why am i still awake?

it's midnight. the kid is asleep. i should be asleep. but i can't sleep. my brain is wide awake.

tomorrow will be a day of making chocolate chip cookies. with real butter. to hell with the slimfast for the weekend. the trick to good cookies? use a bit more vanilla than it calls for, and if you MUST use margerine, try to use half margerine/half butter.

and that's about as domestic as i can sound without making myself giggle.

there is very little that is nicer than being able to crawl into bed and know that you needn't set the alarm for the morning. of course, saturdays i always have an alarm who sleeps down the hall from me, and that alarm usually wakes me before 8 a.m. but that will change someday. someday she'll be an angst-ridden teenager who complains if i wake her before 2 p.m.

or she could be like me (as she proves more and more everyday, much to my chagrin) and be an early riser forever.

funny memory: i'm probably three years old and i've woken up long before my parents. i decide to pretend i'm in a shampoo commercial. in lieu of shampoo, i use baby oil in my hair. i spend some time talking to myself in the bathroom mirror, pretending i'm the damn breck girl. then my memory jumps to my mother discovering my greasy, greasy hair and hauling me off to the bath. washing out oil with water ... i'm sure that was awesome for her. must remember to call and apologize for that one.

i've discovered more and more that for everything the kiddo does that i recall doing, i feel the need to call my parents and apologize. and ask them why they didn't leave me to the gypsies. (they say it's b/c they love me, but i'm pretty sure it's b/c there aren't a lot of roving bands of gypsies in the ND countryside.)