I'm Hungry !!

Where or where are my staff when I need them?  Oh that's right, no staff.  I'm a middle class mom.  We don't have staff.  Bummer.

So I had this dream where my 7 year old daughter was playing on a basketball team.  Which is interesting, because she's in the 25th percentile for height.  (She also just broke 40 lbs, which puts her into the 10th percentile for weight - which means thank heavens for capris and clam diggers.  There will be NO PANTS for her cause the ones that aren't high waters won't stay up around her tiny waist.)

Basically, I'm just typing, because I had this really great idea for a post (no really, I did).  But sometime between now and last night when I thought of it, the great idea has run away with the spoon.  Well, it's just hiding.  Every once in awhile, I get this glimpse of it, "Yes, yes, I was going to write aboooout....," then it's gone.  I'm so close to remembering this idea.  You would not believe how close. 

Shoot, the dog needs to go out. 

Where was I?  Oh yes, I remember, I forgot. 

In the meantime, let me amuse you with this shopping anecdote.  Yesterday, Samantha and I went to the mall.  She may be little, but she's growing like crazy right now, and she needed underwear.  I have determined the best children's underwear on the planet can be found at Gymboree.  I've never had to toss a pair of Gymboree undies due to "undie failure."  The elastic never loses it's stretch.  The seams don't come apart. 

One of the rules I live by, is that everyone in the family, for whom I do the laundry, must have at least 14 pairs of working underpants.  I know, I know, this seems excessive.  But 14 pairs = 2 weeks worth.  You can go without socks, you can re-wear a shirt...but you cannot recycle underpants (contrary to what most boy children believe ) And what if I can't get to the laundry?  (It has happened)  I never want to hear, "Mooooom, I don't have any clean underwear !!"

Back to my story.  We're walking through the mall, towards Gymboree, when suddenly, Samantha stops in her tracks, and looks up at me in horror.  "Mom,"  she says, wide eyed.  "The people in the store are going to know what my underpants look like." 

It seems we've entered a new phase of development.  Embarrassment. hmmm.  I'm going to have to think about that one for awhile.