The arsenal in my bed

Before you let your imagination get away from you, let me explain.  You'll find that I'm actually pretty boring. 

Since I sleep alone, I get to sprawl across my bed at night, or in the morning after the boys go to school, or after school, or all weekend long.  I typically like to be in the middle with things that are necessary to life on either side.  On any given day, you might find glasses, multiple ponytail holders, pens and pencils (double duty as writing utensils and devices used to put my hair up), long toothpicks (again...for putting my hair up), chapstick (Baby Lips is my favorite at night), water bottle, books, notepad, several pillows, my phone, and remote controls.

Some of these will get kicked to either nightstand, but the ponytail holders, Baby Lips, water bottle, glasses, and lotion (Oh, I forgot lotion in my aforementioned list) usually stay within arm's reach...and since I have T-Rex arms, that means they stay pretty close.  If I ever opted to share a bed again, I'd have to upgrade to a King...and/or find a significant other who didn't mind Baby Lips shoved under his pillow.  A girl has her priorities.

But, as it stands now, I'm just flying solo, so it's just me and my arsenal all cozy in my purple paisley flannel sheets.

My mom is moving to the town where I live, so today I met her at her new house to meet a potential contractor.  The only downside to her house (aside from the atrocious lawn ornament adorning the side of her new driveway) is that it only has a concrete pad...no garage.  The layout of the house makes adding an attached garage kind of tricky, but I like puzzles, so that's why I went along.  The contractor, however, does not seem to like puzzles.  Nor does he seem to like explaining ideas or any possibilities.  He did seem quite excited about shooting down any possibilities, but that might just be my take on the situation because I was cold and he was extremely late...and then he blamed his dad for being late.  Also, his dad is almost 88 and he is probably a handful of years older than my own father and far too old to be blaming his father for his time management skills.  It was an interesting afternoon.

Then I picked B up from school and we headed off to the wonderful world of allergy shots.  Can I just take a moment to say how much I adore our doctor?  Not only is she wonderful and super-accessible, but her staff is also delightful.  They are so accommodating and fun to talk to...and they find B hilarious, although I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who didn't think he was funny at least some of the time.  He's a character, and he definitely comes by it honestly. 

On the way to his weekly appointment, he was telling me about the holiday party his class had today since they have early release tomorrow.  He told me about how they made mugs, but then he dropped his on the sidewalk and it shattered, so he just walked in the other direction (whistling) so nobody would know it was his.  He also said they did some karaoke, but he and his friends were annoyed because they were only allowed to do Christmas songs, and he really just wanted to drop a beat.

What?  It's like my precious elementary schooler suddenly morphed into the freshman.  Please.  No.  I can't deal with another one of those right now.  He's completed 4/7 finals, and has his most difficult core class final tomorrow, followed by what should be his easiest core class final, so that should be fun.  He did enjoy getting out of school at 12:30 today, and is looking forward to the same tomorrow.  B gets out at 12:50, and then our break officially begins.  I'm not sure I'm ready for all of the together time...

Add a 50 degree temperature drop on Saturday, and all signs point to me barricading myself in my room by Sunday.  In other words, it's another typical weekend in our household.

My overachiever self is really struggling with my final grades.  Although, points-wise, I have all As for the semester, the professor in one class only counts 93 and above as an A.  I'm below that, so I'm struggling with a 3.5 gpa instead of what I feel should be a 4.0.  It really bugs me.  I know I'm not the only one; there are several in the same boat I'm in, but it still stinks.  I had much higher expectations, and although I thought I enjoyed this professor, now I'm dreading taking another class of hers (no other option) in the spring.  I'm also not alone in this...but I guess I'll just suck it up and take it.  It could be a lot worse.  I know that.  I just really wanted the 4.0.

Don't worry.  I already called the whambulance, and it's coming to take me away.

Which I'm totally fine with...as long as the EMTs are cute...and they let me bring the arsenal in my bed.

Aubs