Oh, what. ever.

I went to Gap tonight to spend the rest of my Christmas gift card. If you ever need a gift idea for me, a gift card is where it's at. I don't care where you get it, or what store I have to spend it in; it could be the cheese store at the kiosk next to the fountain in the mall (which would not suck, by the way) and I'd redeem that thing before my birthday without a doubt.

So, I went in for a bra. I need one. I need eleven. I grabbed ten to try on before I saw the sales clerk and asked her if she'd mind measuring me. She told me she would need to grab her measuring tape. She came back and examined it and stated that she doesn't "normally work in this department." I said, "Oh my God. Are you traumatized?" She said she wasn't and that it was completely fine that she was feeling me up in the middle of the store for all to see.

She wrapped the measuring tape around me and asked, "What size do you normally wear?" I said, "Well, the bra I have on is a 36 B, but I think it's too big." She marked the tape and stared at it. She flipped it over and looked very confused. She said, "Let's try this again. I have it as tight as it will go." She undid the tape again and said, "This says here to measure and then add five. You couldn't possibly wear a 40." Oh my God. I have on a 36 and this chick tells me I'm a 40. I am in birthday hell.

My birthday is tomorrow. Could it be more clear? I am going to be 37, but I might as well be turning 40. I hates bras and birthdays. No gifts needed this year. Thanks. And no bras. Never trying on another bra ever. again.

I went into the dressing room and tried on the first bra. I think maybe it is just Gap bras. They suck. The sales girl came back and asked me if I needed anything. I said, "You can come in." I am pretty sure she quit after I left. Poor thing.

Happy New Year

I cannot believe it. It just keeps happening.

Please, slow down.

Bright Lights. Big Fit.

My child threw the most giant fit in Target last night. She refused to put her coat and hat on. I have to say I was surprised by her outburst. Only ten minutes earlier she had been so enthralled with the strategically placed toddler level Turbo Tax software. "Oh, mama. Look at dis." Yes, sweetheart. That is lovely. *flip*flip*flip* "Look at dis one, mama. So pretty."

Mornings

My daughter is not a morning person. I have described her many times as a feral cat. She's a Leo. And she's 2 years old. Someone hold me.

But today she woke up. Sweet. Somewhat happy. After snuggling for a bit she slid herself over the side of my bed and said, "C'mon, Mommmmm." I laughed. "C'monnn. C'monnnn, Mmmmom. Come on, mom!"

How does this happen? Who is this little person? Every time I hold her I picture her when she's 16 and that I won't be able to walk from room to room of the house carrying her, nor will I be able to carry her, my purse, wheel my (yes, I had to resort to such humiliation much to the delight of my back) book bag, her lunch, and her bag of blankets and pillow for daycare across campus. I won't be able to hike with her strapped to my body in an Ultimate Baby Wrap. I won't hold her like a tiny baby and tell her everything she's going to do the next day before I lay her down in her crib for nigh-night time. She won't ask for a paci. I'll be able to understand every word she says, though I may not comprehend teenage talk. Will she grow out of her "curtsy" phase and willingly wear pants and tee shirts ever again? How much will she remember of these days?

At least I'll be out of school by then (God willing) and when she wants me to leave her alone she won't say, "Go 'puter, mommy." And when she wants me to stay home she won't say, "No. Stay here and do homework."