11 long shows.
Okay…I’m just going to come out and say it: I don’t enjoy sitting through Maya’s holiday extravaganzas.
Last week Maya was in no less than 11 shows. 11 shows! Not only did I have to shuttle her back and forth to rehearsal after rehearsal, and not only did I have to go on a lengthy scavenger hunt to purchase a suitable ensemble, but I also had to actually attend several of the shows.
Here were my thoughts during show #1:
- Maya was super cute during her 2 minute song. Wow. Was that her entire part?
- Do I really have to sit through 58 minutes more minutes of this?
- Wooden auditorium seats are really, really hard.
- This lady sitting next to me looks like she’s really enjoying this. Is she for real?
- She’s clapping like her life depended on it so I think she’s for real.
- I bet I’ll have 15 new work emails by the time this show is over. I could totally get through 15 emails in 58 minutes.
- I better not check my email. I would go ape sh#$ on Ali if he pulled out his phone during a school performance.
- It’s already 6:30 and the show was supposed to be over by 6. This really throws our evening schedule awry.
- Why have a printed program if you aren’t going to adhere to it?
- Holy sh#$ this chair is freaking hard.
- Why doesn’t anyone seem to be bothered that this show isn’t ending?
What? You can't find her? Neither could I!
Allow me to give you an abbreviated version of my thought process during show #2: I’d rather be at work.
fat thighs
The good news: I started a new job and I love it.
The bad news: Due to a lack of time I didn’t have a chance to put together a coherent post, so I’m about to share the most bizarre conversation I may have ever had with my husband instead.
Ali: “Have you ever run in place?”
Me: “What?”
Ali: “Have you ever run in place? Lifting your knees really high?”
Me: “I guess so. Especially back when I did the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred
Ali: “Lifting your knees really high is a good way to work out fat thighs.”
Me: “Are you implying that I have fat thighs?”
Ali: “No.”
Me: “So what is the point of this conversation?”
Ali: “I’m saying that you used to have fat thighs.”
Me: “Oh really? And when was that?”
Ali: “I don’t remember. A while back I guess.”
*If I ever allowed such a photo to exist, I would insert a photo of my fat thighs here*
So apparently I had fat thighs at some point in the not so distant past. Maybe I still have fat thighs and Ali was too scared to be that honest.
In any case, the main focus here should be: what on earth is my husband trying to accomplish by randomly mentioning the word “fat” and “thighs” in a sentence directed to me?
It’s no freaking wonder that I can’t eat a cookie without having a 15 minute mental debate about it.
cookies
When my husband wants a cookie he does the following:
He goes into the kitchen, he digs out three Oreos, and he eats each of them in two bites while standing over the kitchen counter. Afterwards he exits the kitchen (leaving crumbs everywhere of course) and proceeds with the rest of his day.
When I want a cookie…well let’s just say that it’s a process. And here was my thought process yesterday:
- I haven’t craved sugar in a while…why do I suddenly want a cookie? Especially on a Monday? Random.
- Do I want a sugar cookie? Chocolate chip? A biscotti? Maybe what I really want are some frozen peaches.
- I had the frozen peaches. I still want a cookie.
- Aside from Ali’s Oreos – which I don’t like – we have nothing containing sugar at home. Nothing! Is the horrendous parking situation at Trader Joe’s worth battling for a cookie?
I had no energy to procure a cookie because I spent so much time decorating the tree (and getting my roots done) instead.
- I should probably buy the cookie from a bakery because then I can just buy one cookie which ensures that I won’t keep eating broken pieces equal to cookies #2, 3 and 4.
- Too much sugar makes my skin look worse. Is a cookie worth crappy skin?
- Is it really still raining? I am so not interested in venturing out in the rain for a cookie of all things.
- I wonder if I can get Ali to pick up a cookie on his way home…
- Have I really wasted 15 minutes thinking about something as stupid as a cookie?
I’ve concluded that I over think things. Just a little bit.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 