What shall we do, dahling?

Today, I dropped him off, and he so bravely went, all by himself. Clooney is getting his first grooming. Here is his "after" picture:







Trivial, yes. Beyond your caring, yes. But, it has been a very long weekend, and the preschool has decided rain is far too dangerous a weather phenomenon for S to endure away from the safety of his own home, so tedium reigns.
My friends have decided to go to the Petri dish indoor playplaces. There is something about the tangible humidity outdoors and the artificial cooling indoors that gives me the heebeejeebies about playplaces. Irrational, probably. But I am convinced some one (and it is usually me, not my children) will come home with Ebola from one of those places.
Meanwhile, S is FREAKING OUT because his giant Megablock tower won't stay together. Don't try to explain the basic tenets of engineering to this kid: big blocks on the bottom, little ones on the top. Forget it. If 27 giant blocks will not stack on top of a 1 knobbie little square, then damn the world. He's very stubborn. Although I give major props to him for playing nicely at the coffee shop this morning for an hour.
M worked and I did a puzzle, and S played ever so well with his little Wall-e set. It was civilized. Almost. Except for the SHM's*. Apparently, the club was closed today, dahling and so the coffee shop was over run with the SHMs in uniform. Uniform being issued, I suppose, at the club? They were there in matching Nike shorts and work out tops. Nike microfiber mock turtlenecks Nike sports bras. Nike socks. Nike visors (it's not sunny). Nike hair bands. Nike sunglasses. There are Thai children chained to sewing machines in sweatshops whose sole job is to outfit the SHMs. Then, of course, the SHMs have their cellies. Because, a good workout still leaves enough air in your lungs to maintain a SHOUTING conversation on your cellie. Now, when I work out, I am literally sucking wind. I can hardly get air, forget expelling it in coherent, loud conversation. About where to have lunch because the club is closed.
I only wish I were joking.
I could barely navigate my way out of the parking lot because of all the GIANT suburban assault vehicles in the parking lot. These women have enough space in their vehicles to carry no fewer than 8 passengers, and they can't be bothered to save the fuel or time to carpool more than their 1.8 children to school. That's another whole diatribe right there. So, I gingerly back out of the parking lot, and head home. Some of the SHMs are out exercising with their SHMs in-training. Little blond ponytailed teenagers in matching exercise outfits bedecked with ipods and visors. Good to know the next generation is on track.
I should have had decaf. Makes me less angry.

*Spring Hill Moms