Last night I dreamt that he was born, and he was an itty bitty, teeny tiny, kangaroo-like baby. Kangaroo-like in that he was only a couple of inches big and would just kind of cling/crawl on you. But he was shaped like a human. He was so tiny and cute and everyone loved him and everyone wanted to cradle him in the palm of their hand.
It really doesn't make any sense though, because, no offense to Maeve, but she is enormous. Not in a bad way. In a mesmerizing, there's-a-person-in-there way.
Dear Saint Patrick, please give me the strength to avoid the candy jar, full to the brim with delicious treats, so that I can protect the seams of my favorite green sweater on this, the most holiest of holidays. Amen.
Friday. The day before the big event. I was so proud of myself. I had planned out my day perfectly. I felt so prepared for Bowl for Kids' Sake. I even left my office at 4:00 to pick up a few last minute raffle items and do a couple of last minute spreadsheet touch-ups at home before making dinner and hanging out with Dave. Then I locked my keys in my car. I spent 1 hour and 10 minutes freezing my tooshy off and writing a long, whiny blog post in my head.
But on my way home I saw a long haired, long trench coated, big cross necklace wearing, dressed in all black, goth guy cruising through Sugarhouse...on WHITE ROLLERBLADES. And I new the world was right again.
I know, I know. You were hoping for something more scandalizing. Or at least a teensy bit interesting. But I didn't do anything scandalizing or even a teensy bit interesting all day. I answered email. From 9:30 a.m. until 5:45 p.m., except for when I was microwaving my lunch, I answered email. It was coming in as fast as I could get it out. But at 5:45 I left my office without a single email in my inbox. Thank god.
Want to place bets on how many new emails I'll have when I get in tomorrow morning? I'm guessing 18.