Every once in a while I get asked about my current job, and whether I am searching out better prospects. This is the thing: I'm scared! I'm terrified of the longer hours at preschool for Punkin, mostly, and scared of making such a big change in my life. What if I suck at it? And mostly--really truly mostly--I have no clue what I would rather be doing. Other than writing, of course. So here I am, stuck, but really only because I have stuck myself, in a job that I usually love and has good benefits, but pays just enough to scrape by. And I mean scrape. The one thing that motivates me lately is retirement. I do not want to be stuck working a full-time job forever because I don't have enough to live on. Oi.
On to other things. Punkin has asked to go potty THREE times today. And he went each time! He loves getting stickers. He even holds up the piece of paper with all of them on it and says, "pretty!" The only problem I'm seeing is that he insists on being naked. And that takes time. So I'm just not sure if we're always going to be able to remove ALL of the clothing fast enough!
Getting out of bed AGAIN. That's 12 times.
Didn't catch much of Prison Break, which is admittedly slow-paced and violent, because of times 1-10. But I have so much invested in it now! I can't just turn a cold shoulder. So many Monday nights up in smoke, with me wondering how it all turns out. No way. I wish it were on later so I could concentrate.
Would people please stop wearing big white sunglasses? (Shudders)
Lion--I actually saw leggings for sale. At JC Penney! You have no idea how weird that is for me. Only a few hundred yards away, neon crocs were being advertised at a kiosk.
Oh, and the itchiness is gone. I adiosed (sp??) the bandaid. I think I'm allergic to the glue and not the actual bandaid because I use latex gloves at work and have had no issues.
I rationalized eating Whitey's today because I walked there with Punkin. I bought him a cone, but as usual, he refused. Gotta get over that. At least he likes mac 'n cheese as much as his momma!
Punkin's new thing is taking his "boy" to bed with him. Now, before you get all gutter-minded, the boy is a plastic Ronald McDonald. I didn't know what to call it when we first got it, so I just called it a boy. My mom has two of them at her house (okay, we like McDonalds). And he always called them his "boys." Punkin also really likes sticks, which he pronounces "dicks." I know, I know. My dad, being the mature one in the family, related to all of us that while playing outside, Punkin had come to the sad realization that he was unable to carry both the boys and the dick in one hand.
And on that note, good night.