Guess what? Chicken butt. 9/19/23

A bus just passed by our house. Pup is frantic, "Why aren't you opening the door for my little girl?" I'm pretty mean, but seriously pup, I would let the child in the door if she were here. Boop stayed after for band. I guess I will bring pup along to pick up her little girl in a few minutes. I'm still feeling the effects of a weekend music fest. No booze, just got a vague contact high and am managing a brewing sinus infection. I took Boop with me for one day, but she didn't enjoy it. How much of this is the normal adolescent embarrassment of having a mother; how much of this is personal to me? I don't know. But after seeing me twerk in response to her threats to disown me, maybe she will learn to hold her tongue.

Okay, so wrong again. I guess I missed another birthday, and I thought I had it licked this time. The only birthdays I remember are 27's and then the extremely painful birth of my daughter. (I don't think I remind her enough of how extremely painful her birth was.) Mine are painful at 50. Mom's painful, also. The main reason I remember Mom's is that we were supposed to be born on the same day, and it's a big, long story. So, if I missed your birthday, I'm so sorry. I send my delayed good wishes and hope that it was a wonderful day. 

If I hear "Guess what? <What?> Chicken butt," one more time, I'm going to ... nothing. I've just trained myself not to respond.