1. Just for funsies, somebody please explain to me why there’s Christmas stuff in stores and it isn’t Halloween yet.
2. And for even MORE funsies, somebody please explain why I bought an advent calendar from one of those Christmas displays, while simultaneously appalled that it was out in the first place and yet so smitten with this particular wooden calendar I had to buy it, thereby inadvertently answering my own question regarding the presence of those displays: they are out because asshats like me buy things from them, in October, if they’re cute enough (the things, not the asshats).
3. Speaking of asshats, some winner at the farmer’s market got mad at me because I let Georgia walk around and she kept falling on her bottom, LIKE ALL TODDLERS DO WHEN LEARNING TO WALK. I wanted to kill that lady. More on that later. I have a rant that’s gonna knock your socks off. What a stupid cliché. I mean who wants their socks knocked off? How does that even work? Maybe a hat. Or a cardigan. But socks? Everybody knows socks require pulling down and over the heel, so by definition they can’t be “knocked off.” Oh wait. Maybe that’s the point. Weird.
4.  People, I’m losing it, and not because of haphazard advent calendar purchasing or sock-removal questions. I’m in the middle of the semester and it’s become abundantly clear that I bit off more than I can chew [so I guess I’m more “choking” than “losing it” but why get caught up in details?]. Every day feels like a small miracle because I survived and somehow my grades are good and I’m getting shit done. Mostly. Except blog writing. PLEASE don’t leave me. PLEASE don’t get discouraged by my pathetic post frequency and know that it’s temporary. It is. I promise.
5. I sound like a needy ex-boyfriend. My bad. But seriously. Don’t go. I want to write every other day. I have so much shit in my head I can’t stand it and it’s not healthy for it to stay up there, twisting around into nonsense and weirdness, rearing its ugly head at really inconvenient times, such as the grocery store check-out line, when I look at the dude behind the counter and ask him where the hell all these kids came from (referring, of course, to mine) – thinking I’m funny, failing to notice he’s like twelve and has about as much interest in my twisted musings as he has in U.S. third world feminist theory.
6. By the way, what the hell is U.S. third world feminist theory? If you figure it out, please let me know ASAP. I’ve read a whole book about it but still only vaguely know what the fuck she’s talking about.  But in my defense, the author is clearly about twenty-seven times smarter than I am and, I suspect, SLEEPS on a regular basis, which makes her 100 times smarter than me. So I have no chance. Basically. Plus, as you can see, I can’t even craft proper sentences. They’re either one word or run-ons.
7. I don’t think I’m cut out for homeschooling. More on that later.
8. Is it wrong that I buy food the nanny likes to cook so that my kids will actually get home-cooked meals sometimes?
9. Is it wrong that if I had to pick between the nanny and my husband I would probably pick the nanny? Ah, shit. Of course I wouldn’t. But I may think about it for a moment beyond what’s appropriate.
10. BUT the woman cooks homemade flour tortillas, pinto beans and rice. And she cleans my house WHILE WATCHING THE KIDS and when I get home the kids are all happy because she’s all calm and apparently, kids like calm. Who knew? Anyway, poor guy doesn’t have a chance. And if you asked him who he’d rather keep around, he may think about it a moment too long as well. So I feel okay about that. Mostly. Damn it, another one-word sentence.

Here’s to survival, friends. And premature advent calendars and beans, and nannies who change your lives, not necessarily in that order.