I'm Out Of Chocolate And I've Got A Gun...
2004-08-11, 10:49 a.m.

Yes folks, it's that time again. Time for the family to tread lightly and stay well out of my range. Time to, if they value their existence, NOT use the last drops of the Hershey's syrup. Dear Hubby has long since become wise to the winds of change, and knows when to sequester all sharp objects and make himself scarce. He did so yesterday afternoon late, after he knocked a half-eaten frozen dinner off the counter, coagulating a pool of previously flash-frozen corn juice on the chair cushion and mounding extra-cheesy maccaroni on the rug. Anticipating the atomic blast, he whisked the kids to the driving range for an hour and let the dogs in to do their vacuuming. I will graciously allow him to continue the redemption process tonight by leaving him some dishes to be loaded in the dishwasher.

It's this monthly hormonal revving that brings to prominence the greatest advantage of being a stay-at-home mom with school-age children: the unencumbered foray to Dairy Queen. I'll have the hot fudge sundae with extra fudge, please, hold the ice cream. NOW.

I am learning to type with the not-so-helpful feline appendage that prefers to nap on my left shoulder, provided I'm on the computer. Shadow is our cat in the sense only that we are a pit stop in his purrfect existence, a necessity to which one must return when hunger dictates or one needs a good belly rub. He does do his part to contribute to the family grocery bill, but as yet I have not mastered the art of deep-fried chickadee plumage or vole fricasee which would cater to his culinary whims. Thus, he consumes his contribution on the front sidewalk, leaving just enough evidence to display his ability to provide. Good kitty.

Ah, it begins. The first phone call from school. "I know it's last minute, but...__________________"(fill in blank with volunteer duty) I will spend a fun-filled afternoon chopping out die-cut lettering on the Ellison machine, to ready displays for Open House next week. It's Daughter's first year at the Intermediate School, and this is my first chance to get to know the staff and find my way around. The place is HUGE.

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Daily Rant

It is nigh impossible to take an impressionable young girl into Target and have her emerge intact. They are doing their mightiest to assimmilate all Tweens into the Hilary Duff Collective. CDs, school supplies, clothing, bedding and room gear, movies, Lizzie McGuire stuff wrapping around every aisle like tendrils from a Devil's Snare...I like the girl, but does she have to be rammed into the nucleus of every cell of your being?

You would think that someone who puts forth such a wholesome image, and who obviously makes a serious salary, could spring for enough fabric in her clothing line to actually cover a girl's hind end. Don't bend over, girls, or you'll display your Duff more than anyone ought to see.

Daughter's contrary streak did its guaranteed magic once again. If it's for the masses, she has little or no use for it. No mini-sheeple in our family. Therefore, for the time being anyway, we are able to live in a Duff-free zone. Halle-freakin-lujah.

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