Dear Photog (Pirate et al),
When you come home tomorrow you will be pleased to see a new wifey. I chopped my hair short and went a righteous Springtime blonde. The six graders said that it looks okay, but far below my longer hair. They suggested I grow it out really long. Like Avril Lavigne. She is so punk rock!
The girl scout cookies are here and Lucy sent Hobnobs (a double pack) for my birthday. I know you get home tomorrow, but please don't expect the Hobnobs to still be here. They make a most delicious breakfast. Just delightful really.
(I stole some cash out of your stash drawer to pay for the Girl Scout cookies because troop 939 doesn't take credit cards. Absurd!)
The biggest break through of all is my hateful and complicated relationship with food has turned a corner. I won't drink milk, but I will have Hobnobs for breakfast and not want to die of the guilt. Here is my new trick: Heavenly Father is in charge.
Isn't that a great concept?
He can decide if those Hobnobs will go to fat, or towards the energy it takes to wrangle a first grader from showing you Ten Ways To Do The Luge. Fat or energy -it's all for my good. And I can accept that being fat isn't the worst thing in life.
Being Avril Lavigne is.
Whoa! Just kidding.
Looking forward to having a little sanity around here...in the form of YOU!