I totally forgot to tell you, didn't I?*We went on vacation.
A wee road trip down south, past miles of cows standing knee deep in their own shit**, over freeways and through towns, across beaches and over 108°F. Not much to report except this:Tomorrow I turn un certain âge. Thursday Zoey starts kindergarten. In 2 weeks my maternity leave is over. I spent the whole week pressing my toes down hard on an imaginary brake pedal in the passenger seat and now I have a cramp in the ball of my foot.
*Neither here nor there but everywhere, do you kinda' hate when bloggers write directly to you? Like that whole Ferris Bueller breaking-the-fourth-wall schtick, asking questions and then proceeding as if you've answered, all cutesy "I know you" wink wink, calling you love, darling, insert pet name here? Cause lately I do. I don't know, it just seems condescending. Insincere. And I know that I do it sometimes, too. Still. Also? I hate when bloggers tell stories about their kids that sound like some Dawson's (shit) Creek dialogue that you just know didn't happen. Or when the writing almost becomes a caricature of itself. Just sayin.' See also: I'm totally a bitch but it's almost my birthday which may or may not have something to do with it because what do you get for the girl who just bought a glass house?
**Do cows have even have knees?