Thursday--Friday's "Just Doesn't Quite Measure Up" Little Brother
I told myself I was going to stay away from The Evil Scale for a while, because it's just too depressing to see that big fat number glaring up at me. But it is Thursday, after all, so this morning, I climbed on.
137. Still.
Okay, well, at least it's not 139. Or that other horrific number the scale at the doctor's office registered a couple of weeks ago.
So I've changed my goals to be a little more short-term. I want that fucking scale to say 130 by March 31. If it doesn't, I'll shoot it. Then I'll eat a pizza.
Last night's road trip was like "Little Miss Sunshine" if that movie had been created by an indie filmmaker with no sense of humor and a really boring personality. Bob chattered the whole way there. Ben was hot and kept rolling down his window. Bob wanted to roll his window down, too. I was, meanwhile, freezing at the wheel. The radio sucked. Ben and I have less than similar musical preferences. I wanted to listen to Jimmy Buffett. Ben didn't. Bob wanted to listen to "Fish Heads" over and over and over again. We dropped Ben off and picked up my mother. Bob copped an attitude. We got to the restaurant. Bob settled down a little bit, we got our food, we stuffed ourselves (even Bob, to my surprize), we went back to my mother's house. Ben called, we left and went to pick him up. He was waiting for us at a gas station. All the streets in downtown JoeTown have changed since I grew up there--what used to be one-way is now two-way, etc. I drove down the wrong side of the street. I got lost trying to get to the interstate. We drove home in a torential rain storm. My windshield wiper blades wrongly decide it's a good time to disintegrate. (I bought new blades last weekend, but haven't put them on yet. Duh.) Bob chatters the whole way home. We stop at my office so Ben can get his car. He farts just before we get there. We drive home. Bob doesn't want to go to bed and stomps into his room and slams the door. I follow him and when I push the door open, he's standing right behind it, and it clocks him in the head. He cries, I console, Ben hides. Bob goes to bed and, since there is no whiskey to be found in the house, I drown my sorrows in the last Klondike Slim-a-Bear 100 Calorie Ice Cream Sandwich and American Idol.
Just another wacky day in the life of the Greens.
But wait--there's good news. The court approved our motion for a guardian ad litem, and appointed the same GAL who was appointed for db's family access motion case. This is very, very good for our case. I also did a little reading (the parenting plan currently in effect) and discovered my "final decision making authority" not only extends to medical and educational issues, but also "in the event of a dispute regarding extracurricular activities." So guess what? Bob's playing tee ball this year. And db can go fuck himself.
137. Still.
Okay, well, at least it's not 139. Or that other horrific number the scale at the doctor's office registered a couple of weeks ago.
So I've changed my goals to be a little more short-term. I want that fucking scale to say 130 by March 31. If it doesn't, I'll shoot it. Then I'll eat a pizza.
Last night's road trip was like "Little Miss Sunshine" if that movie had been created by an indie filmmaker with no sense of humor and a really boring personality. Bob chattered the whole way there. Ben was hot and kept rolling down his window. Bob wanted to roll his window down, too. I was, meanwhile, freezing at the wheel. The radio sucked. Ben and I have less than similar musical preferences. I wanted to listen to Jimmy Buffett. Ben didn't. Bob wanted to listen to "Fish Heads" over and over and over again. We dropped Ben off and picked up my mother. Bob copped an attitude. We got to the restaurant. Bob settled down a little bit, we got our food, we stuffed ourselves (even Bob, to my surprize), we went back to my mother's house. Ben called, we left and went to pick him up. He was waiting for us at a gas station. All the streets in downtown JoeTown have changed since I grew up there--what used to be one-way is now two-way, etc. I drove down the wrong side of the street. I got lost trying to get to the interstate. We drove home in a torential rain storm. My windshield wiper blades wrongly decide it's a good time to disintegrate. (I bought new blades last weekend, but haven't put them on yet. Duh.) Bob chatters the whole way home. We stop at my office so Ben can get his car. He farts just before we get there. We drive home. Bob doesn't want to go to bed and stomps into his room and slams the door. I follow him and when I push the door open, he's standing right behind it, and it clocks him in the head. He cries, I console, Ben hides. Bob goes to bed and, since there is no whiskey to be found in the house, I drown my sorrows in the last Klondike Slim-a-Bear 100 Calorie Ice Cream Sandwich and American Idol.
Just another wacky day in the life of the Greens.
But wait--there's good news. The court approved our motion for a guardian ad litem, and appointed the same GAL who was appointed for db's family access motion case. This is very, very good for our case. I also did a little reading (the parenting plan currently in effect) and discovered my "final decision making authority" not only extends to medical and educational issues, but also "in the event of a dispute regarding extracurricular activities." So guess what? Bob's playing tee ball this year. And db can go fuck himself.
posted by Mitzi Green at 11:17 AM
1 Comments:
Yay!! T-ball is such a hoot! I'm really glad to hear he's going to play!
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