Child 3 is in bed with me not doing her homework. She is supposed to be working on it, but she is interrupting me every two minutes to ask random questions which I can only assume are blatant attempts to distract me into forgetting that she has this particular piece of homework because she forgot to do an earlier assignment. So far she has asked how kids get diagnosed with Autism, what are callouses, and what does "however" mean. Now she is looking at my eye cream. This particular exercise in frustration might just kill me and really, she only has to write two more sentences! Now she is asking if her hair looks weird. Please. Somebody shoot me now, or just tell me what I'm doing wrong. And I don't mean Husband who is full of helpful ideas but is not here to carry them out. Next year, when he is home, I am taking a vacation from homework duty for a long, long, long time.
But before I can take a vacation from homework, I have to also solve the problem of Child 1's computer which put up the blue screen of death and now appears to have problems with the hard drive.
So in addition to plumbing, I have to re-configure a hard drive which I might actually be willing to try to figure out if I had time, but the problem is, I don't have time. So if anyone knows how to resurrect a hard drive, please come help me out, or at least point me toward someone who can who charges less than a plumber.
These women in the Ukraine are having a worse day than me. They have caught something called the "Barbie flu" which means that they spend hours transforming themselves into dolls and have even had plastic surgery to look more like plastic. This is the result.
Now, she is getting a lot of attention, which I'm sure is the point of it all, but how sad to be that desperate for people to love you that you transform yourself into an inanimate object that is empty and has no emotions but what people project onto it. It must be a very sad and lonely existence. So thank you, Barbie girls, for reminding me that women are not dolls and that having your own emotions is a healthy thing and that as much as people love dolls, at the end of the day, they end up alone in a box in the dark. I would much rather be an imperfect, real human being in charge of my own destiny, or at least the part of my destiny that didn't decide to go to Afghanistan.