I’m tired, so stringing together something thoughtful and pithy probably isn’t going to happen. Here’s some chunks from my day:

Clara “Ambien” Jane woke up before 7 a.m. this morning. Now, I know those of you with early-rising children are going to hate me for this, and I totally encourage you to hurl heavy items and obscenities at me. But dammit, it’s soooooooooo hard when she wakes up that early. She usually sleeps until 8-8:30. I’m spoiled. Slap me.

But the good news: we were able to make our weekly Target pilgrimage early, before all the good parking spaces by the cart corrals were taken. While we were there, we had the type of encounter that leads to me drawing conclusions about the lack of friendliness in this city.

There was another mom that we kept seeing in the store. She had an infant and a little boy, about two years old. Granted, it was before 10 a.m. and she was carting around a couple of kids, which gives her every right to be surly. I would be, too. I smiled every time I saw her, and every time she glared at me.

But her little boy … oh, he had eyes for Clara Jane. Whenever we’d pass he’d just gaze at her and grin. Around the fifth time we saw them, he paused, smiled, and said hi to her.

Clara Jane looked at him, looked at me, pointed at him and announced, “Mama! He’s a baby!” The poor little guy looked absolutely crushed, not realizing that in Clara Jane’s vernacular, everyone is a baby. His mother glared at me extra-hard for that one.
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After being awoken a second time by scavengers ringing the doorbell on Sunday, B. and I decided to take Clara “Opa!” Jane to the St. Louis Greek Festival. Much like her mother, that child can eat her body weight in gyros, souvlaki and tzaziki sauce.

We had planned to visit Purina Farms, but since someone chose to fight her nap (wasn’t me; I passed out about a nanosecond before my head hit the pillow), we weren’t able to make it out there in time. Thus, my daughter’s first lesson in “you fight your nap, you miss cool stuff”. I don’t think she got it, because gyros really aren’t punishment.
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Didya notice?

Dear Scavengers:

When people leave a huge pile of garbage on the curb the day after a rummage sale, you are not required to ring my motherfucking doorbell and ask if you can take my trash.

If you could read, you would understand the big “Free” sign that’s attached to said garbage.

It’s on the curb. I don’t leave things I want on my curb.

Thank you for waking me up not once, but twice on this lovely Sunday – once in the wee morning hours, and again when I was trying to take a nap after waking up in the wee morning hours. Thanks, also, for waking up my child one hour into a hard-fought nap.

I hope you get stuck by a pin as you dig through my garbage. That’ll teach you to ask for permission, you stupid dumpster divers.

Good idea: sending my hounds to the groomers during our yard sale because 1) they smell vile and 2) it keeps them from howling at the customers.

Bad idea: stopping at the Taco Bell drive-thru on the way home from picking up the dog at the groomers.

Bad idea: snapping a cameraphone photo of adorable less-vile Basset hound, dozing in the passenger seat while waiting for food, which will certainly arrive mid-photo session.

Bad idea: being a Taco Bell employee who stuffs one too many Club Chalupas into my bag.

Really bad idea: trying to wrangle bag, cameraphone, and purse while pulling away from the drive-thru, causing spare Club Chalupa to fall from the bag onto the driver’s side floor, where it will lay open during the entire drive home.

Really bad idea, even for a dog: being such a lazy hound that you can’t be bothered to wake up and risk causing a wreck because, good lord, hound, what’s with your sense of smell?? – there’s a free, open, unattended Club Chalupa on the floor!!! Chicken! Bacon! Taco Bell aura!

Good idea: checking hound’s pulse and make sure she’s not dead because there’s a free Club Chalupa just a few feet from her and she’s not responding!!! The dog who once stuck her head in a 35-gallon vat of barbeque beans and ate until several people drug her away!

Good idea, dog groomer’s edition: slipping a little Xanax to the dogs as soon as their owner leaves.

Probably not a good idea: since Club Chalupa is lying on its wrapper and not on the truck floor, putting it back together. Nobody will notice, right?

Always a bad idea: Taco Bell

Always a really, really bad idea: even considering eating Taco Bell off the floor after the dog refuses it.

- Eat Greek food at Greek Orthodox Church’s annual festival.

- Sleep.

- Unbake the five dozen muffins I baked for the sale that barely sold.

- Reclaim the real estate on my dining room table that’s still covered with yard sale crap that never made it outside.

- Bathe.

- Ponder why anyone would want to buy another person’s worn shoes, but would walk right by that pile of cute purses.

- Bathe again, then sleep some more.

- Feed crackers to the geese at the park, just so Clara “Fowl Play” Jane will do her hilarious quacking noise.

- Bathe, sleep, and gorge self on muffins.
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With all the crap I hauled out of my former office and into my current “office” (the dining room) last night, it’s a wonder I can shuffle to my desk at all.

1. Happy Valentine’s Day – Outkast
2. Willpower – Replacements
3. I Don’t Wanna Grow Up – Tom Waits
4. Garmonbozia – Superdrag
5. Sean Flynn – The Clash
6. Come as You Are – Nirvana
7. Try Not to Breathe – REM
8. Radio GaGa – Queen
9. I Won’t Dance – Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong
10. Talk of the Town – The Pretenders

Yet another boring day.

Clara “Fang” Jane is teething once again, which means she’s developed teething-related narcolepsy. This child … this fruit of my loins … sleeps whens she’s hurting. After her nearly-three-hour snoozeathon, we headed to the mall in search of several hard-to-find magazines for this year’s freelance writing foray(The Bark, Oxford American and Mothering. Brain, Child was nowhere to be found.) and cheap child t-shirts. And espresso, of course.

Magainzes: located. Cheap child t-shirts: located. Espresso: located. Not like that’s hard.

I could tell you what I made for dinner (flank steak with mushrooms in a butter, garlic and wine sauce, baby greens with balsamic vinaigrette, and red potatoes sauted with Vidalia onions), but that is truly, sorrowfully pathetic and I refuse to do that.

I did get nearly nailed twice today by cars running red lights.
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My word, this week is going by slowly. I’m stunned that it’s only Wednesday. And I hate being so cliched and dull, but Jesus. It’s only Wednesday, but it feels like it’s been Wednesday for about three days now.
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You know, the only reason why Bo Bice isn’t the new American Idol is because 10-year-old girls have entirely too much access to telephones and entirely too much time to call in votes.