45 minutes, I repeat, 45 minutes, that is how long my daughter threw herself on the floor for kicking and screaming yesterday. She actually kicked herself up onto the lower shelf of the coffee table and out the other side. I have no idea why or what made it stop. I was hoping she would make it last long enough for her father to enjoy, but serenity entered her body as the phone rang with her dad saying he was on his way home. She apparently only wants to share the good times with mama.
The boy has another dance tonight. I guess they have dance fever in middle school. I don't remember ever having that many dances, certainly not 2 weeks in a row. He hasn't done a thing to earn any money, so I don't know how he thinks he's going to get in, unless his mom passed him some cash this morning. I have a hard time just giving him money for not doing anything. I remember having lists of things we had to have done during the week, he can't remember to feed the dog or make his bed. He got lucky and it snowed, so I'll have to make him shovel. And shovel he did, I'll give him credit he did a decent job. His mom gave him some money too. He'll be able to buy all the ladies something to drink.