Good gawd!

Okay, let's see.  I sew.  All kinds of things.  I can cut hair (men's and women's, although I prefer to cut women's).  I can also color hair and do highlights.

In the past couple of days I have cut Marissa's hair, cut my sister's hair, cut Bryan's hair, sewed two pairs of pants for my mom (in addition to my biz sewing) and today I'm scheduled to highlight my sister's hair.

I generally LOVE doing things for other people.  I usually get something out of it, either a feeling of satisfaction, gratitude on the recipient's part.  Ya know.

But my mom, OH.  GOOD.  LORD.  The woman thinks I'm her personal sweatshop, and that my fabric stash is subject to her whims.  After I made her two (yes, TWO) pair of silky capri pyjama pants, the ungrateful wretch turns to my sister and says, "Do you want her to make you a pair, too?"  Like I'm not standing right there, like I don't speak English, like I have NOTHING better to do than sit around all damn day and sew for you, evil demon woman.

I almost, *almost* knocked her down.  Again.  I mean, it's one thing to get down on your knees and grovel and beg and be at my mercy, but it's a whole different thing to pimp me out.

Ma'am?

I just got back from taking the kids to Baskin Robbins.

Two young (like, 16 yo) boys were behind the counter.  They both called me ma'am, like, a billion times.

Why ma'am??  Maybe it's my gaggle of kids.  Or, it could be my fat ankles.  Still, it made me want to beat them up behind the bleachers after band practice.

Sssshhh.

Pheebs woke up this morning, needing to be changed (Bryan's job).  He got her butt all cleaned up, and then brought her back to bed with us.  She laid there, with her eyes wiiiiiiiide open, and put her face in my face, and made little noises, as if to say, "If you think I'm going back to sleep, you're delusional, momma.  Let's play, mmmkay?"

So I got up, and brought her out to the kitchen to get us each something to drink and get her a little snack.  It's been "Please, up!", or "please, that!", or "please, down", or just "please, please, please!" furiously until I figure out what she wants.  She's crazy.

So I'm sitting here at the computer, and I can hear what either seems to be a) a pep rally going on or b) a fight between a woman and a dog or c) a fight between a shrill beast and something else.

It's loud, and noisy, and I *think* there might be pom-poms involved.  Why can't people have pep rallies and fights at normal hours?  Like midnight, or 1am?  Because then I'm dead asleep and I can't hear you, and it's all good, and I won't be forced to figure out which house is yours and key your car and throw eggs at your windows in passive-aggressive protest.  Do you KNOW how HARD you're making this on ME??

Testing

Test post.

I thought I'd give this Typepad free trial offer a go, and see how it feels.  So far, although it's confusing as hell, it seems a little more user-oriented than blogger, and I feel like I have more control.

We shall see.