Friday, April 02, 2004

Sorry so many tries to get picture right, even though I had it right I didnt believe it would work so that is why it is up there too many times. Dorky.

FRIDAY. Yay, I think. Friday just aint the same once you grow up, is it? I mean, sure it is the weekend and things let up a little and Jay is home and we usually manage to A. do something fun with the kids ( I do not put last Sundays lunch out at Tony Roma's in this category, as going out to a nice restaurant with 3 kids is more like hard labour with zero pay and ungrateful bosses). and B. do something fun together as a couple.

But Friday night used to have a buzz about it, you know? Like anything could happen. It involved friends (READ peer conversations about any other subject than who is using cloth diapers or who is getting their eavestroughs done), and sometimes dancing (not Dora the Explorer dancing but real dancing with loud repetitive music and crazy lights) and laughs and drinks and late night McDonald's. And doing all this with the wonderful comforting knowledge that the next day you will have the glorious option of SLEEPING IN. Ahhhhhh.

Tonight I am hoping to make a dent in the dishes. I need to give Lucy a bath. I have to package four or five ebe's for shipping tomorrow. I may rent a movie for me and Jay and do what I usually do, which is go great guns for the first half and then curl up beside him on the couch (where he can't see that I have closed my eyes) and murmur, "hmm, right!" when he makes comments on the movie, so he thinks I am still awake. And all this is good.

Of course it is good. It is just depressing that I will wear the same track pants that I put on this morning for all of it.

I think I need a night out. That toronto night thing sounds cool, with the show and hotel and meal. I would love to go see the Producers. Jay and I could go for my birthday. I'll dust off the control top pantyhose and bronze eye shadow and costume jewelery and really give it a go.

Aargh. Thought I could trust the boys downstairs to finish their dinner, and it is turning into one of those primal-giggling-spit-in-each-others-food-where is-my-fork-he-sneezed-on-my-hair events.
Gotta go.


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