The bf and I just had a realistic gage of whether we're ready for marriage.
Yes... a little early, I know.

Our friend whom we met in school last semester is here.
His gf is in the same course as me but later than me by 1 semester.
he just causally mentioned that they might be getting married
around the end of next year

judging by the minor heart attack and uncomfortable silence it gave me and the bf...
nope we're definitely not getting married anytime soon.

omg..
am I at THAT AGE already??!?

the bf's friend has a son...
who calls him "uncle"

omg the bf is already an uncle.
which makes me AUNTIE.....

i wonder what char is.... wahahaha

i found this on a funny website...
this is the kinda of mother i envision char would turn into
well not exactly
but her face came to mind when i was reading this LOL

Dear Mrs. X:
In just over a week, you will be my son’s Grade 1 teacher.
He is ever so excited to be under your tutelage. Why, since the last day of
kindergarten, entering your class was all he could talk about. He gleefully
thrust a piece of paper into my hand on that June afternoon, and said, “Here’s a
list of the stuff I need for school next September!”
And I have to admit, I,
too, was excited. I’m a school supplies geek from way back. And so, in early
August, I set out to buy the items you’d listed.
It was on my fourth store
that the realization began to sink in.
You’re a crafty bitch, aren’t
you?
This list was a thinly disguised test. Could I find the items, exactly
as you’d prescribed? Because if not, my son would be That Kid, the one with the
Problem Mother, Who Can’t Follow Directions.
For example, the glue sticks you
requested. In the 40 gram size. Three of the little buggers. (What kind of
massive, sticky project you’ve got planned for the first day of school that
would require the students to bring all this glue, I cannot imagine.) But the 40
gram size doesn’t come in a convenient 3-pack. The /30 /gram size does. But
clearly, those would be wildly inappropriate. So I got the individually priced
40’s, as per your instructions.
Another bit of fun was your request for 2
packs of 8 Crayola crayons (basic colors). The 24 packs, with their 24
/different /colors, sat there, on sale. I could have purchased /three/ of the 24
packs for the price I had to pay for the 8 packs. (Clearly, you’ll not be
teaching the youngsters any sort of economics lessons this year.) Even the
cashier looked at me, as if to say, “Pardon me, ma’am, but are you slow?” as I
purchased these non-bargain crayons. But that’s what the list said. And I was
committed to following the list.
But the last item, well, now, you saved your
malice up for that one, didn’t you? “8 mm ruled notebooks”, you asked for.
Simple enough. Except the standard size is /seven /millimetres. One. Millimetre.
Difference. Do you realize, Mrs. X., exactly how infinitesimal the difference
between 7 mm ruling and 8 mm ruling is? Pretty small, I assure you. The
thickness of a fingernail, approximately. But that millimetre, that small bit of
nothingness, made me drive to four different stores, over the course of three
sweaty August hours. And when I finally, finally found the last remaining 8 mm
notebooks, I took no pleasure in my victory. I merely shifted my focus. To you,
Mrs. X.
You wanna dance, lady? Let’s dance.
Because I am just batshit
crazy enough to play your games. And, in turn, come up with some of my
own.
On show and share day, my son will be bringing the video of his birth.
It will be labelled, “Ben’s First Puppy.” Enjoy.
He will be given a list of
words, and daily, he will ask you what they mean. Words such as, “pedophile”,
“anti-semite”, and “skank”. Good luck with those.
At some point, you will
attempt to teach him mathematics. And I’m quite sure that, like most of your
ilk, you will require my son to “show his work”. And he will.
Through
interpretive dance.
Because that is who you’ve chosen to tangle with, toots.
A stay at home mom who is not entirely balanced, and has altogether too much
time on her hands. But is, most certainly, A Mother Who Can Follow
Directions.
Sincerely,
Ginny