Which means that my two youngest children have officially given up solid food for the season, and will be subsisting on frozen sugar water for the next six months.  I’ll keep you posted on that.

Actually, I shouldn’t complain.  They both ate lunch today.  I think it might have something to do with the fact that all the good popsicles are gone.  You know, I bought some of those new “Mini” popsicles, thinking they would be, I dunno, little popsicles, like maybe half the size of regular popsicles.  No.  They are teeny tiny popsicles.  The kids must think I’m trying to starve them, and that’s why they ate their sandwiches.

Speaking of popsicle weather, it is also garden-hose weather.  Meaning that Elvis wants to water our driveway about three hours a day.  (He was born in Oregon, he thinks water just falls from the sky, what can I tell you?)  Today he actually wanted to play with the hose in the back yard, which I think meant that he wanted to water our deck for three hours, but I’ll never know for sure because there is a non-functional sprayer-nozzle stuck to the hose in the back yard, and Elvis couldn’t get it off.  I couldn’t get it off either.  It’s just going to stay there forever, I think.  I may as well get used to it.  Hello, non-functional sprayer-nozzle thing, how’s it going?  Yeah, me too.  I assume it’s non-functional because it doesn’t spray water, but if its function is to make me want to scream and punch somebody, it’s doing a fine job. 

I really don’t have time for this blogging nonsense today.  I have a lot of work to do, and I should do it before it gets too hot.  My tap recital is this week, and the housekeepers are coming this week.  I kind of let the house go right before we left for Austin, and so far it hasn’t come back to me.  I spent about three hours on Saturday trying to get it back to a manageable state–or at least a state where I could invite housekeepers to come and clean it–but it still needs a lot of work.  The housekeepers come every other Wednesday.  Historically, that has meant that I spend every other Tuesday evening staying up late to make sure that they can find surfaces to clean the next morning.  I can’t really do that this Tuesday evening because I have the dress rehearsal for the recital that night.  So I really need to do it before then.  And make sure nobody messes it up before Wednesday morning.  You see why I always do it Tuesday night?  Anyway, you don’t want to hear about my problems.  I’m just typing so I don’t have to work.

I skipped church on Sunday because I had a mandatory tap rehearsal, followed by recital pictures.  Yes, we’re grown-ups and we get recital pictures.  We don’t ordinarily do them right after a major rehearsal, when we’re all sweaty and tired, but the planets were aligned against us this year, and that was the only time we could do it.  So we had the rehearsal, and then we all tried very hard to get in full costume immediately and not sweat too much for photographs.  I was a little dismayed because I would have preferred to do a dry run with my make-up before I committed it to posterity.  I don’t usually wear make-up–in fact, the only times I really wear it is for my recital and for my recital pictures.  I had to buy a whole new batch of make-up, though, because I lost my old make-up in the fire last year.  Yeah, I know you’re supposed to replace your make-up every three months or something anyway, but whatever.  I don’t do that.  I save it for the annual Wearing of the Make-Up in the spring.  I’m thrifty that way.

So every time I put on make-up, I’m reminded of why I don’t usually wear it.  It really, really irritates my skin.  Not like I’m allergic to it.  No, I think it’s a form of claustrophobia.  My skin wants to breathe.  I’m not sure what the deal is with my eyeballs.  Every time I wear any kind of eye make-up, within about ten or fifteen minutes, my eyes start hurting, like they’re tired.  Like I’ve been prying them open with toothpicks for the last 48 hours.  It’s very annoying.  I’ve tried all kinds of hypoallergenic, “sensitive eyes” formulae, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s just a psychological problem.  The eyes want to breathe.  They don’t want to be burdened with thick lashes or a “smoky look.”  Unfortunately, knowing that it’s just psychological has not helped matters any.  My eyes still hurt, they hurt for several hours after I remove the eye make-up, and yet I have to put it on again at least twice before the week is over. 

I didn’t used to worry about the make-up problem when I was young, or rather, when my skin was young.  Now that my skin is getting old, I’m starting to worry about the make-up problem.  Because I don’t want to look old and haggard until I die.  I’d like to try a few years of that “age-defying” cosmetic stuff before I start looking old and haggard until I die.  One of the problems with not wearing make-up is that when I do put it on, it looks weird, even if I’ve done it right.  And I don’t really do it right–that’s one of the other problems with not wearing make-up:  I have only the most rudimentary knowledge of how to apply it.  I know what not to do.  (Sometimes I accidentally do that stuff anyway, but at least I’m self aware.)  I’ve never learned how to achieve that “natural” look–probably because it takes too long, and I’m too lazy–and that’s fine when I only wear make-up for an occasion when I’m not aiming for “natural” anyway, but I’m just saying, I worry about the old-and-haggard years.  Do you know I turned 37 on Saturday?  I’ve tried to compensate for my make-up-less skin by coloring my hair and painting my nails and wearing women’s clothing.  I just hope it’s enough when the old-and-haggard years hit full force.

I really have a lot of laundry to do, and that’s not half of what needs to get done in the next 48 hours.  I have to take Elvis to a birthday party this afternoon and make sure he doesn’t blow out the candles on the cake before the birthday boy does. 

Speaking of cake, for my birthday we got an ice cream pie from the Safeway.  It was a “Mudd Pie.”  I don’t know if it was named after Mudd clothing, or Harvey Mudd, or what, but it was good, probably because it had coffee in it.  Princess Zurg was disturbed by the presence of the coffee–morally disturbed, but not so disturbed that she didn’t finish eating her piece.  I ate my piece and the baby’s piece, and I would have eaten Elvis’s, too, except I thought that might make me a bad person. 

Speaking of being a bad person, I used the carpool lane today when I wasn’t carpooling.  It was an accident, really.  I was in a hurry, and I forgot I didn’t have any kids with me.  Ordinarily I think that people who misuse the carpool lane are probably going to hell.  I hope that isn’t true.  (It’s funny, though–today of all days, there were, like, three cops on the shoulder of the freeway on-ramp, right where the carpool lane was.  I totally could have been busted!  Fortunately, they were there about a car accident.  Wait–did I just say that?)  I think I paid for it because I totally missed my off-ramp.  Again.  The last time I went to this place I was going, I missed the off-ramp.  Mind you, I’ve been to this place several times.  I’ve taken that off-ramp dozens and dozens of times.  I know where it is, and yet it’s like I can’t see it anymore.  It’s very disconcerting. 

As I was saying, though, I have a lot of laundry to do.  I can’t keep boring you with the mundane details of my life.  I have to get going.  Gentle readers, happy Monday.