You gals rock.

I started to write this as a comment on my last post, but it got to be too long.  Thanks, everyone, for being so supportive of my big dream.  I’m actually trying not to think about it too much right now.  Except for the portfolio part, that is.  I’ve never put one of those together before.  I’m not sure what it’s supposed to look like.  Does it have to be stuff that’s entirely original?  Is it old nursery school lesson plans?  Or can I just put together a small sampling of my child-friendly crafts and games?  Argh.

Sometimes I think I want this job too much.  It wouldn’t be nearly so nerve-wracking if I didn’t.  On the other hand, wanting it is just making me try all that much harder to put my best into my application.  I’m just hoping for an interview at this point.  But not too soon.  I think it took a month for them to call me about an interview for the page position I applied for a couple of years ago, but that job had a ton of applicants.  Who knows how fast this one will move?

I just lost my cursor.  I hate it when that happens.  It’s almost like typing in the dark.  Well, not really, but it’s seriously annoying.

Merkin and BratzBasher are probably on their way home from the City Museum right now.  They took a few kids from another family, too.  Sometimes I think that Merkin believes part of making the most of a CM trip is to bring as many people as possible.  That’s okay.  I don’t really mind.  Of course, I didn’t actually go with them today.  I opted to stay home and clean, which turned out to be stay home and sew.  I finished my journal cover.  Oh!  I’d better take a picture so I can show you.  It’s not perfect, but it looks pretty good.  And I can’t take a picture right now because the camera isn’t charged.  Tomorrow.  Or Monday.

Well, it’s late.  I think I’ll call it a night.

Oh!  I almost forgot.  I’d intended to tell you about this dream I had the other night.  In the dream, the neighborhood was having a big block party, but we opted not to attend because none of our neighbors like us.  Anyway…I heard this loud music, and when I opened the door to investigate…Annie Lennox was performing on our front lawn.  Our house was designed slightly different so that she had room for her band, and our two giant sweet gum trees were gone.  Everybody was sitting on our lawn, which should have totally ticked me off, but I didn’t care.  Hello!  Annie Lennox was singing and dancing not ten feet away from me.  I got the camera and started taking pictures.  Then I sent BratzBasher out around the back way with our old camera so she could get pictures of me taking pictures of Annie Lennox.  It was an awesome dream.  We got to meet her after the show and everything.  She was totally cool.  It was much better than my dream about Sylvester Stallone driving a school bus through the Burger King drive thru so he could meet up with a secret CIA medical agent and get stitched up after being in a gunfight.  Yeah, I’d tell you about that one, but you just heard the best part.  Actually, it’s the only part I can remember, but it’s got to be the best.



About foo4luv

I'm a married, bum-around-the-house mom with one child, BratzBasher, who is the only thing in the universe cuter than a bunny nose. I enjoy reading, crafts, sewing unusual Halloween costumes, and taking long walks through Jo-Ann. View all posts by foo4luv

2 responses to “You gals rock.

  • bythelbs

    That IS a good dream. That other one sounds pretty decent, too.

  • madhousewife

    Sorry I have not been keeping up with your blog as I ought. I blame the new Google, which doesn’t give Reader its own tab on my Gmail page anymore. I have to click the More tab to get Reader. The More tab! It’s an outrage! A whole other additional step! As you can see, I’m very good at blaming other people for my shortcomings. Too bad I can’t use that skill to get a job. SPEAKING OF WHICH, I am totally pulling for you to get this new library job. Prayers, fingers crossed, the works. I may even sacrifice a chicken, if it comes to that. (DISCLAIMER: Literal chicken sacrifice only by request. Metaphorical chicken sacrifices are, as always, automatic.)

    I wish I could have seen that Sylvester Stallone dream.

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