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November 14, 1999

Is There No Sanctuary?

<snickers behind her hand>  Ha ha.  Fooled you.  It's not even the 14th here yet BUT I do so want to enjoy my Sunday afternoon of Lysol, sponges and vacuum worship I am posting early so I can just let my hair down and revel in my exhaustion unencumbered tomorrow.

As a result of me not actually having done anything yet, I shall create a faux jornal entry based very much on actual events in my life.  Here is what I expect will happen to me.....

Woke up this morning to breakfast in bed!   God bless that man of mine, he cooked for me and then let me sleep in until almost noon!  The kids cleaned their rooms and raked the leaves from the yard.  It looks great. At about 4pm I had an odd call from Brad Pitt.  He dialed my number in error but was so enamoured of my voice he's dumping Jenny and we're whisking off to Paris this evening so....gotta go, gotta pack.  Read this while I'm gone.


When my children were young, the best moments of my morning were spent in the quiet solitude of my bathroom. It was the most sacred room in the house. Everything tidy, everything neat, everything organized. No one but me was concerned with the bathroom. My kids spent each day struggling to stay as unkempt as possible and each managed to acquire a head of hair that looked as if it should be blowing past bewildered buffaloes on a dusty plain somewhere.

Now entering my bathroom requires a full Kevlar suit, the disposition of Mother Theresa, and all the humor of Richard Pryor. If you were to light a match in the morning while my daughter preened and coifed and Aqua-netted herself to death in front of the mirror, they'd be picking up hair-clips flying past the space shuttle.

"Honey. You don't need to hold the button down for 30 seconds for that one spot."

"Moooooooom.......I know what I'm doing."

I still wonder when Mom became an eight-syllable word.

"You know, you're curling that wrong. You're going to crimp the ends that way."


"Okay. Nevermind."

Let her go to school like Phyllis Diller on a bad Oscar hangover. I could care less.

"So how's Jimmy?"  I ask, in a futile attempt to make conversation while she shellacs her hair with yet another coat.

"Gawd, Moooooom. Jimmy is so yesterday. I'm going out with Derek now"

"Derek? Is he that boy with the loud mouth, the earring and the hair cut like a donkey's behind?"

"Mooooom....stop that. Derek is so fine"

I can feel the last vestiges of my ValleyGirl speak struggling to come to the surface and triumphantly hand me a clue.

"By fine I assume you mean nice to look at and not," I wiggle my finger around my ear wildly, "okay in the head?"

She rolls her eyes in tandem with my finger.

"That's an awful thing to say, Mom. I like him"

"Honey," I sigh. "I would rather see you confined to a mental institution and dating a fellow patient, but you do what you have to do."

"Well, you did what you had to do. You married dad."


"Hand me that hairspray, will you dear?"

Hurray!  Sunday post is complete!  Now I can watch the Denver Broncos suck with impunity!



Unless otherwise specified, all material
Copyright 1999 by
Marijke Hildreth



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