Happy Heart Day. Whatever.
2006-02-14, 9:55 a.m.

Saddam Hussein is on a hunger strike.

GOOD.

By making himself weak and miserable, that�s really going to show us, isn�t it? Right, buddy, riiiiight. I�ve never got the point of a hunger strike. Saddam is on trial for atrocities beyond words, he is facing all sorts of retribution, so to make a point he is going to self-inflict yet another form of punishment? Fine with me. I�ll sit next to his cell and tear into a filet mignon and appreciate how he is saving tax dollars by no one having to feed his sorry butt.

In case you couldn�t tell, I�m punchy due to lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is due to having a 55 lb redheaded bed buddy last night. Son had cordoned himself off in his lair for a week with no problem, but when I made him clean off his dresser yesterday and he unearthed two partially-eaten cans of chicken and stars soup and one coagulated half mug of cocoa, a toxic vapor cloud materialized and chased him out. He insisted that the odor was so foul that he could not sleep in his room last night, and stomped through the house holding his nose for emphasis.

This would have nothing to do, of course, with his dad being out of town, and mom having the king size waterbed all to herself.

Have you ever taken a small lump of silly putty and left it on a table in the sunlight, only to return later to find that the small lump has flattened and oozed and expanded exponentially to cover every available surface? If so, then you have seen Son on a king size waterbed. Which is amazing, because he is the scrawniest 11 year old you have ever seen. The boy won�t eat. He flexed his muscles for my friend the other night to show off and once he was out of earshot, she said he looked like a UNICEF ad.

She�s right.

He stuck his pointy Grover feet in the small of my back and laid horizontally across the bed and took all the covers. He glommed against me and rammed his knobbly little knees into the back of mine and his bony little elbows into my spine and stuffed his little red tufted head under my shoulder blade and radiated sweaty little boy heat, which is all the more unpleasant under a down comforter in a heated bed. He thrashed and he poked and he rolled and he did everything EXCEPT stay on his side of the bed and remain still. 12:58am. 1:27am. 3:40am. 4:12am.

Then the dogs had to get in on the action. Cookie hopped on the foot of the bed and turned and turned and turned and turned and turned and turned and turned and turned and after making sure she had created a sizeable wake, jumped off the bed to help Spunky barkbarkbark his ferocious little heart out at an invisible something in the yard. 2:44am.

Spunky wanted out. Spunky wanted in. Spunky wanted out. Spunky barked enough to earn us death threats from the entire subdivision. Spunky got carted back in. 2:56am.

Daughter hauled her sniffling sneezing stuffy headed self out of bed to flip on every light within reach, complain loudly to me that she needed Nyquil and not Dayquil (two hours before leaving for school? I don�t think so) and she didn�t feel well and she was getting a drink of water and I need to go to the store to get her watercolor paints for school because they�re due tomorrow and she neeeeeeeeeds them and by the way Spunky got mad and peed on the living room carpet. 5am.

More pointy feet, knobbly knees, bony elbows, and sweaty little boy heat. Oh yeah, 5 stuffed Pokemon and one game guide. 5:26am.

Alarm goes off. 6am. I am ready to put the serious hurt on somebody. Go ahead, make my day.

By the way, Happy Valentine�s Day. What with all the internet acronyms (LOL, etc), today is the one day of the year you can wish someone Happy VD and get away with it.

I�ve already had one early morning phone call from a delinquent check service. Someone passed a bad check and had our phone number listed as theirs. We have an easy phone number, so this isn�t the first time that�s happened, but it still PISSES ME OFF. I�m going to track down those people and then we�re going huntin�, Dick Cheney-style. �Act like a fool, get your ass shot.� I respect that.

Hubby promised to send flowers today. I hope he remembers. I need some upcheer...and an awful lot of caffeine.

For the finest Valentine's Day poetry this side of Hallmark, go here. The girl knows how to write 'em.

last - next