Just .... stuff.

So, yesterday was pretty okay.

• Got the kids ready for a field trip (I didn't go ... Didn't get into the shower until, um, 2? Yeah, kinda lazy day).
• Battled the freaking ants again. Stupid ants. I hates them. I hates them, MY PRESSSSSSHUSSSSSSS.
• Michael and I watched last week's SYTYCD online.
  "Are you sure you should watch this [being a very sentimental clip about a contestant] on your period?"
  Also? Adam Shankman is ADORBZ. I pink-puffy-heart that man. I just want to give him a squeeze and tell him how darling he is. Because he's TOTALLY darling and sweet.
• Michael also was watching a movie preview on his phone.
  "Is that Stanley Tucci," I ask from across the room.
  "Yup. Good job. And Nathan Fillon is in it, too. You'd probably like this one."
  Turns out that it's the next Lightning Thief movie ("Sea of Monsters") ... and it has Sean Bean and Anthony Stewart Head (aka, Giles from BTVS) ... so I'm looking forward to it, as a fangirl of most of the cast. ^_^

Today, I got the kids off to school, got showered and dressed (go me, right?), picked up a friend's daughter from school, got home JUST in time to meet the exterminator (free inspection ... sounds like the ants are probably nesting in our walls. JOY. But they can take care of that.), went to an appointment for WIC, got home, the kids came home, I called my Nana ...

And... I feel like a huge jerk. I called my friend to see if her doctor got (minor) surgery scheduled. And, well, I'm Compassionate Service Leader for my ward (congregation)'s Relief Society. And, so I'm kind of the one that organizes service (in this case, transportation for her kids ... split between 3 ladies, including me).

Her doctor FINALLY is getting her in for a visit. But my friend's been in pain for a while ... like, over a week. Maybe 1.5-2 weeks now. And I'm irritated at her doctor for this. Because, dude, she's hurting.
And, well, I think that my friend thought that I was irritated at HER ... so I feel like a JERK.

And I wrote her an email apologizing in case she felt that I was a jerk.

But I still feel like a complete and total donkeybutt jerk.

Which makes this a much harder day than it started out being.
It was just a kind of busy-ish day. And now I feel like a jerk because my friend cried and might feel that I think she's a burden (which I DON'T) ... but, well, when you're in pain and have been for a while ...
I ... I just ... I just don't want her to think that I was insinuating that she's a bother.
Because she's not. 

Bucket just made Perler Bead creations for her teachers ... I had to iron them.
Something smelled strange over there. I asked the kids if either of them farted (no).
I remarked that something smelled kinda like cat poop.
"Well, it's not me." Bucket asserted. "I do not poop cats."

I needed that.

I made dinner. That's an improvement.
It's kind of amazing what happens when I just throw nearly-random cans into a pan.
(Tonight: boneless chicken tenderloins cooked in chicken broth and tomato sauce, with coconut oil and Italian herbs. Served with brown rice cooked in water, with coconut oil and a dash or two of Fiori salt, which smells amazing, as far as salt goes.)

We'll see if Bruise and Bucket eat. Maybe.

I got a hair donut (it's a mesh circle to do some hairstyles, like a BIG, poofy-type bun with my shorter, fine hair) yesterday. Did up my hair ... I asked Michael later if he liked my hair.
"Did you color it?"
No. Not at all. But nice guess.

Well, SYTYCD is on tonight. That'll be nice.

And we should go grocery shopping tonight. Fun, fun, fun. Since Bubbles went down for a nap not THAT long ago. *sigh*
(She likes to watch SYTYCD, too, by the by. It's pretty cute.)

So ... yeah. Maybe we'll get the ants the heck outta my house. That'd be nice. And shark week is drawing to a close.

Tomorrow is Amanda F's funeral.
Michael and I are going.
I kind of wish that I had some Valium ... because, face it. We all are sad that she's not here anymore.
But I don't want to take any chance of causing a scene. Because, as egocentric as I can be, this is NOT at all about me.

It'd be a whole heckuva lot easier for my life if I didn't look like hell when I cry. If I could be one of those pretty criers. But, no, it's BAD when I cry. And this is about AMANDA's life, not "Omigosh, are YOU okay, Allanna?"

Hopefully, with shark week on the ebb, I can handle myself.

Maybe I should have Michael give me a blessing so that I can shake these stupid angry bees that hate me in my head. (Thanks, Mother Nature. NOT.)

Yeah, I'm just getting irked at myself. I don't do well throwing myself a self-pity party. I start to really get sick and tired of my own mental bellyaching ... because, well, unlike the rest of you lucky people, I'm stuck with my inner monologue.

(Oh, yeah. I also threw some balsamic vinegar in with the chicken.)

So, yeah. That's the last couple of days in a nutshell.

Thanks for letting me vent.
I'm sure that it was perfectly ENTHRALLING (not).