When does the fun start?

What a week...

I keep hearing this whisper from store clerks, childless neighbors and barren strangers: What are you going to do with all of your extra time now that the kids are school?

Um...What? I didn't know those words could be arranged to form a sentence.

It sort of sounded like there should be some time during one's day not spent in car line. Or running to the store for yet another freaking pencil. Or baseball practice. Or packing backpacks. Or unpacking them.

And this cat is tired. I've still got an infant and toddler at home all day, there is no break from that. So, when I hear of this "free time" (and I actually form the exaggerated air quotes, thank you) I am supposed to have, I want to spit.

So in that vein, I have not been willing or able to comprise a new schedule. I was giving myself a pass for the first week, but for week 2 I've got to figure it out. It's contributing to my general melancholy I think. That, and the fact that I'm having one of those private girly meltdowns which happens to women every 35 minutes or so. I want all of my hair cut off. I never want to hear the tail end of this sentence, You look great, for just having a baby. WTF? Can't I just look good without the qualifier. It's like I'm Mama Cass without the talent. I'm going out and eat worms. I want costly surgical procedures and a new wardrobe. In a size 2.

Okay, one thing at a time. In a few minutes I'm going to a spaghetti dinner at church.

Stop laughing.

I'm going to eat dinner at lunch time from a buffet of listeria because the theme of the evening is, "New beginnings." It's supposed to be an effort to start the new school year off right.

I so need the marinara sauce of birth, the linguine of growth and the garlic bread of forgiveness for that freaking school supply list.