it’s story time. it’s packed in here. my supershy son has a pink duck (and hells yeah for him, watching 4 boys in a row pick BLUE ducks and piping up “pink!” when asked) nametag around his neck on a piece of yarn and is in another room on a rug with 20 other preschool age heathens.

baptism by fire. he can be as shy as he wants as long as he has general functional skills (says the girl on the laptp typing away while the other mommies discuss… whatever other mommies discuss. so far it seems to be those carry-wrap baby things).

it’s snowing and there’s a super-hot mom here that i would totally be making conversation with if i hadn’t overheard her say she was moving to minnesota in 3 weeks. as piper laurie said “that wouldn’t leave us much time, would it?” she’s native american and has long, dark hair and no make-up, brown cords and a t-shirt. i would be measuring her for steamer trunk-size if she weren’t leaving the state.

i should be editing PVP (nice to see b– back, i had wondered what with his situational whatever and whatever if he had lost faith and was going to fade out). instead i’m looking at Miss Brown Corduroys and listening with one ear to hear if  little man is crying or yelling.

the birthday party on sunday was a fiasco, by the by. everyone had fun, especially adam. i scaled a rock wall and wore myslef out in the bouncy bounce thing. i hate birthday parties, but i ‘m glad it went well. i’m forcefully scratching from my memory the 5 minute long fake-choking episode by a 10-yr-old that will not be invited to ANYTHING AGAIN EVER. mom, get her some acting lessons or teach her not to be a bitch. 

i think time is almost up. and there’s a redneck peeking over my shoulder, he saw the part about Miss Brown Corduroys, i think. gotsta go. god help my spelling and grammar on this one….


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