I was so afraid that I had went and gained about 15 pounds. MY pants are really tight around the waist these days. This morning I took a deep breath and dragged my nemesis "the scale" out of the bathroom closet. I made sure the needle was on zero, decided on a shocking number that I would likely see, gingerly stepped onto my nemesis, and saw not the 15 pound gain I had been obsessing about but a manageable 6 pound gain. Six was a pretty not devastating number for me because 1. at my weight 6 is a drop in the bucket 2. pshaw-I can hold onto 6 pounds of water easily and 3. 6 pounds did not bring me into the next weight decade. I simply went from the bottom of one weight decade to the top of the same weight decade. Phew. Then I stepped off of the scale and double checked to make sure the needle really was at zero. It was.
I've been worried about Josh's self esteem because he feels picked on at school. Truth is, I suspect he interprets much of what goes on as being picked on because he feels so out of place there. I don't think he is being as picked on as he thinks he is. In the end I am still worried about his confidence and feelings because worrying is what I do. I worry. Josh was singing to himself as we walked the other day, and knowing he loves to sing I casually suggested that maybe next year we'd get him voice lessons. He said he didn't need voice lessons because his singing was already perfect. I have to find something other than Josh's self esteem to worry about now.
Evan is suffering, as he does every year at this time, with tree allergies. He doesn't suffer like a woman in silence. He basically complains 24/7. I have allergies too. I suck it up. I don't whine. I can't muster enough sympathy to satisfy him. But I don't want to make him feel neglected either. I toss him some faux sympathy occasionally. He can see right through it. That is why when he blew his nose in a paper towel before and unfolded the paper towel, holding it up for me to see and asked loudly and with determination "What does this look like to you?" I stammered while trying to figure out just what the right supportive with out being transparently aloof answer to that question was. Finally, breaking out in a confrontational cold sweat and after the world's longest hesitation, I said/whispered "boogers?" and he snapped back with an eye roll and a firm "No. A butterfly. That's not the point."
I'm a little paranoid that having a For Sale sign on my lawn makes us targets for thieves. That is why when some guy ended up on my doorstep this morning thinking he was supposed to meet a realtor here, and I knew nothing about it I ended up calling the cops when he left because he looked like Dobby from Harry Potter with human size ears and I really just wanted to be able to tell the stepford police that if Dobby was 5'8" and wore a brown leather jacket and drove a silver mini van then I just saw Dobby on my doorstep. But it turns out that the stepford cop found Dobby at the other house for sale on my block with a legitimate realtor and his story checked out and the realtor backed him up. He was simply at the wrong house.
Have I mentioned being a bundle of nerves lately?
I'm going with the omission tradition today an dI am purposely not discussing my feelings about the husband's feet. I will just say that after not googling anything since the first night I did google "diabetic foot ulcers" last night. I'm not going to be sleeping any time soon. That is all.
P.S. I could not care less about the upcoming royal wedding.
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