. cup of something blue, an empty dish soap bottle, and one dirty sock.  I was going to work up something really hilarious about that assortment of items, but I think it pretty much speaks for itself. 

Ok, I love my mother, but I don’t want to BE my mother.  I mean, she’s great, but she’s not really all that cool.  I was musing on this the other day, when I realized with horror that no matter how cool I think I am, my daughters will feel exactly the same way about me. 

I live to shop; I shop to live;

my card to Amazon I give,

that daily I might then receive

packages addressed to meev.