Based on ongoing phone calls from a certain high schooler, we've abandoned tonight's Plan A for Plan B, then launched Plan C, only to revert to Plan B. I'm dizzy.
Kids these days have online gradebooks. So their mothers can make them redo every single missing school assignment. They love it.
I'm too fat for regular clothes. But not big enough for my maternity clothes. Also, my maternity clothes are looking pretty dated. It's clear I need a whole new wardrobe. Also a pedicure.
My husband is really enjoying listening to me constantly fret over my wardrobe/fatness issues. "This has happened to you before," he reasons. "Yes, but you'd be freaking out, too, if if were happening to you," I counter. Then I call my sister Nancy.
So every item from my closet has been removed and sorted. Farewell, normal-human-sized jeans. I hope to see you again. Perhaps in winter 2011.
Poll-takers predict a girl over a boy three-to-one. Conversely, three out of four blog commenters predict a boy. Mysterious.