Well, That's Better

I have successfully crested the PMS Hump and am free-falling back to normal, normal being a relative term.

Hugh is headed home from Vegas and should (fingers crossed) be home in time for wrestling practice this evening.

Last night, I found myself with an unexpected hour of free time between dinner and Lost so; I addressed the issue of my skunk stripe and am happy to report that my head now sports a lovely chestnut brown right down to the roots. This morning, the color made me so happy, I granted the hair a temporary reprieve from the scissors, leaving it free to grow another day. Grow on, hair, grow on!

I'm feeling decidedly thinner today thanks in no small part to the decrease in my body's I AM SO FAT, PLEASE, SOMEONE KILL ME hormones. I suffer no illusions about actually being thinner, I merely acknowledge the fact that I feel thinner; look to the rear and the hitchhiking pounds are still there, I promise.

Baseball is still going to be the death of me. The league president has spent enough time at my house at odd hours lately; I have to wonder if the neighbors are starting to think something fishy is going on. On the plus side, team try-outs are tomorrow night and, once the teams are in place, I will no longer be running an open door policy, instead; I will be chained to my computer, electronically rostering two hundred children via the babe Ruth website. I can hardly wait.

This morning, the Man-Cub triumphantly pulled a note from his teacher out of his backpack and presented it to me with the hubris of a man three times his size. Apparently, during C-SAP testing, which the schools are conducting all week; pajamas are considered perfectly acceptable school attire. In fact, by not allowing the Cub to sport his flannels to school, I am unintentionally ostracizing him from his peer group (OK, the letter didn't specify that part, I inferred it which, doesn't make it any less accurate. P.S. I suck at the parenting).

One need not guess what the Cub wore to school today.

I'm ok with this particular failure because, as I said; I have crested the hump and free-falling back into normal makes me a hell of a lot less sensitive to stupid stuff.

Except for those sappy Hallmark commercials, books by Nicholas Sparks and the imminent demise of Battlestar Galactica; still crying like a baby over that shit.