I think once you reach a certain age, your core temperature plummets out of control. Menopause, Ok, but what is a man's excuse? How is it that the powers that be have the thermostat set to "Freeze Your Tits Off" and can work perfectly comfortably in that realm all day?? Excuse the hell out of ME, but I am trying to wear summer clothes here, seeing as how it's approximately 80 degrees out today. Why a higher temperature outside equates lower and lower temperatures in the office is absolutely beyond me. At my previous employment, which was a much smaller firm and therefore subject to my unabashed silliness, I once wore a parka fastened Kenny-style and mittens to deliver their precious mail and faxes. They took the hint. They might not appreciate my subtlety here. Not that it matters; I'm pretty sure I'm frozen to my chair. Send for help.

So Sunday is Mother's Day...Wow. I've already received my first Mother's Day card, from a dear gentleman who happens to be my should-be-stepson's godfather. Very touching card, filled with his sentiments on exactly what sort of wonderful mother I am. Maybe not the best time to tell him I hit the bottle on occasion & have been known to scream, "BECAUSE I SAID SO!!"

In other news, dear JuJuBee has FINALLY begun cutting his molars on the other side of his mouth. Thank God, I see light at the end of this long dark tunnel filled with whines and cries. I'm so friggin thrilled, I want to go stand on the corner with a sandwich board proclaiming, The End Is Near!

Well dearest reader(s), wish me a fairly painless weekend. At the very least, I'll be able to control the thermostat. :)

I'm happy to report that last night's trim was a rousing success! I'm head over heels in love with my stylist, she's wonderful. She takes my incoherent babbling and turns it into exactly what I want. Beauty school must teach a course on mind reading.

I took Spencer with me because I'm an eternal optimist. I keep thinking, he won't misbehave this time. He's my angel boy. And I was mostly right, this particular outing anyways. He only scared one poor dear gentleman nearly to death by popping out from under a shampoo sink, and only said, "Watch me!" about two dozen times, physically impossible while having one's hair cut, and only spun himself off a spare swivel chair once. And I actually accomplished what I had set out to do, so...Success! Thank you, my dear boy, for the experience. Vivacity, indeed.

Just wanted to update you, in case you're wondering who that outrageously foxy lady with the new 'do is. KIDDING! I'm actually behind her and to the left, the fairly decent-looking chick in the background with the trim job. You may thank my sorceress of a stylist, that telephathic master of the mousse, the lovely Michelle.

I'm happy to report that the incomparable Mr. John Denver streamed from my kitchen speakers last night. Thank you Ebay seller of trivial crap! I think that's actually his screenname.

The baby & I danced a little jig all through 'Grandma's Feather Bed,' and you know what? His fever miraculously broke & he's been cool as a cucumber ever since. So I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that the Spirit of John Denver can, in fact, sooth the savage beast and/or bug.

Those of you who are tired of seeing me peer out from beneath this mop will be happy to learn I've got a haircut scheduled this evening. The Muppet look is so last year. I'm thisclose to pulling a Britney & shaving the whole damn thing off. It's so irritating! While I do enjoy my short 'do, I am not used to having to keep up with the constant trims that a cut like this requires. I'll never be accused of being a high-maintenance bizznitch. Nathaniel may beg to differ, but he lives in an alternate plane of reality in which I am a "nag" and he is "obsessed with cleaning." LMAO!!!! Slays me every time I hear him say that. You're right, darling, my body language does count as nagging and the tantrums in which you throw everything in your path down the basement stairs count as cleaning. Right on.

How did this turn into me ranting about my old man? Hmm. Curious.

So wish me luck tonight, as I venture off to my fairly-new stylist (she's wonderful) and leave the children with Mr. Clean. Wish us all luck.