only a mother...

only a mother would be up a half hour to midnight bandaging her damanged hands (broken thumb, dishpan hands split/cracked skin and standard scrape) with sesame street bandaids, find the bottle of rubbing alcohol spilt over in the medicine cabinet, sit down to blog about it and sigh to realize the stink of rotting dead rat flesh is still penetrating through the walls of the house and might never leave. And I still plan on reading before falling asleep. Now somewhere I know that I have to wake up, make breakfasts, lunches, get kids dressed, out the door and happy at a few hours earlier then preferred. But I still plan on reading. I need my me time you know. Besides, just not that many hours in the day.

I feel relatively pretty tonight. Got a good shirt combo working for me (yes, I found something i my closet I could actually enjoy wearing for once), fixed my new and favorite necklace, wore make up and wasn't overwhelmingly tired, depressed or overwhelmed. I was on crusin groove mood tonite. Very satisfied and peaceful. Except the rat stink. Damn.


Fingers- scratch that, all digits- are necessary damn it! No one should have disabled digits for gods sake. The funny thing or ironic thing is that my dad doesn't have a thumb and half a middle finger digit. It would only be cruel to call up a father I barely talk to or stand to laugh at our current digit similarities. Evil..... but entertaining brain candy. :D