So.. I have a problem. 

I have an addiction.  It’s a problem that I’ve known about for a long time, and usually, I’m pretty good about curbing it, but every time a season changes, it springs again.  Or when I move.  Or sometimes, when a stiff wind blows.  It’s a problem.

Hi, I’m Sarah, and I have an addiction to online shopping carts.

Yes, not an online shopping addiction.. an addiction to the carts.

I have about four sites I hit daily, where I stock up my “shopping cart” with all of the items I would buy if I were rich.  Amazon had the right idea with the Wish List theory.. but not all sites have followed.  So on Target.com, OldNavy.com, eBay.com, and Spiegel.com, I have shopping carts FULL of stuff.

And every day, I whittle down my list to things I just HAVE to have.  This takes a very strong sense of priority and a willingness to sacrifice and an optimism that what I decide against will be there later.  I think this process makes me a stronger person.

My latest obsession has been OldNavy.com.  We’ve become great friends.  Their cart will store in my cache, so every day, I have this happy reunion with my future stuff.  And they’ve added this fantastic feature.. “Save This For Later”.. so I can keep certain items somewhere else, but out of my checkout total.  Every day, I whittle down my list to two shirts, a purse, a wallet, and a necklace.  And I lust after them.

Then I check my bank account.  And sigh.

Someday.  Someday, my benefactor will come out of hiding and I can empty every cart.  I will have a checkout party, where I can purchase everything that’s been squatting in my various carts. 

In the meantime, I just like looking at them.

Cause I’m lame.

I love how they call them “holidays”.  It is a joke in our house.  “Rest and relaxation”?  Ha.  We scoff at you.  “Take it easy”?  Nothin’ but an Eagles song to us.  “Sit still”?  Impossible.

In other news, our house is coming along nicely.  Our walls are now decorated, most boxes have been unpacked, and life is moving along at the same break-neck pace it always is.  We took some time this weekend to go watch fireworks, walk the dogs, and watch my prize from some odd weeks ago: “Jeff Dunham: Arguing with Myself”.  Bryan has learned I have a strong affection for puppets (if you ever want to see Sarah laugh till she cries, stick a ventriloquist in front of her), so he ordered this from my Amazon Wish List.  He’s just super cool that way.

In other news, I had to supress the urge to smother The Boy while he slept this weekend.  I’m hoping it’s a six year old phase, but the child is CONSTANTLY correcting everyone.  And it’s not even a gentle correction; it’s a straight up, “NO, blah blah I’m just six but I think I know everything BLAH.”  He was a heathen all weekend.  And while I usually have an endless font of patience with him, I was disciplining left and right.  It finally got to the point where I had to go sit outside by myself for a second and “take a minute”.  It’s oh-so-hard not to shake him by the shoulders and say, “YOU CAN’T EVEN CORRECTLY IDENTIFY THE LETTERS OF YOUR NAME YET.  HOW DARE YOU TALK DOWN TO ME?!”

I did not do that, however.

Just to prove a point, this is how a sample conversation would’ve gone.

Me: Man, it’s hot out here today.
The Boy: It’s not that hot.
Me: It sure FEELS that hot.  The high was supposed to get up to 97 degrees today.
The Boy: It’s probably 99 degrees.
Me: Well, don’t you think that’s hot?
The Boy: It’s not 97.  It’s hotter.
Me: THAT’S WHAT I SAID.
The Boy: No, you said it was 97 degrees.  It’s probably 100.
Me: YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT DEGREES ARE.
The Boy: I do, too.
Me: Okay, please, explain degrees to me.  And temperature.  And humidity, while we’re at it.
The Boy: Well, actually.. degrees are.. these.. things.. that..

And I can’t adequately articulate how that last sentence would trail off, because the font doesn’t change on Blogspirit, but he would gradually lower his voice to the point that he was no longer talking.  Because, SURPRISE!, the child doesn’t know anything.  HE’S SIX.

I understand that, at his biomom’s house, he is seen as a peer instead of a child.  I grasp that.  But how do I drill into him that, at our house (at least.. if not in more situations), he is the child and adults are to be respected? 

Part of me knows that I shouldn’t be so riled up over a six year old.  Part of me understands that, since I’m the adult, I’m supposed to be calm and rational.  But when EVERY word that leaves my mouth is immediately corrected and/or challenged by him, it just rests in my crawl.

Anyway.  So that was my holiday.  Sounds nice, doesn’t it?