NoGoEvNevWritMoinNo, Ho.

I *kinda* felt bad for dumping sh*t on y'all in my last post.  Just kidding!  That's what y'all are here for.  Right? 

But, oddly, right after I dumped on y'all - things started looking up!  Relatively.

So, in the spirit of patriotism (whatever), I decided to write a short list about it in the hopes that if I had depressed you - I would cheer you up!  And also someone told me to be thankful for the good in my life instead of complaining all the time (whatever).

1.  We are two days away from the greatest day of the year.

2.  Saturday night I built a fire.  Like a Girl Scout.  Or, like an Indian.  (If the Indians had girl friends and used kerosene.)  Hubby usually makes the fire (because he's the man and that's what men do), but he was gone so I decided I could make fire.  Y'know like Emily Davidson?  Girl power? 

Well, turns out fire and the wheel really were difficult things to invent and are really difficult to replicate.  Damn cave men. 

I phoned hubby at his important conference to ask him how to make fire.  Here's the short version of our conversation.

Me:  Hi, hubby.  I was just wondering - how do you make a fire?

Hubby:  Um.  I'm kinda busy right now, can this wait?

Me:  Well, not really because since it's finally cold, I invited the whole neighborhood over like you usually do to roast marshmallows and drink and I think they are kinda expecting a fire.

Hubby:  *Sigh*  Well, first you need a beer can.

Me:  Wait.  Is this a joke?

Hubby:  *Sigh*  No.  It's not a joke. 

Me:  So, the first step in making a fire is:  Drink a beer?

Hubby:  Yes. 

Me:  SA-Weet.  I shoulda' been in charge of the fires all along!

Well, since I suck at following directions I had to just basically slam a beer, pour kerosene on some wood, and light a match to get a fire started.  And then for good measure (and so hubby wouldn't know all my secrets), I threw the old beer can into the fire.  Note to self:  Beer cans do not burn.  Ever.  And even when they are seriously charred you can still read Miller Lite on them.  (Hubby knows my secret.)

When I did finally get the fire started (with some help), here's what it looked like:


Please note how even the skeletons in my closet yard photo bomb me.
 

3.  Honey Boo Boo endorsed President Obama.  Although this happened quite a while ago - while I was still in the dumps, in the past few days it's given me hope that when I decide what I am running for, Honey Boo Boo will endorse me as well.

4.  I got my 50th follower to my blog.  I kinda feel like I want to send her a small gift.  But, since that's stalkerish I decided just to tell you guys here.  She doesn't have a blog that I know of, or I'd send you over.  But, clearly she is of above average intelligence, a fabulous mom and woman, and has great taste.  So, thank you, TNMom.  Here's a small gift especially for you to express my sincere appreciation.

They're not just for Valentines anymore.

5.  In a moment of sheer motherhood genius, I scheduled all four of my kids' six month dental cleanings on Halloween.  What kind of insane idiot does this?  Me.  Apparently.  Thanks to my lack of calendaring skills six month's worth of dental fees will be ravaged by one night of candy gorging.  Wait.  Is this my happy list?  Oh.  Sorry.  I still am wandering to the dark side every now and again.

6.  On November 1 you can join millions of other people worldwide and write a novel in 30 days.  This is affectionately (I guess) called NaNoWriMo by the throngs of people who participate.

No, I am not doing this.  Although I admire the strength and fortitude (whatever) of these people, I do not want to encourage them.  I really cannot think of anything more ludicrous than writing a novel in 30 of the days before what is the most frantic, time-consuming, depressing season of the year when most everyone is gaining weight.  And, I cannot think of a crazier acronym.  (Except for maybe SWOT mom.)

Instead I've decided to commit myself to writing on my blog every day of November.  Except when I don't feel like it, or I am depressed, or I have other things that are more important that need doing, or my four year old needs her butt wiped. 

So, basically - I commit to bringing you what I've always brought you - but in NOVEMBER!  So, yay me!  (I feel less depressed already!)  And because I love to rival ridiculous acronyms, I am calling my writing challenge for myself:  NoGoEvNevWriMoinNo, Ho.
Not Going to Ever, Never Write More in November, Hoes!

That's my Happy List, friends.  Stay sane!  

it's a fine line between sanity and donuts and beer for breakfast.

Caution:  Ranty pity-party post ahead.  (It's not solving world peace or international hunger.)

Here are a few sucky things that have made my life not-funny lately .  Instead of continuing to avoid my blog like the plague, I have decided to embrace the suckiness and write about it. 

1.  I have a four year old who talks incessantly.  That is:  without ceasing.  Ever.  Except when she is asleep.  It has made focusing (on anything) really difficult for me these past few weeks.  Before you leave me a self righteous comment telling me how I should savor these moments and that they don't last long, rest assured - I do.  I am just wanting three seconds of quiet once every 24 hours so that I can fu*king focus on the tasks ahead.   That's all.   Don't judge.  (It is my blog.)

Indeed, sometimes I feel guilty for telling her, "Can you please stop talking for three seconds?  Mommy just needs to do this." 

My guilt lasts approximately as long as it takes her to start talking again.  So, usually about the three seconds I asked for.

So that you can experience the full extent of idiocracy that's happening over here, I give you a few of her nonsensical babbles from the past few days. 

a.  (This one happened in the middle of the night, so basically I was a captive audience.)  MOMMY I HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT MY LITTLE PONIES.  Except they weren't LITTLE.  They were gigantic and SCARY.  Even Princess Celestia.  She was a scary, gigantic, not little pony.  Can I sleep with you now?

b.  Mom, how old are princesses?  I think about four or eighty?  Do you think that's how old they are?  Except for Brave.  I think she's 20.  But, she wasn't married was she?  Mom, was Brave married?  When I'm 20 I am going to be married.

c.  Mom, I am going to live with you forever.  Okay?  And then I'm going to have four kids.  Two boys and two girls.  And then I am going to have a boyfriend.  And then I am going to have a dog.  And maybe one cat.  But, cats don't like kids, right?  Or do they?  So, maybe I guess I'm not going to have kids.

d.  I drew a picture of Snow White.  But, I didn't know how to make her dress, so I just made her smile look like Snow White's. 

e.  Sometimes she sings her babble.  At the top of her lungs.  If you're shiny and you know it, CLAP YOUR HANDS!  If you're shiny and you know it, CLAP YOUR HANDS!  If you're shiny and you know it........................THEN YOUR FACE WILL SURELY SHOW IT!  If you're shiny and you know it, clap your hands!

f.  She is currently obsessed with all the princesses.  Mom, Snow White has two smiles, right?  One like this (she does a maniac smile)?  And then one like this (she does another slightly more maniac smile)?

g.  Mom, when is the mummy going to go to bed?  (We have a mummy in our living room right now.  Since he can't be left out in the elements, after our epic Halloween party we put him in the kitchen.  But hubby kept getting startled by him and threatened to knock his teeth out.  So, for mummy's sake - I had hubby move him to the living room so that he's looking out the window.)

Do you kinda see how this *was* funny about the first three years and that now it's just making me grow weary (and old)? 

2.  I am not Mother of the Year.  I have known this since my oldest was about a week old.  I will be the first to admit my parenting faults.  Short list:

a.  I am inconsistent to the point of being consistent in my inconsistency.
b.  I am impatient.
c.  I scream.  And sometimes I throw fits.
d.  I am sarcastic.  Sometimes caustically.

So, it should be no surprise that my kids are screwed up.  Usually, though, it's no more so than I myself am screwed up (so, not too bad).  Until this school year.  It's like my family has some sort of super bug which affects their emotions so that all they can do is throw raging fits of lunacy.  And apparently there is no known cure for this super bug.  Believe me I've searched and tried everything known to man.  I have even sunk so low as to read A Parenting Book.  Or two.  Blech.  They didn't help much.  Surprise!

Seriously.  The constant fits by various family members (myself included) have made me weary.  And old.

Don't worry.  This is not a "call for help."  I've already done that.  One of us, and possibly all of us, is going into therapy/counseling/head shrinking/boot camp with a professional as soon as I can iron out the details (which I will be able to do once the four year old gives me three seconds of silence). 

Did I mention I was overtly sarcastic?  You will undoubtedly read more about this in the posts to come.  Or you won't because we will all be hauled away to the loony farm.  In that case, I'll try to sneak in my laptop to keep you up-to-date.

3.  I like to fool around mindlessly on Facebook leaving (what I think) are witty and self-deprecating comments and posts all over and laughing incessantly at my own (hilarious) jokes.  Since I don't have cable, Facebook is kind of like TLC for me.  The problem is Facebook has turned into a sickeningly vicious political platform that makes me want to vomit inside my mouth (and outside of it) every time I login.  The impact this has had on my attitude and spare time (read:  time I spend procrastinating) is pathetic and painful at the same time.  Pathetic because I am ready to lose it over the next person who invites me to "friend" Mittens and painful because I feel like I have lost my BFF (which - like a vicious circle - is so pathetic).  It has all made me weary and old and I am desperate for this political season to be over so that I can go back to having some good, old fashioned, harmless fun with my old BFF, Facebook.  Oh, and so I can get through one fu*king meal without the phone ringing.  Thank you, Robocallers.

4.  I am going through some sort of mid-life crisis (brought about - or at least sped up - by numbers 1-3) which has caused me to become painfully aware of the fact that I am 39+ years old and I still don't know what the hell I am going to do when I grow up.  My fear of growing old alone is becoming more and more vivid.  So much so that the other day I found myself saying to someone, "Naw.  I really don't want to live much past 70."  Then later I thought, "JESUS, Mary and Joseph???  Did I say 70???  That's like 20 years away!  What the heck am I doing sitting around here???"

5.  After successfully losing a lot of "baby fat" I had hanging around, really toning up, and changing a lot of my disgustingly immature eating habits, the first day of slightly cooler weather came and I find myself eating like I am going into hibernation and avoiding exercise in order to save my strength for spring.  Sadly, my daily mantra has become, "I am not a bear."

I warned you it was not pretty.  I hope my next post will be about how I have discovered the cure for raging lunatic fits and that I am back to healthy living.  But, just typing that right now makes me want to eat a donut and wash it down with a beer.  Have a great weekend.  I am going to try and retain my personal sanity and keep my family out of the sanatorium. 

He's the guy in my living room.  I call him Fred.  I *kinda* wanna feed him a sandwich.

"Mrs. DayintheLife, you're no Jack Kennedy."

In case you missed my first political analysis, and in the spirit of more patriotism *gag*, I bring you:

Other Ways In Which My Life Parallels The Lives of Those Running for Political Office

1.  Follow-ups suck.

2.  The nature of questions that might come from my constituents and their appointed debate moderators are secret and often sneak up on me like stealth bombers.

3.  I, too, need to be reminded occasionally that we are not living in the age of horses and bayonets.

4.  I often start my debate responses like this, "You need to do five things.  1.  Take your hands off your sister's neck.  2.  Listen to momma.  3.  blah, blah, blah."  And, similar to the campaigners, by "3" no one is listening to me anymore anyway.

5.  Often when I start talking, my audiences' eyes glaze over and their mouths gape open.

6.  I spend a lot of my time refuting claims from others.

7.  Sometimes I sweat like a heroin addict.  (Although, usually it's from exercising, not debating.)

8.  Frequently my only strategy is to accuse the other side of outright lying and I frequently demand fact checks.

9.  I, pretty much, think everything I say is the gospel truth and that my record reflects virtue, the highest of ethics, and a high-held commitment to my constituents.  And, I pretty much have no idea what that really means.

10.  I don't care if you live in a mansion or in the ghetto as long as the yard sign in your yard has my name (and preferably my photo) on it.

11.  I constantly have to remind the faction that stands against me that attacking me is not an agenda.

12.  I think at some point I, too, have spoken these words, "We can't kill our way out of this mess."

My two minutes is up and I approve this message.  #teamDayintheLife

Diary of a Submissive

It's time for another book review.  And, this one is R-rated (and a bit rambly if you've not read the book) so consider yourself warned.

Diary of a Submissive by Sophie Morgan

I am being compensated by BlogHer to review this book, but the thoughts expressed in this post are entirely my own.

Let me get this over with and say:  I did not care for this book at all.  I was interested in reviewing it because I never managed to get on the 50 Shades of Grey bandwagon and when I read that Diary was the true 50 Shades of Grey as happened to real life submissive, Sophie Morgan, I thought, "Hmm.  Here's a way for me to get in the know about sexual domination (Why?  I don't know.  Curiosity, I guess.) and hopefully read some better writing (since I'd heard from several people that the writing in 50 Shades was at times unbearable) while doing it (since Sophie Morgan is purportedly a journalist)!"

Well, sadly for me - it read like porn.  And, frankly, not the kind of porn in which I might be remotely interested.

It's the "true story" of Sophie Morgan and her descent into the life style of a sexually submissive woman.  The book is about 300 pages long and about 275 pages are dedicated to graphic detailing of her submissive experiences.  And when I say graphic - be ready to wince and possibly have to skip over parts if you are at all sensitive to reading about pain. 

I truly wish more of the book would have been devoted to her exploring the why of the situation because that's what I find fascinating and that's what I thought the book was going to delve into.  She really doesn't delve into that much at all - except to occasionally question her limits - but not really the sanity of her actions. 

The book did get me thinking and I am curious to know if and what it got others thinking about.  Here's what I was thinking about (and by no means are these perfectly sane thoughts): 

What do therapists say about submission?  What do therapists say about a man who can inflict such torture on a woman purportedly for both of their pleasure?  If a submissive can be so humiliated, debased, physically hurt, and gain sexual pleasure from that - does a submissive gain sexual pleasure from any form of pain?  What initiates a connection between the two (since her relationships were otherwise rather shallow)?  Are there people who actually do this stuff (don't answer that - I really don't want to know)???  And my frequent thought (because I have a sick, sick mind - but not sick like this chickie) - Jesus, if a submissive was ever captured and held in a prisoner war camp - they would never be able to torture her to talk.  She'd take her secrets to the grave. 

I also kept thinking:  This woman is gonna love the pain of natural childbirth.  And:  How is this different from rape?  (I suspect she would say because she was in control the whole time. My response to that is - how does she know she was in control if it never stopped and she never used her "safe word"?  What would women who have truly been sexually tortured think of this book?

While I was reading this book 50 Shades of Cain aired on Law & Order SVU.  Interestingly enough in this episode (often the episodes parallel "real life" drama) the author of a "true sexual submissive story" gets rapes and no one believes her.  Then on the show it's revealed that the book is not even true or her own work.  That got me thinking!

So, for me, this book created more questions for me than it answered.  It also left me feeling somewhat depressed, a whole lot disturbed, (like when I watched that old movie about the sex trade - can't remember the name of it and don't want to Google it ;o) and a lot like I wanted to take a bath and wash off all the nastiness.  As far as it being mommy porn (like 50 Shades was sold as) - I guess if nipple clamps and other more graphic forms of torture make you hot - yeah.  For me, no thank you.  I gave birth to four kids (three of them naturally) and that's about all the pain my hoo-ha can take for one lifetime.

If you'd like to join the discussion (which is bound to get interesting) on BlogHer here is the link:  http://www.blogher.com/bookclub/where-do-you-find-confidence.  Hope to "see" you there!

 Thanks for the read and I'll be back with a more humorous post soon!

I never win stuff, but when I do it's usually of cosmic importance.

So, I'm blogging quickly this morning to tell you basically that - I'm a winner!  And you can, too!  Not really.  You can't be a winner because I already won!  But, I liked the way that worked.

Anyway!  I won something y'all!  And it's wacky and I think all the planets aligned to make me win (or there was corruption and bribery involved - either way it's epic).

I have been meaning to blog about these delish spinach muffins I started making about a month ago.  I got them off of Pinterest and I was delighted when they tasted pretty good and got Girl 3 to eat spinach. 

My kids *might* be spawn of Popeye because they are some spinach lovin' kids.  Weird, right?  Except for Girl 3.  She hates spinach and if you try to put it on her tongue she gags like you are water boarding her. 

Now, that Girl 3 should be the exception should come as no surprise if you are a regular reader.  She's typically the exception (as in:  None of my kids have been hospitalized, except Girl 3.  None of my kids have gone to the principal's office for behavior, except Girl 3.  None of my kids have ever participated in clocking someone on the head with a wooden iron, except Girl 3, etc., etc.). 

Not only was Girl 3 eating spinach for the first time ever, these muffins were healthy enough for hubby and me to eat without having to starve ourselves for the rest of the day! 

So, since these spinach muffins were a hit, I figured this Weelicious gal was on to something.  So, I decided to give this blog a second look and I found another recipe that we all love and can all eat!  I had been using an ancient pumpkin apple muffin recipe for years (I think I got it from Moses), and although delicious and popular, it's loaded with sugar and gooiness.  The kids love those muffins, but hubby and I really can't eat them without having to then run a marathon.  So, baking them is a huge risk.  The Weelicious pumpkin apple muffins are tasty and fairly healthy!

Then, the stars aligned.

I found out gradually that this Weelicious lady is someone really famous.  Her blog has like eight million readers and she's been on TV a gazillion times touting her recipes and such.  Apparently I was the only person on earth who hadn't heard of her.  I hate to not know about food bandwagons, so I started reading this Weelicious lady's blog a lot.  And I got some other good stuff.  THEN, sweet Heidi over at Girl to Mom had a giveaway. 

Guess what the giveaway was?

 

You guessed it!  My copy came in the mail yesterday.  Thank you, Girl to Mom.

I will no doubt be trying some new stuff. 

That's it for now, friends.  I have to go.  This week has been a small taste of Hell.  I have a ton of work (which is all good) and of course only when I have a ton of work do ridiculous things happen to me that require blogging.  I dropped my drawers while running (accidentally), I have two new yard signs for my campaign, my fabulous hair dresser pulled me back into my twenties, my credit card and one of my Halloween pumpkins were stolen (only one was used for fraud), and my pricey pre-cancerous eyeball caused me to have to pay for an otherwise insurance covered eye exam.  I think all of that happened in one week.

Stay tuned, friends.  You are bound to have a laugh soon at my expense.  And, please, have a delightfully witchy weekend.

If you can read this, you're too close.

So, there's nothing like a trip to the ophthalmologist that will make you feel 114 years old and make you feel like you are in poor health and might die.  Soon.

As many of you know I got a clean bill of health from my M.D. last week when I went for a physical for the first time in about 20 years (so, yes, my last physical was when I was 10).  She basically said that I should be good to go for the next 20 years.  Well, she didn't actually say that, but I figure since I'd taken charge of my own health for 20 years and stayed fairly healthy, I can probably manage it for another 20 years.  And, I should have probably been a doctor, and made a lot of money, and not had any time to write a blog about it because I would be too busy saving people's lives and writing medical books.  (She didn't say that, but I did.) 

Without boring you with the intimate (and quite disgusting) details, I will tell you briefly that I am suffering (relatively, because we all know suffering is relative) from vertigo (also called dizziness - which I have suffered from my whole life). 

Now, (in my vast medical experience) there are a few reasons one can experience vertigo:  you have an excessive amount of alcohol in your system, you have a tumor in your brain and have about two weeks left to live (and if that's currently happening to anyone reading this, I'm sorry, for kinda making a joke about it), you are anemic (which, of course, in the blood draw in which I had to postpone my coffee IV, anemia was not screened), you are just plain dizzy and there is no cure, (in which case the doctor just says, Sorry?  I guess?) OR, your body is special, in a way that will not impress men, and your ears produce an excessive amount of ear wax which completely blocks your ear drum (making hearing nearly impossible) and causes vertigo.......wait.  Did I say I wasn't going to bore you with intimate and disgusting details?  Okay, sorry.  So, I had my eardrum scraped (yes, it was more painful than natural child birth and I *might* have screamed it was all hubby's fault and that I wanted an epidural) and yes the vertigo has subsided somewhat. 

But because not every cloud has a silver lining, yesterday I found out I might die, so basically we are back to square one.

Okay, so fast forward to yesterday at the eye doctor. 

1.  I hate the eye doctor, but I go once a year because I have a fear of going blind.  (Which turns out might actually be one of my valid fears.)  And I also am vain and have to have a current contact prescription.
2.  I watch WAY too much SVU and am convinced that the doctor is going to be a serial rapist and that a dark room is the perfect context for this to occur.  (I realize this is completely sick, but I have had these conversations in my head.  More than once.)
3.  I abhor the following:  Is 1 better or 2?  3 or 4?  5 or 6?  Okay, how about now?  Is it A or B?  B or C?  Seriously?  I find myself nervous and sweating during this part of the exam (and it's not because I might be raped).  It's just like the SAT all over again.  I know.  Insane.
4.  I don't really trust eye doctors, and that's really difficult to reconcile with my fear of going blind and my vanity.
5.  I spend all my time (when I am supposed to be picking A or B) thinking What's my nearest weapon in case he starts $hit? and How much did all this equipment cost?
6.  If it's been awhile since you've been to the eye doctor - times have changed.  It's mostly all flat computer screens and remote controls.

Yesterday the doctor looked to be about 87 and was quite frail, so I wasn't really worried about being raped.  I did, however, fail the double vision test and I also spent an excessive amount of time thinking about the cost of all that equipment (the letters are now on a flat computer screen which is mounted to the wall and I would be willing to trade it for my 1970's console TV even if all it played was letters).

Just like I imagine the minutes right before the doctor sees cancer growing in your brain, the doc paused during my double vision test and said slowly, "How about now?  Do the lines come together now?"

I think he wanted me to say yes, but truthfully the lines were still not together, so naturally I was nervous and sweating and I said, "Well, that made them ooch together a teensy bit, but no, they're still not together."

So, then he flipped the lights on and said, "Are you familiar with Bell's Palsy?"

Wow.  That's a conversation starter, eh?  How do you go from lines on the stupid flat screen to Bell's Palsy?  I thought, "Clearly he's senile.  I am not paying for this exam."

But, just to amuse him I said yes and he proceeded to run down a list of (I suppose) symptoms of early onset Bell's Palsy and did I have any of them.  While he was doing this my mind wandered (shocker, I know) to a gal I knew in college who had Bell's Palsy.  I made a mental note to look her up on Facebook.  I also was a tad offended when he said that most people's faces were symmetrical and mine clearly wasn't.  Hey, now!  I thought this was the eye doctor, not Project Runway.  Then my mind wandered to a time when hubby and I and some good friends were all sitting around partaking and the subject of facial symmetry came up.  My face was voted the least symmetrical and it was concluded that I would never be a model because of this.  Again, shocker.  I probably did not need 12 beers to figure that out.

So, one of the apparent symptoms of Bell's Palsy is short term memory loss.  He asked me (seriously) if I had experienced it.  HELLO?  This made me sit up straight in my chair.

I paused when he asked this because my mind was just careening out of control.  Here is the path it was going on:

1.  I HAVE BELL'S PALSY?  JESUS H. CHRIST.  HOW MUCH TIME DO I HAVE???
2.  What have I forgotten today?  Short list:  The appointment, the directions, my phone, dinner.
3.  I thought I was here for a freaking EYE EXAM.  Turns out I am getting a death sentence.

So, after I thought all that I calmly (and smartly) said (hoping he hadn't noticed the pause before responding), "No, not really.  I remember most things.  I guess.  Most important things.  Well, some important things.  Y'know sometimes I forget things.  Just things mostly that don't matter.  Much.  Wait.  Who are you?  Why are we here?"

He ordered a second double vision screening for me.

I passed the second one.  Kinda.  Mostly.

Turns out I have a titch of double vision (don't worry, I only see one of you right now - and by the way, GET DRESSED ALREADY), but I have a pre-melanoma on my EYEBALL.

Seriously?  Did you know you could have a pre-melanoma on your eyeball?  Do you really even know anyone who's ever had this?  Did they get cancer in their EYE and are they dead?  (Sorry.  Kinda.)

So, let's recap.  These past two weeks I've:

1.  Done an insightful political analysis in which I vetted (kinda) and selected a running mate who is currently designing my yard signs (maybe).
2.  Gotten a clean bill of health from my M.D. aside from my (improving) vertigo which may or may not kill me.
3.  I have been told I look or seem like I have Bell's Palsy because my face is not symmetrical and I don't remember who I am.  (To which I scoff and say, "Duh.  At least I'm running for office.  Of something.  On a platform of beer and forgetfulness.  Was that my platform?")
4.  I have made my home excessively ghoulish and gaudy for the upcoming election (and Halloween) and now I am not even the least bit apologetic to my neighbors because I might die.



Scarier than Halloween and the upcoming election.

Have a great weekend!  I'll try to remember to do the same while avoiding an early death and managing to squeeze a few more monsters in the front yard.

I'm Mrs. DayintheLife and I approve this message.

In the spirit of patriotism (and really just because if one more person calls me at dinner time to persuade me to vote a certain way - I might poke eyes out with sharp sticks)...I bring you:

Ways in which I am similar to those currently running for office.

1.  I frequently need to be fact-checked.
2.  I *might* have taken money from the kids' college fund to pay for more urgent needs (like food).
3.  I have four small people to govern, but often cater to only a certain percentage of them.
4.  I often travel all day just to make a stump speech trying to convince the undecideds that I am the candidate they want to trust, believe, and rally around.
5.  I seem to govern two major factions.  One of these factions agrees with me and supports me most of the time.  The other faction directly opposes me in nearly every decision I make.
6.  I've been accused (by those who oppose me) of being cold and insensitive.
7.  I tend to be long-winded when arguing a point and could use a little debate practice.
8.  My work environment can be hostile and I rarely make a decision that everyone can support.
9.  When I am talking about allowances, money I owe the kids, etc., etc., and they question my fuzzy numbers, I often claim, "GUYS!  It would take me too long to go through all the math." 
10.  Often times when people ask me a question I talk, and talk, and talk, and talk and then my time is up and I did not come close to answering their question.

Jim Lehrer:  Mrs. DayintheLife, your two minutes are up.