This is my second post of the week. I am already exceeding my informal-and-totally-not-binding quota of one post per week. And my last post was, like, three thousand words long, so that should make up for the first two weeks of January where I posted nothing at all. Not that I owe you people anything! I promise nothing, do you hear? Nothing!

I’ve been reading a lot of books lately. Is it too soon to start posting book reviews again? Considering how many books I have to review, probably not. Considering how sick you all must be of reading about what books I’ve been reading, probably so. Well, I don’t really have time to start on that now, so you get a reprieve. Now, if only I could think of something to write about instead…

This week I’ve been in denial that I am getting sick. This morning I am no longer in denial, but I am in fighting mode. “Fighting” in the sense that I chose to spend three hours sleeping on the living room sofa, just because I could. Because nothing is more important than me stopping getting sick. (You know that’s just an expression, right? Lots of things are more important than my short-term health–like liberty and justice and the safety of my children, just to name a few–but I’m too constitutionally weak to determine where not-getting-a-full-blown-cold falls on my Priority-O-Meter.) When I got up, I was thirsty, but since I can’t drink water when I’m sick (“can’t”=don’t want to so much that I just don’t), I looked for some other beverage to hydrate myself with. Sugar Daddy was sick last week and asked me to buy him some Gatorade. I asked what flavors he preferred and he said, “Whatever,” but one of the flavors he specifically mentioned–perhaps the only flavor he specifically mentioned–was grape. At the time I thought, “Grape? Feh. But okay.” So I went to the store and bought lemon-lime Gatorade, blueberry-pomegranate Gatorade, and grape Gatorade.

Guess what is the only flavor of Gatorade left in the house? But I was thirsty enough that I drank it, even though I don’t like Gatorade and I definitely don’t like grape Gatorade. I’ll do it again in a few minutes, too. That’s how important my short-term health and hydration are to me. I should probably eat something too. You’re supposed to feed a cold, right? I sure hope so because I’m not constitutionally strong enough to starve anything right now.

Tonight Princess Zurg is supposed to have a friend over to spend the night. This is a new friend we’ve never met before. Does it seem odd to invite a girl to spend the night her first time over? Well, PZ knows her. If she turns out to be a serial killer or something, I’ll just send her home early. IF I STILL CAN. I am not afraid of giving the girl my possibly-head-cold-we’ll-see germs. I’m planning not to be around anyone as much as I can.

Mister Bubby is, quite serendipitously, spending the night at his friend’s house. Even though he has perturbed me in a major way by leaving his science project to the last minute, to the extent that it was not finished on the day it was due (which would be today). This is not really like MB, but maybe this is the new MB. I don’t know. I had no idea the project was due today until I dropped Girlfriend off at school this morning and MB’s BFF’s mom was there and asked if MB needed a ride to school so he could more easily transport his science board. That was when I pretended (sort of) to have the first freaking clue that he needed to transport a science board today. When I got home he was still writing his conclusions on the computer. Uh huh. Well, then.

I generally do not involve myself with my children’s science projects. Scratch that; rephrase. I never involve myself with my children’s science projects. What’s the point of being married to a scientist if you can’t absolve yourself of all responsibility regarding science projects? Moreover, I am not generally in the habit of knowing when my children’s assignments-of-any-variety are due. Not after they get past first grade or whenever the school stops making us fill out and sign their stupid reading logs. I would have a different attitude, I’m sure, if my children were doing poorly in school, but generally they do fine. So of course I didn’t know that the science project was due today, but I might have known if I’d gotten the impression that MB had been working feverishly on it at all yesterday…or ever.

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t blame myself. Is it my science project? Is it my grade? Am I accountable for the homework my child fails to complete on time? No, no, and…no. (Not after they stop asking me to fill out and sign their stupid reading logs.) I’ve already been to school. I didn’t graduate from school so I could be responsible for homework, let alone science projects (shudder) all over again. So I don’t feel guilty. Which is odd, actually, because I usually feel guilty about everything, even the things that clearly aren’t my fault. It took me a few weeks to stop feeling guilty about the house fire that was started by a faulty bathroom-ceiling fan. I have an overactive sense of guilt, no question about that. But I don’t feel guilty about this. What I feel is…disappointment. I’m no stranger to disappointment either, but I’m not usually disappointed in my children. I’m angry with them and irritated with them, but rarely disappointed. This was a new sensation for me, so I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

I resisted the temptation to hassle MB about his lack of responsibility and poor time management skills. He’s apt to get an earful of that from his father, and he’s already going to be embarrassed by the consequences of his folly. Besides, hassling him would imply that I’m personally offended by his failure to complete his science project in a timely fashion, as though it’s a reflection on me. No, thanks. I’m sorry that MB screwed up his science project. (Sorry for him, that is.) I’m a sympathetic person. But man, am I disappointed.

And a little bit irritated because that means MB is not quite the self-reliant kid I have heretofore relied on him to be. I hate being disappointed!

And yes, he’s coming home early tomorrow and working on his Humanities paper throughout the three-day weekend until it’s finished because if he’s going to be a shifty ne’er-do-well, that’s just how I’ll have to treat him. (I’m being a little bit facetious, for dramatic effect.)

Well, if I’m going to feed this cold before it’s time to pick up PZ and her new friend and also Girlfriend, I’d better get on the stick. Or on the soup. Do you think I should have cleaned the house before anyone came over today? Huh, a little late for that. Well, whatever. I’m in fighting mode! They’re lucky if they don’t find me passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of grape Gatorade at my side.

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