I'm not normal -- but that's not a surprise.

You Are 40% Normal (Somewhat Normal)

While some of your behavior is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

How Normal Are You?

In my next life, I hope I am wealthy enough to hire someone to do all my grocery shopping for me. I've been buying groceries for over 10 years now, and I am still no good at it. First, I forget to write things on the list when I use them up. Oh sure, I think to myself, "Robin, you just used the last of the butter; you should put that on the list." Do I? No. I eat my toast, then get involved with something else more interesting than a grocery list.

Then, I have to write a list just before leaving for the store. I have paper, I have pen, I have no idea what I used up yesterday that I meant to write down. I make a mad dash around the kitchen, scribbling the list on the back of an envelope with a green crayon.

Finally, I stroll through the store with my bascart with 3 round wheels, and one rock that vaguely resembles a wheel. I buy lots of produce, a few canned goods, milk, eggs, bread and salsa. I pay for my items, and proudly take my booty home. Surely I have gotten enough food to last an entire week.

After putting it all away, I begin to prepare supper. Oops, we are out of rice, so no stirfry. We have 2 tortillas left, cannot make burritos. I could make spaghetti sauce again, but it would have to be served on elbow macaroni. So I write pasta, rice, and tortillas on the list and serve tuna sandwiches with a side of carrot sticks for dinner.

I just used the last of the Miracle Whip. Remind me to write that on the list after dinner...

Smart kids

Today I heard another mama telling me about how her child can spell her own name. I hear it a lot: a 24-month-old who can count to 25, a three-year-old who reads books. I'm happy for them, I really am. But I also wonder why my kids aren't geniuses? Every time I hear another "smart kid" story, I feel a twinge that is something between envy and guilt. I'm a pretty smart cookie, if I do say so myself. so it must not be inferior genes. Am I not spending enough time reading to them? Too much TV? Maybe I ate too many french fries while I was pregnant.

I'm not sure that I would want my child to be a genius anyway. I don't think that genius = fulfilled in any way. It certainly can cause problems -- I was pretty smart as a kid and fought the stigma of being "the smart kid" all through school. I'd rather be happy than smart, If I had to choose.

I am successful at not envying others' possessions. I don't envy supermodels' bodies. But I am thrown into a funk every time I hear that someone else's kid is ahead of her age. I love my children. I think they are just the sweetest, most fun kids on the block. Nora is beautiful, and can boogie to music like no one else. Nigel has a smile that will absolutely light up a room. So why on earth am I comparing them to others? Please, if you notice me comparing my child to anyone else, feel free to bonk me on the head.

Still here

We celebrated Nora's birthday this week, so much of it was spent shopping and cleaning for the party. Not much time to write.

But I promise to come up with some witty thoughts soon.

Happy February 1st

So apparently, we are all supposed to start working out today, so that we'll be in shape for bikini season. Somehow I think that this deadline will come and go with nary a situp from me. I wonder what the deadline is if I choose to go with a one-piece swimsuit this summer instead...

I awoke this morning, well before daylight, the entire family huddled under the blankets in our bed. I thought "it's a tad chilly in here." I went back to sleep, sure that I was just imagining a chill in the room. I awoke again at 6:30, sure that something was wrong with the furnace. So I traipse downstairs to the thermostat to see if I could figure out what was wrong. I had the dreaded dollar signs in my eyes, the ones that appear just before a budget-busting check is written to a repairman. I looked at the thermostat, and realized that it was set at 52 degrees. Nora had apparently decided that 68 was too warm, and made some adjustments unbeknownst to me.

The furnace ran for more than an hour.

My very first entry. And I'm stumped. I cannot believe I already have writer's block, although I think one needs to have succesfully written something before true writers block can set in.

I'll try again later after lunch.

-R