Baked

Boy 1 hated dinner. He wanted macaroni and cheese, and I, being the horrid mother I am, made macaroni noodles with cheese sauce, with chicken and veggies on the side.

My homemade concoction was no match for that blue box bit of heaven, so Boy 1 took his mandatory three bites and then proceeded straight to temper tantrum row. Everything's stupid, I never make what he wants, blah, blah, blah.

A little while ago, I heard him making noises in the kitchen. I yelled out that if he was hungry, he had a plate in the fridge just waiting for him.

He's not hungry, he's being domestic. He's making muffins.

?

Err

My period is coming soon. (sorry. TMI. deal with it.) I know because my boobs are bigger. As are my belly, thighs, ass, feet and face. (again, sorry.) To torment myself, I get on my digital scale this morning. It says Err. Excuse me? (I said in my out loud voice) I get off and stand back on it. It says Err. Repeat several times, because often doing the exact same thing over and over gets different results. Shut up.

I pick the scale up and look at the directions on the back. If the screen says Lo, it means the batteries are getting low. I would have been perfectly happy to have it say Lo. That would have made my day. It gets better. If the screen says Err, it means that a weight of over 355 lbs is on the scale. Remove weight immediately to avoid damaging the scale. Excuse me? (I said in my out loud voice). I put the scale down and glared at it.

I am well within my weight range for my height (5'2 and 3/4") thank you very much. (I said in my out loud voice). I stepped on the scale again. It says Err. I tell it to go to hell. (in my out loud voice). One more try. Same results (imagine that.) I tell it to fuck off. (in my out loud voice)

It's going to be a long week.