Since we last spoke, I helped a bunch of adorable first graders make buttons (I helped only the adorable ones. I sent the not-so-adorable ones away.), I took a gaggle of girls out for pedicures and fondue, I talked about physical therapy vs. massage with my migraine doctor, I met up with a friend for dinner and the symphony (as a result, I now have a married girl crush on Stephen Hough), I dealt with the sparks of a migraine, I went to a school dinner, I deposited some PTO cash, I took the girls to the American Girl store so they could blast through some of their birthday gift cards, I celebrated Scout’s one year anniversary with us, I worked on freelance, and I shopped for retiring teacher gifts.
This afternoon I attended a Greek and Roman banquet at the middle school (I baked a cake this morning!), I volunteered for a bit at the elementary, and I nearly finished one of the front sides of my Acer. This evening is dinner with a friend. Tomorrow is the Australian barbecue at the middle school and This American Life Live with my mom. Friday is lunch and more volunteer time. On Saturday, I’ll be turning 42 and writing in my new tiny orange diary. Sometime between now and then I need to choose a pen. I have no complaints.
Final Hot Pants Update: I am still the exact same size as I was two weeks ago. It is now time to wash my Hot Pants and become a bit more realistic, mainly because a good friend whom I’ve never actually met just gave me an amazing deal on a few ModCloth dresses, and the dresses are a size smaller than what I normally wear. Such a challenge. (This same good friend is vegan, and she just shared some very valuable information with me: Nutter Butter Cookies are vegan. Yes! They are! I bought a package yesterday (I’ve been going vegan on Tuesdays), and every time I eat one I think about those dresses that are certainly not going to GROW in the wash.)
In 2010, my parents gave me a rose bush for my birthday. It was lovely and FILLED with roses. I replanted it, and because I probably did something incorrectly, last year it graced me with only one rose.
On Saturday, it looked like this.
It appears that one more rose may or may not pop up in the next few days. Perhaps I’ve been listening to too much Sarah McLachlan lately, but I’m still going to say it: I would rather have one beautiful rose than seven half-ass roses. (Didn’t Sarah McLachlan say that? Am I thinking of Enya again? REO Speedwagon?!)
Can I get away with wearing my Liesl sweater over a checked dress?!