This morning I woke up with way more energy than 5 hours of sleep would have you believe was possible. I stared Monday right in the face and called her bluff. The first thing I did was to dress like Mrs. Don Draper:
That's the ticket. That's how you go to Costco.
The next thing I did was work. I've been working a lot, like crazy for the past six months. It's incredibly boring to tell you about how hard I'm working, what long, sporadic hours I work, and how my DVR is consistently 90% full because I don't have time to watch it anymore, but it's true, so there. Take that boring and shove it into your pie hole. I showed up at Costco ready to prove who was the boss (Monday Costco is nobody's boss, by the way, just don't even bother.)
I dropped Proximo at preschool so hard it was like a sonic boom. I glared so intensely at the dandelions in my yard that they probably all died of mortification. My desk is fighting back, releasing its entropy and I will not have it. Even when the picture over my desk fell, knocking over my lamp and almost smashing my computer as the frame came apart into sticks and ragged glass, I refused to give up. No one was going to leave me at a HoJo today. If someone chased me around an apartment, I'd get away. And then, like most things, the magic faded by 5pm: the makeup slid off, the headband started to hurt, and I ate off my lipstick.
Mrs. Draper tucked herself into a suitcase, to be resuscitated on another Monday.
The other person who stared Monday right in the face, stuck out her tongue, and told it to back down? Lulu. Who walked today, just 24 hours after she turned 10 months old. She was holding on to the chair and saw me next to her. She let go and walked three steps to my arms. Not bad, for a BABY.
She's loud, so loud, by far my loudest baby. So feisty and independent. She yells if she doesn't like what's happening, she screams if her brothers are being too noisy, yells if you don't look at her, screams if she wants more, yells if she thinks you need to shape up, screams until you include her, yells if you do something for her that she wants to do herself, screams when being tickled.
There's a lot of noise, is what I'm trying to say, which is trying unto my nerves.
I call this one: Two Angry Yells with Two Happy Screams.
(She's the business, I tell you what.)
(So is Mrs. Draper, who'll tell you to call your mother, even if you don't have one.)
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