AUTHOR: Sara TITLE: On "Holiday" . . and All I Want Are my Sweats DATE: 12/30/2004 07:24:00 PM ----- BODY:

Teaching children is a dream job. I almost pee my pants at least twice a day listening to something that comes out of one of my dear student's mouths. And the hugs are great, too. The best, though . . . . . is the vacation. (sighing, streatching, yawning) I work at a 12-month school, so my summer vacation, or what would be my summer vacation, is spread out variably throughout the year. I have one of the better "tracks", so my vacations back up to Spring Break and Christmas, thus, making a normal vacation seem . . . like a super vacation. :-) So . . . I don't have to go back to work until the end of January and my house looks like I had family in town. Hmmph . . . I DID have family in town, you mean I have not mopped or cleaned since they left days ago? Yes . . . I have more important things to do, like watch my Netflix DVD's so I can send them back and get more. Tonight's viewing was composed of two movies that, let's say, did not really captivate me. XX/XY was a dull, lifeless movie about a "almost-threesome" that never really happened, but kind of did, and how the 30-something three attempted to deal with it later. (Big yawn.) I also watched "We Don't Live Here Anymore", which was slightly better, only because it had the guy (Peter Krause?) from "Six Feet Under", but had the other annoying guy from XX/XY. I have already walked the return-envelopes out to my mailbox and the only thing I have left to do is . . . clean. Somehow it just does not look that appealing right now. Mike, the hubbie, works in the evenings at a local Italian restuarant. He is beginning his student teaching in a few weeks and will soon be joining me in the throws of educating today's youth. (I have to teach them Reading, Writing, and Math and he is forced to teach them how to exercise and eat properly, one which I think would be slightly harder and more unsuccessful considering the amount of fast-food we now have to choose from.) So . . . here I am, laying with Chloe, our four-legged child. I tried to brush her teeth today, but she simply thinks that is hilarious and spits all over me. Her 11-year old, pit-bull breath is not appealing when you cuddle with her, but we love her anyway. On the pregnancy front, I was proud of myself today. I have not peed on any of the evil sticks. However, I have fondled myself 643 times, searching for nipple soreness with no luck. I felt like I needed to hurl today, but Mike says it is psychological and I say it was bad iced tea. Who knows. I do know I had already felt something by now when I was pregnant earlier this year. (I am a dork, I made notes.) The thought of waiting until January to try again just pisses me off. I am going to a baby shower on the ninth for a co-worker. She is wonderful, a deserved-mother-to-be. She had IVF and is expecting her daughter at the end of January. Some of her earlier tests show the baby might have Downs, but she choose not to go ahead with the more elaborate testing and just wait and see. God Bless her. I am craving Starbucks badly, but have flipped off caffeine until I know if my husband's sperm joined up with my egg for a little fun. I think I am going to go and settle for a ice water and a turkey sandwich. Maybe I will wash the sweats so they will be soft and clean for my day of lounging tomorrow. Maybe not.

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