So my daughter is awesome. I knew that already. But when she came home with not one, not two, but–well, honestly, I lost count how many–awards from the annual ceremony her school held on Friday, I was pretty blown away. I’ve already bragged to everyone in my inner circle (no less than 60 people) and now I’m bragging to you strange and possibly not-real computer people. She pulled off (out of the entire 7th grade) band student of the year, choir student of the year, geography student of the year, science, reading…she won an award for having the most advanced reading points. She won an award for making straight A’s all year long. And best of all, she spanked the rest of her classmates and took home the most coveted award of all, the award every mother wants her kid to win, the one they save for the very end of the ceremony: Highest GPA in the 7th grade. I almost cried. It was all I could do not to literally jump up and down and scream, "In your face, bitches!"
Merrick had his first birthday party on Saturday, where, surrounded by friends and family, he tore into an orange-and-blue frosted birthday cake. Surprisingly, he got a lot of it in his actual mouth–but not without fanfare. He seemed to know exactly what was expected of him: we stripped him down, gave him the supplies, and he got right down to business–smearing frosting on his chin, on his chest, and in his hair, stepping in the frosting, and smiling winningly at everyone all the while. He’s a showman, for sure, but when it comes to sugar, that kid don’t play. It was all over pretty quickly. I gave him a bath, brought him back out to his adoring public, and let him "open" presents. I suppose the rest of the party was kind of a drag, but how do you compete with a cake-covered baby? I’ll put up pictures later when I feel like it.
All our company left this morning. I went so far as to wash one set of sheets and a few towels, but I’m putting off any major house-cleaning until tomorrow. Or next Monday–even though our floors are gritty with the red dirt the dogs are constantly tromping in, and there’s crap all over the living room that belongs in every other room but the living room…yes, I think I deep clean next week.
Our Alero is still broken, and now our lawn mower is shot to hell, too. I’m seriously considering taking up an Amish lifestyle, minus the long ugly dress and waking up at dawn. Caleb’s a pretty good farmer. Sort of.
Tomorrow begins the last week of school. Thursday can’t come soon enough. My deepest desires? To sleep until 7:30 without waking up with that "Oh shit!" feeling, and to put Merrick down for a long, blissful nap everyday at 10:30, which his body would love to do but our schedule has never allowed. We have 50 billion t-ball games, mostly make-up ones, to get through and I’m praying it won’t rain at all–even after only a slight amount, the field is flooded. At this rate, we’ll be playing t-ball until August. They’re already taking games to the end of June–of course, we won’t be here after the 10th, and that’s not something I feel remotely guilty about, mainly because my family’s vacation is more important to me than a piddly kids’ sport, but also because other parents are planning on skipping town, too! So even if we rearranged our whole summer to make the games, the team would still be screwed because so many other girls would be missing in action. So there.
I’ve got a dummy problem. It started with about 6 last year. It took a little while to get them out of my garage, but I finally got it done. And now, they’re back. There are 3 of them, but I’m told there will be more. Many more. Right now, they’re kind of creepy, but in time…they’ll be downright freaking scary! I love having a friend who teaches a class in ass-kicking. Otherwise this door might never have been open to me. He says he’s going to show me a book about gang-bangin’ tattoos. I’m already thinking one of them is going to need a big fat "Fuck the POlice" tat somewhere conspicuous. I’ll leave you now with a few of my favorite memories of the Rubber Posse: