Chris would kill me if I advertised what I have in my bank account, so I won't. But let's just say it rhymes with smeventeen dollars.
I know. I'm too old to have smeveteen dollars in my checking account!
But, we're trying so hard to pay off these credit cards. A little too hard it turns out because 'hi overdraft! I see you! ' (He loves a good game of peek-a-boo. When you least expect him, there he is, that little rascal!)
And yesterday? I paid $156 so Savannah could sign up for the vaguely named "Keyboarding " class. One hundred and fifty-six dollars for 6 one hour lessons with a frillion other kids learning how to play the keyboard. Which seemed like a good idea until Yvonne pointed out that couldn't I buy a keyboard at Target for like fifty bucks? And what is keyboarding anyway? I'm pretty sure all the little rich girls around here have private piano lessons, not keyboarding at the Y. (To which Yvonne responded, as only she could, "Eff pianos! Keyboards never go out of tune, so up theirs!".)
What's even more hilarious is when I told Savannah the GOOD NEWS in the car, I took it very serious (I turned off the radio and everything) and I actually said these words "Your father and I talked about it and you can take keyboarding".
YOUR FATHER AND I TALKED ABOUT IT. ABOUT KEYBOARDING. WE TALKED ABOUT IT.
It wasn't until I was relaying this to Yvonne that I realized how ridiculous it is to confer with your husband about freaking keyboarding. But, these are the times, my friends. Me and the U.S. Treasury. We're not so good with the budgets.
So, Yvonne and I both got a little hysterical until Yvonne joked (but I think she was mostly serious because...smeventeen dollars!) that maybe I should look into giving keyboarding lessons. You know, once I figure out what it is.
So, if you see a link go up on my blog that says "Ask Me About Keyboarding!" "I'm a Keyboard Specialist! You Can Too!", you should just click on it. But fortheloveofgod be sure to talk to your husband first.
In other non-news, I have absolutely nothing of interest to report about last night's Back To School Night. Girl C was not there (gosh, I hope it wasn't amoebic dysentery!), but her friend Girl D was and she was more than happy to do Girl C's bidding for her with a complete snub. And even a husband to husband snub. (Bonus points!) Because everyone knows that a good husband should snub his wife's friend's ex-friend's husband.
I know I shouldn't care about people who hate me (especially because according to Lena's mom "they're just jealous" because, you know, I'm "so pretty". This might hold more weight if she hadn't started using this in the 7th grade. Those bangs tell a different story, mmm?)
And it's not even like I'm interested in them liking me. I'm just curious about what "hating me" looks like. What does it wear? Where does it go to lunch? Does it fall if I trip it? You know, the usual questions. And then I'll see the Mean Moms enjoying each other's company, appearing completely innocent and I'll think hmm, so that's what hating me looks like. Flip flops and an Old Navy tee. Good. To. Know.
I assume I pay attention because I'm hoping to catch them eating babies under a bridge so I can go "Well! No wonder you hate me! You're obviously a lunatic!" instead of the seemingly harmless plaid shorts, pony tail, and easy laughter which have me all confused. Plaid shorts normally LOVE me!
I don't get it.
Anyway, the highlight of last night was that I overdressed, sweat like a pig in the humid classroom, and then broke my shoe on the slide (don't ask). All in all I consider it a success. Plus my daughter made the cutest paper owl to end all paper owls. Oh, and I learned that everyone loves her and she has lots of friends.
I just hope those keyboarding lessons don't go straight to her head.