Awesome

I ate today. While that may seem a little obvious to all you readers out there that eat every day, for me it was amazing. I ate a full lunch, 3/4 of dinner, and then a late snack involving a cheesy chicken cilantro guacamole taco creation and some rice. I even made snow cones for Chicken and myself in the afternoon. I enjoyed something sweet! I have not eaten so much in one days in weeks, people. For someone that ranks the joy of eating just behind wonders of sleeping, the last two months have sucked my ass. But today, I ate. It was wonderful.

Guess what I did last night? I fucking slept. Yes, indeed I slept through the night and into the morning. I had a bizarre dream about Dude, though. He was running around with a human-sized shit hanging half out of his ass, which I pulled out with my bare hands and then attempted to smoosh it back in via his belly. It did not work (imagine my surprise) and I ended up having to bath him to get rid of the mess. I am guessing that the incident with Reina (TB's crazy-assed cat) and her attempting to WIPE HER ASS on the carpet like a dog had something to do with it. The moral of the story? Sleep is awesome, even when it involves poop dreams.

My daily schedule as of late had consisted of the following:

• Feel like shit
• Move from bed to couch
• Whine
• Make sure Chicken eats
• Feel like shit on the couch
• Blog about feeling like shit on the couch
  
• Examine my failings as a wife and mother
• Go to bed and fail to sleep worth a shit

However, today I fucking rocked the world. Chicken had a friend over in the morning, I took them to lunch, we met the friend's mother and 3 sisters at the library, we all went to the pool, I made snow cones, Chicken and I read together while eating snow cones. After all that I planted my ass on the couch, but I felt accomplished. Eating, sleeping, participating in life, how much fucking better can it get? Not much.

Actually, it can get better. I forgot one important thing: today I introduced Chicken to Piers Anthony. I had been searching my Swiss cheese brain for an author that Chicken would enjoy, without him feeling like I was stuffing The Classics down his throat. There is also the problem of Chicken finding an author he likes, reading all the books the author has written and then getting frustrated when he runs out of new books. Piers has been a prolific writer for more than forty years. Chicken will be busy for a long time. The best part is that Chicken is already entralled with the book and has stopped reading only long enough to share a funny pun with me. Go me!