Monday sort of Monday

Mrs. Warren's Profession was not a comedy. As a sentimental, loyal, and most of all feeling person, I wish I hadn't read it. Too many varieties of heartbreak for me to take, especially right before bed. I don't believe in spoilers, but with a title like that, it leaves not much to the imagination. Mrs. Warren, of course, is a Madam. The play is about the circumstances surrounding her adult daughter's discovery of such, and reaction, etc.

Rolla was pleasant, and we were able to keep my dad from burning down the house in his boredom. He is not the world's best patient, and has a foot injury. We kept him busy playing songs on his guitar, listening to the kids explain all about their most recent toys*, making Captain Hook hooks out of old plastic hangers, and the like.

*15 dollars? Such a huge sum! The most I've ever been able to give them is maybe 15 between the two of them, and that was for necessaries, like new socks!

On the way home, I was flirting with disaster. Through no fault of my own, the fates were out to get me, and they nearly succeeded! On I-44, I was driving along at the speed limit (70), when a big, yellow dog, leisurely walked into my lane. I changed lanes, of course, and I hope the guy in that lane will excuse me for being closer than is comfortable for some people. I looked in my rear-view to see if the dog made it to safety, and what do you think I saw? As the dog strolled across the highway, a car from the westbound lane drove wildly off the road, through the wire median, down the ditch and up again, across the eastbound lane and into the opposite ditch. If I hadn't been able to avoid the dog, I would have been right in his path - with both my children, and both my dogs. It all happened in a flash - it took less than 2 seconds for me to watch the other car make the afore mentioned progress, but I can tell you I am still creeped out by it! It really made my blood chill in my veins. For the rest of the drive, I was especially vigilant.

Today we got the official news that the car has been declared a total loss. So, now we have to get another one. More on that later.

I had a good idea for a story today, and even got to a piece of paper, but the phone rang before I could even get a word down.

We've been watching Cirque du Soleil. My mom has 2 DVDs of it, and made us a copy of Dralion, since we didn't get to finish it before we left. It is very, very amazing.

Josh's mom can't watch the kids on Thursday, so I'm looking for someone else to, unless I find out that I don't really have to be at practice. So far, no takers. I'm also trying to find a minute to take our friend Jennie to Costco, since there is something there she wants at her Easter dinner and I have a membership. I like to help. Have you thought about my schedule, though? Monday - dance class. Tuesday - taiko. Wednesday - T-ball. Thursday - taiko. Friday - Woot! An actual free day...if you don't count that Josh is at work and whatever "free" activity I schedule has to accommodate the kids. Saturday - nothing so far (except Josh working again), but probably going to be soccer practice. Sunday - taiko. So, if I have to stay with the kids Thursday anyway, we can all go to Costco. Otherwise, it would have to be Friday.

And people occasionally ask me how Josh is. Wanna know? I DON'T KNOW! I haven't had a real conversation with the guy in a month. When he's home, he's generally doing homework or sleeping. Mostly, though, he's not home.

Monday nights always make me feel like a weed in the garden of life. It's all those other moms. No matter whether they're the ones who work blue collar jobs, smoke like chimneys and talk too loud or the ones with dark artificial tans and dubious hair color, monogrammed jackets for their daughters to fit into for approximately 3 months and smart phones constantly informing them that one of their extensive acquaintance has texted them, they all seem to have another person to identify with. And then there's me. Each type will occasionally make polite conversation, but I can feel my Outsiderness. I don't necessarily need anyone to chat with, or be friends with, or keep me company, I just don't like that look that comes into their eyes when they talk to me. It emanates doubt and unwillingness and distaste and ridicule and censure and....whatever you call it when a large dog isn't sure whether to sniff the little shampooed Maltese. You know: "What are you?"

K. Got that off my chest.

And now. I'm tired. It's been a long month.

Goodnight.