A Sam's Club Jethro Bodine bulk-sized bag of miniature Hershey bars, Kit Kats, Almond Joys, Reese's Cups, and Whoppers was brought into this house the other day. And now there is nothing left in the bag but Whoppers. I find it pretty funny that no one in the house likes those, the Whoppers. And I find it even more funny (that should read "funnier," eh?)that my inner child is saying, "Go on, just have one. You'll learn to like them. At least they're in cute little wrappers instead of the cardboard milk cartons of the past." "C'mon," that little inner child of mine says while mentally dangling the Whoppers in front of me, "it's the only chocolate left in the hou-ouse." But I am proud to admit that I am sitting here eating friggin' carrots instead. Even though I am telling myself that I have eaten worse things than a Whopper.

I took the girls to the library last night for story time. It was supposed to be for pre-school and kindergarten kids. Instead, there was Grace and a boy who appeared to be about 8 and a girl that was probably just a big(ger)7. I couldn't figure out why they were there, but it really wasn't any of my business, huh.

When we pulled into the back lot of the library, there was a teenage girl sitting in the car beside the only available spot. I heard her talking to someone but was busy with unloading and packing the stroller and then the girls. I did look up when she became silent and found that there was a guy in the car with her, seat leaned back, headphones on. He was all gangsta-ed out, you know. And something tells me that they were in the parking lot so no one would see him in her car. It was just the way the whole thing was laid out. And the fact that I, too, have hidden away in back parking lots so no one would find out.
I couldn't make eye contact with her because I was afraid that I would be wanting to say something to her like, "Hey, little sista, take it from me, don't start a relationship with a dude that won't take his headphones off to talk to you. I'm thinking that's a bad sign for sure." So I kept my thoughts to myself and headed inside.
 
An hour or so later the girls and I were heading back out to the van. The girl and the dude were gone, but in their place was a middle-aged couple. They seemed to be all chitchatty, you know. Their windows were rolled down. The chicka was behind the wheel, the man in the passenger seat. When the doors to the library had opened, he caught my attention first. There was something about the way his hands quickly made their way to his face to comb through his facial hair that immediately caught my eye. He was trying to hide his anxious glances for fear he may very well know me and vice versa, and that made me look at him even more closely, right. But I didn't know him. No worries, dude in the chicka's mini-van.

She was pretty. She appeared to be one of "those moms"with whom I have nothing in common. Everything was clean and crisp. And white. Hmm...now that I come to think about it, everything about her was white: her shirt, her mini-van. Her hair was even blonde.
It was quite obvious that they were having an affair. My first clue was the way he tried to appear nonchalant when the doors to the library flew open. And then there was the way that her voice would lower every time I rounded the van while putting the girls, the crafts, the diaper bag, and the stroller in their designated spots.
I couldn't help but smirk. To me, an ex-mistress who also thought that no one could ever tell, it was quite obvious that they were having an affair. This became even more obvious when dude again looked at me before he leaned over to kiss her. She wasn't happy about his leaving. No, not at all. I had loaded everything in the van and was on my merry way, smirk still intact.
Mom does taxes at the library, so when we got home I told her that  I couldn't believe she had never told me that the back library parking lot was *the* place to have affairs. She had never noticed, she said. But I bet she starts paying attention now. And I have decided that when I become a real PI instead of just fantasizing of being one, I will always head straight to the back library parking lot first.
I offered to trade my one-year-old for a Webkinz tonight. Webkinz are the stuffed animals which come with a code. You hit the web site, enter the code, and the animal becomes a virtual pet. I won't write how many Webkinz my four-year-old owns because it is truly absurd. The neighbor girl wouldn't go for the trade. I don't know if it was because Mak was throwing one helluva temper tantrum at the time or because her Webkinz is the Pet Of The Month for May.
The girls have had a horrible time of going to sleep this week. Grace was a real tool this morning. I told the bus driver that Teach wouldn't want her today, she was *that* bad. Da Man somehow managed to snooze right through her temper tantrum. It was a good one too; crying, snotting, foot stomping, the whole nine. And he missed it. Such a shame because it was by far one of her best performances to date. And it was all because I attempted to put aloe on her ear after she insisted, though I think she was being a turd, that I had burned her ear with the curling iron.
It was ten o' clock tonight before they finally fell asleep. In the course of the hour they had been in their beds, Mak had screamed and cried four or five times. The first one was a real honest to goodness scream. And she had the red mark on her cheek to justify it. Grace, of course, had no idea what had happened, but she outted herself by having Mak's book in her bed.
The other screams were just that: screams. Mak is going to be a challenge. She is the most demanding baby. When she wants something, she wants it five minutes ago. There is no pacifying her until she gets exactly what she wants. She and Grace are as opposite as two children can be. And I become physically exhausted from the visions I get of Mak as a "child."
I know her screams. Bear in mind that I had tried to clean her ears with a Q-Tip tonight after she was out of the tub. She coughed once when I put it in her ear, which totally freaked me out because I began having visions of ruptured eardrums and blood. I should have kept in mind that she was gnawing away on her toothbrush at the time, which could have very well been the culprit of the cough, but that would have been too easy for my gotta worry about something mind.
When I heard the first scream, the "real" scream, I relived the ear cleaning as I rushed into the room. But, miraculously, she stopped screaming as soon as I entered the room. The last scream of the night was because her bottle was empty, and Mak is hell on wheels when her bottle is empty and she is still awake.
The cry is always the same: The little wimpy cries start. And then they grow into a whine of sorts. And finally they reach that ear-splitting you should've gotten off your ass three minutes ago pitch. After I leave the room with her empty bottle in hand I can reach the kitchen doorway before she gives her second scream. That's how I know she's not hurt or really bothered by something but simply pissed off because I had taken her bottle to the kitchen instead of bringing the kitchen to the bottle. Yep, that's the kind of girl Mak is going to be. And it frightens me a tad because I oftentimes have myself convinced that I am the mom therfore I am in charge. Delusions of control, I know, but I savor them.
I hope sleep finds me soon. It's not even midnight yet and I am so ready for bed. That's odd for me because I usually make it until around two before I have to go to bed. But, then again, it's been a busy day. I had bus aide duty this afternoon, which, *doing the dance of joy*, was uneventful. This evening was filled with a whole bunch of nothing in the backyard. It was absolutely gorgeous here today, in the 70s. The neighbor said they're calling for snow next week. Now whether or not that is a true piece of info is still to be discovered because she's not very reliable source. It wouldn't surprise me though because we have a trip to the VA to make that day and the weather is usually shitty when we're making that trip. I am hoping for the nice weather to last, but I'm not ready for summer. Or the heat. It's nice to unleash *The* girls, meaning my boobs and not my daughters, and not find them to be swimming in a pool of sweat. And the humidity means that I spend most of the summer looking like a poodle with a real bad groomer. Or, probably a more accurate description, as if I have a piece of steel wool sitting on top of my head. Ha.
Well, I suppose I should call it a night. Maybe I can read myself to sleep or something. That does sound like a plan. It's already Hump Day. Yay!