The Monday Morning Report

I'm not saying it was a terrible weekend, but there are things I could have done differently:

1. I could have not bought the pak of Voortman sugar wafer cookies and eaten half of them during my night of pay-per-view.

2. I can quit now renting Hugh Grant movies. (And regarding Music and Lyrics, did Drew Barrymore look a little weird to you?)

3. I could have handled better the whole conversation with the teen kid about failing Performing Arts.

4. I should have left earlier for the football game at The Blake School so I wouldn't have had to compete for parking spots with all those Lexuses (Lexi?).

5. I shouldn't have left my husband. Alone, that is, with my white linen jacket and his box of Borax and the washing duties. Yep, when I saw it all shrunken and wrinkled on the clothes rack, its satin lining gaping out below the sleeves and waist, I thought about the Incredible Hulk after he explodes with all those steroids--and his clothes end up too tight, too short, too small.

6. After the rain-soaked game (us 22, them 6), trying to save a buck or two at Bread and Chocolate, I should not have ordered us kiddie hot chocolates, thereby getting half whipped cream and half lukewarm chocolate milk.

7. I could have waited to read the book review section until its proper Sunday release and then I wouldn't have had editor's remorse all Saturday night long. There is a mantra in football about tackling: HIT WRAP LIFT DRIVE [HIT him, WRAP your arms around him, LIFT him up, and DRIVE him into the ground]. Makes me cringe just to think about it. Sometimes the hits in this publishing business go that way, too.

And then I read news here about my friends and their new baby girl, just days old now. Everything seems to melt away with a gift of joy like this. Welcome to the world, little one.