Diary of a mad white woman

This weather is killing me.  I LOATH it.  I am sick of cooking, cleaning, and laundry.  I am sick of the kids.  Plain sick of it I tell ya.  But since we are bored, I have been cooking, here was breakfast.  The kids hated them.  Yup, shit you not.  Noah just wanted Cheerios.  When will I learn?

Here is a fantastic jump in topics for you...old diary's...DON'T READ THEM!  I have a few from the last couple of years that are fine to look back on, mostly because the stuff in there is pretty current and if it needs to be dealt with the statue of limitations is still in your favor.  That and for some reason I think I have learned to write things down without such raw and unadulterated language as I've gotten older...I must have simmered down some in my old age.

My sister graced me with my diary relic this past weekend while I was down visiting my parents.  We are driving home after getting a coffee and she starts telling me about this diary that is up in my old closet.  She then tells me she read it when she was twelve and it scarred her for life.  Nice!  Not only is there a  piece of my obviously embarrassing history in my parents now spare bedroom, but my sister has read it, awesome.  We get back to my parents and she runs up to get it, because she knows exactly where it is.  As soon as I saw the cover of this thing I was time warped back to 1999-2001.  Not the best years but certainly very dramatic.  Lets just say, Diary of a American Teenager has nothing on me...NOTHING.  As I browsed through I was floored at all the things that were going on during that time, and how incredibly stupid I was to ever write these things down where they could possibly be read by another human being.  Very embarrassing to say the least and as I got to the end I noticed another persons handwriting...my mothers!!!  Written in the back cover was this...And the award for Best Actress supporting goes to!  Totally humiliating.  So now I blog.  I blog so that I will resist the urge to obviously spill every single thought that pours into my head out onto paper where I will inevitably misplace it and some unsuspecting twelve year old girl will be tormented with thoughts of what a (insert horrible adjective here) sister she has.

Another thing, old diary's also make you want to exact revenge on people that you no longer know and some that you do, that can't be very healthy either, but I digress.  I have these two little babes to keep my mind occupied most of the time.  The revenge will have to wait.  Evil laughter ensues...THE END.

Isabella got a bang trim.  Adorable.

She also got a tutu from the Dollar Store.

Noah got to pick out his own PJ'S.  Great taste huh?





*  So tell me, do you read your old diary's?  Do you even keep one?  Do they ever piss you off?  Anyone? Anyone?...crickets.