Spring is a bitch

I'm not kidding. Look at her, the hussy. First she gets you all excited with the blue skies and the warm weather and all the little flowers coming out, and then, wham. It's all winter storm warnings and nasty nasty wind and chapped lips.

Spring: the cock-tease of the seasons.

But whatever, I can deal with that type.

It's official: My metabolism is a piece of shit. Both kids are playing soccer this season, and so yes! I am the ubiquitous Soccer Mom. Except in a crap-for-all Honda with stickers all over the windows and a pair of jeans that really need to see the inside of a washer, rather than a shiny minivan and something velour with something written across the ass. I'm like the Poor Man's Soccer Mom. With liberal leanings. Groovy. But the question is this: How is it that the kids play their soccer games, run around playing with the other kids during each other's game, play for .5 to 1 hour in the playgrounds after each game, play in the park after lunch, play with the neighbors when we get home, and I'm the one who is falling asleep on my feet by 7pm? Crap, no wonder I'm a tub.

This post brought to you by the number 5 and the colon (:), nature's all-around punctuation.

As much as I would like to continue this stream of consciousness, I must go make waffles and get the kids dressed and hie us to the chosen place of worship so that my daughter can pretend to sing but in actuality pull her dress over her head and twirl around. And so I can buy them donuts and drink bad coffee while I chat with the other parents. Because that, my friends, is what being a good Methodist is all about. Thank God.

Smoochies,
PK