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Suburban Island

Paradise
Wednesday, Jan. 29, 2003, 5:58 p.m.

Question: Are we having fun yet?

What I Learned: Paradise is not always perfect.

Another day in paradise…

This morning I discovered that every pair of stockings in the house had a big run in it. My husband stuck the nice Belgium chocolates we got from my parents for the holidays into a plastic bag so he could throw out the box and stuck it in a candy jar so that these last carefully saved pieces tasted like Belgium cough syrup (I ate them all last night anyhow). One of my kids is now officially sick. My daughter has become a walking Jeep Wrangler ad (a nice counterpoint to the constant Mustang propaganda provided by my youngest who is already thinking about wheels). All the beds are unmade. The sink has many dishes residing therein. There is a pile of laundry behind my bedroom door (our official hamper zone). It has grown so large between this morning and tonight that I am having a bit of trouble pushing the door open all the way. I’m eating too many ginger snaps (someone take this box away). It’s spitting little bits of ice between the raindrops and it is drive-to-piano-lessons night. Although a piano lesson is occuring in a few hours and now one kid needs to take the full hour, the only music in the house is Kazaa downloads and the only tapping of keys occurring in our house is in the computer room. Piano? What piano? Where? Practice? Who me? I can only imagine the piano teacher mumbling under her breath, “Oh well, it’s a living”. My oldest sticks a foot under my nose – ha ha – one that’s been stuffed into school shoes all day long. I don’t think it’s funny – do you? My printer has so little ink in it that no matter how hard I shake it I still get a big white line down the center. My husband just called. He said, “I hope the house is straight.” He is such an optimist.

He may be in for a bit of a shock. All I can say is, "Hey, welcome to the club."

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