In which I jump from topic to topic without rhyme or reason

Last night I went to bed at 2:38. Why did I do that?

I was sitting in the family room, reading my book, thinking, "I am going to pay for this in the morning."

It is the morning. I am paying. I am hoping that the coffee kicks in soon. I am considering eating the actual coffee beans if it does not.

Tomorrow my older boys leave for scout camp. This will be the first time for Jeremy, and I am a little nervous. He is almost 11, and quite independent for his age, but he is still my baby. I said to him earlier this morning, "You are leaving tomorrow. I am going to miss you."

He casually answered back, "I am going to miss my new scooter, Sami, and you, too, mom."

Scuse me? An inanimate object and a dog who eats her own pooh outrank your mother who cooks for you and cleans for you and does all manner of things that make your life happy and fulfilled. Not to mention I bought the new scooter with my secret Paypal slush fund. He laughed and tried to back peddle, but it was too late. The pooh eating dog wins out over me.

Whatev.

Last night, before he went to work, Kevin shared this with me. We are seriously considering going. Does that make us lame? Mmmmbop?

I can't wait to hit some garage sales this weekend. With no rain in the forecast it promises to be a thriftingpalooza. And then I am going to start work on my couch. I am jumping into the slip covering fray. I am both nervous and excited. I chose this fabric to cover the couch.

Of course the color appears distorted from the in real life color, the computer monitor does not do it justice. The background color is khaki, and I am going to slip cover the ottoman and the oversized chair in a khaki cotton duck because I am afraid the toile will overpower the room. One toile piece, I think, will be just perfect. I was inspired by Nester to go for it.

I have to go now and get ready to head out for the gym. This is my last class for the week, I can't wait for it to be over. I am so feeling my age lately, and I am not that old. Eight years ago, I would teach between 7 and 10 group fitness classes per week and still be raring to go.

Now?

Oh, dear. I ache. My hiney is screaming and my biceps are ready to revolt. But I am thankful for the work and the extra money that it provides for garage sales, and fabric, and strawberry frosted Dunkin' Donuts.

Later gators!