Day 50: Excuses, excuses...

Woohoo!!! 50 entries! This feels so significant. Only 314 to go. *pale*

I didn't write yesterday. Here's why:

Do you ever envision that your weekends are going to be totally different than the reality ever turns out to be? I was so hoping for a relaxing, laid-back weekend. In my imagination, I would slip into my darling "date" ensemble and Dave and I go on our Friday night date, to our favorite restaurant, holding hands and already missing each other in anticipation of his impending departure. Saturday morning, we'd wear matching robes and make banana pancakes in our sparkling kitchen, and then go to the park with the children. There, we would run gleefully down the grass, holding pudgy hands, and laughing like we were in a laundry detergent commercial. After the kids drifted happily off to sleep, we'd talk and relax in the house that was still clean from a week ago. I'd head into this week, and into his 9 days away, feeling ready to go. Is this too much to ask???

Apparently. Because, instead, I want to fall over where I stand. I'm on the South Beach diet, which completely killed our Friday night date because we couldn't go anywhere fun, because I can't eat anything good!! Saturday morning I made banana pancakes that no one wanted to eat until I threatened them with tears. I bolted out the door to a church meeting, leaving Dave to command the troops, and--by the time I got home and he got home from going shoe shopping with said troops, he just wanted the afternoon off. Our kids were happily bent on destroying anything and everything in sight, all in the name of sibling solidarity. I was almost relieved as I bolted to the car to go watch someone else's children for the evening.

Don't even get me started on today. Let's just say that I ended up at church in a black skirt wearing brown shoes, a nursing bra that suddenly wouldn't unhook when the Wee One started to holler, and legs that haven't been shaved in so long they could belong to a yeti. My kitchen would make SuperNanny shake her head at the camera and whisper, "How are children supposed to learn struc-tuh in a home like this?" That, combined with the incessant pleading for Signing Time viewing was enough to drive my carbohydrate deprived body over the edge and right into the crock pot. I ate a pot roast. Almost all of it.

Somehow, creative writing just didn't make it into the mix.