Whenever we learn about a new concept in music class, I like to try to tie it to something in regular life, so it sticks in the kids' brains better. So I'll ask them a question about something at home, and we'll go from there.

The last few years, it's been getting a little more difficult, as I ask frequently about chores, and no one has any.

Seriously? Moms out there, you are missing out on a valuable source of free labor. Last week, I asked four kids about chores and every single one said, "None" except for one, who said she has to make her bed on weekends.

For reals. And some of these kids are eight or nine. Kid, by the time I was eight, I knew how to make that chrome in the bathroom shine like nobody's business, and so help me if that toilet wasn't properly cleaned.

Moms, if you don't teach them how to clean a bathroom, they'll never know. And unless you're prepared to provide them with maid service, that's not going to prepare them very well for life.

Show them how to clean a toilet outside in, so you're not spreading the poopy stuff where it shouldn't go.

Show them that it is, indeed, possible to have a shiny faucet for years and years with a little bit of wiping up every day.

And, for the love of all that is good and clean, please show them that it is never, ever okay to expect someone else to clean up any big poopy messes they make (this one's primarily for my benefit, because gross).

They'll thank you for it when they've got their own kids who are being used as free labor. Keep the tradition alive.

I had the best dang idea today, and it got shot down. What was it, you say?

Above-ground swimming pool.

I know. Sounds miraculous, right? YES. The in-ground ones are too expensive and, let's face it, we've got more space than money at this point. I say, let's get us a big old above-ground one, get our swim on for a couple of years, and then see where we're at.

Plus, swimming. In my yard. With no one judging my thigh fat.

I would have so many pool parties, except mostly with just me because I am massively antisocial. We could get floaty things and drink tables and junk and we would have so many swimmy good times. 

We totally would.

My husband, however, does not agree. He thinks those pools are crappy and they look bad and then it's just more work for him. Which is true, to some extent, but seriously.

SWIM TIME.

I think I'm going to lose this battle.  Ugh. I want to swim so much right now. I know there are public pools I could go to, but that involves leaving my house, seeing other people, and public swimsuiting. I am a fan of none of that.

Oh, well. Maybe I'll go sit in the tub with some cool water and see how that goes.

But it won't be the same.

Hmmm...it's a lovely morning and I got all my other stuff done yesterday, so I have a couple of free hours before I have to start work. What to do? Oh, I know, I'll have a minor heart attack (along with my bird) when a sparrow flies straight into the front window and it basically makes a sound like someone threw a brick at the house.

Seriously. Our bird is sitting on the floor of his cage right now, shaking and refusing to be held or comforted.

Yes, we did buy all new windows for our house shortly after moving in. The old ones were fifty years old. Apparently, the shiny newness equals an invitation to come on in for all of the birds in town. Except they can't because GLASS.

The back windows get flown into regularly, but not the front ones as much because they have those little bar looking thingies in them...don't know what they're called, but I'm sure I could google it and find out in approximately two seconds if I felt like it, which I don't...who am I kidding, now I have to know...okay, they're called grilles. You would think the grilles would give the birds pause, but no.

And they fly right into them, lie on my sidewalk for half a minute, then fly away, but I know that they have to have massive brain damage after a collision that extreme.

So now my yard is full of brain-damaged birds and I feel guilty for having these big shiny windows.

And my bird is permanently scarred emotionally because he just heard a loud crash.

Moral of the story? There is none. Unless maybe it's that windows can, indeed be too clean for the birds' health and safety. No more cleaning those bad boys. I can live with that.

Summer colds are lame.

Well, this may be allergies, I really can't tell, but at any rate, I'm sick of snot. Last Thursday was my birthday (really nice, by the way, minus the sore throat), and I had a bit of a sore throat all day, but it's allergy season like crazy so I didn't think anything of it. 

Went to sleep, woke up two hours later with the worst sore throat I've ever had, couldn't sleep the rest of the night.

From a sore throat? Yeah, it was that bad. So, basically, since then I've been trying to stay away from my mom in case of any viral contagiousness, and then just trying to figure out where this bad boy's going. I haven't ever felt badly at all, except Friday from not sleeping all night. I mean, that was it. If this is, indeed, a cold, it's the weirdest one ever.

Today, it seems to have moved down my face into my chest, so I'm pretty sure there's going to be some coughing, but I feel like with the fifty tons of water, Mucinex and DayQuil, I've got this thing covered.

But I'm still producing way more snot than I'd like. 

I always think that I can beat a cold with my superior mucus handling techniques. Maybe that's why I've not felt badly, or maybe it's really just allergies, in which case, can we just throw all the juniper, grass, and lamb's ear far, far away? Like, dump it somewhere freezing so no one has to deal.

I know, I know, people Ike their lawns, but grass is my worst allergy. I have no lawn, just ragweed, which is my other worst allergy, so I'm basically screwed on the outdoor plant front. I'm gunning for pouring concrete and having a swimming pool. I feel like a big pool and then patios is way less work than almost an acre of grass.

Come on. You know it is.

At any rate, it would probably mean less snot for me. And I like that.

Fingers crossed that today's the day it starts going away. I'd like to breathe without whistling in my nose and/or hacking up a lung.

Even though my birthday isn't until tomorrow, I decided yesterday that I should probably start accepting the fact that I'm now really in my late 30s. I know 37 is late, too, but I always felt like it was more a part of the middle.

So, 30-34 is early, 35-37 is mid, and 38-39 are the late thirties. In my mind. 

Which is an unequal distribution, but come on. We live in a society where we become irrelevant at 27, so we're basically old farts for the last three-quarters of our lives. We've got to stretch that youngness out as long as possible in order to remain valid human beings.

Or do we?

I think maybe no. I've felt old all of my life. Maybe that's why I have no illusions about looking any younger than I am. I always looked older, as a teenager and stuff, because of my size and stature, and now I look older because of this glorious Irish skin (as my grandma used to say) that gets more and more spotty, red, and wrinkled every day. Thanks for the skin, guys.

There is just never enough moisturizer.

At any rate, I guess I don't mind being an old fart. It's not so bad. I don't like my parents getting older and more achy, and I certainly don't like the idea of my husband getting large masses of ear hair and not being able to lift heavy stuff, but there's not really a whole lot I can do about any of that.

Plus, I get a little closer to that magic age where I automatically stop caring about what I look and/or smell like every year. I'm not sure exactly when it'll hit, but I'm pretty excited about worrying about one or two less things. Bonus? AARP. Also, you get that National Parks Pass and you can take classes at the local college for only $5 per credit hour. I'm going to go back and get me a cheap degree, just for fun. Maybe by that time they'll actually offer one in underwater basket weaving, because that would be hilarious.

So, I'm okay with late thirties, I suppose. I just wish I had a lawn to tell the damn kids to stay off of. Or off of which to tell the damn kids to stay. Either way, kids. Watch it. I'm not getting any friendlier. 

I am really trying hard to keep my motivation to eat healthy, but there is just nothing that I want to eat on the acceptable food list on my diet.

However, this week is my birthday/Father's Day week, so I know the dessert action is going to be pretty intense. I decided to go ahead and seriously no carb it up Monday-Wednesday, so I can eat desserts and whatnot on my birthday and Father's Day and not gain five billion pounds.

I realize that number sounds like an exaggeration, but it's only a slight one. I can gain weight like nobody's business.

I'm into day one about six hours, I've only had a protein shake, I did an hour on the treadmill, and I already want to punch a wall. Or eat a cake. Or punch and eat a wall made of cake, if that's even a thing. I'm trying to remind myself that opera fancy dress season is coming soon, and I need to fit into all my dresses in such a way that I won't need to wear a girdle, because it's outside and already hot enough without having to vacuum pack all my fat into a spandex sausage-style casing.

It's working so far but I'm not sure how long it'll last.

I need more work to distract me, but I've already finished half my work for the day, and lunchtime is approaching quickly.

And I'm so hungry.

And I know how to bake cookies, and I have a whole hour at lunch so I could, feasibly, do so.

And there's wine in the cupboard.

Goodness gracious. This one's rough going. That birthday cake had better be awesome.

So I typically get up an hour before I have to, so I can stay on a sleep schedule, but also so I can sit in the dark and drink coffee before having to interact with others.

I have noticed that, lately, it's taking more coffee.

I used to be good with just the one cup. Now, it's two, but I'm seriously dying for a third cup, and I generally make one and start in while I'm starting to work.

What's going to happen next? 

If I go up to three cups before I even start my day, the logical next step is four, and then maybe I will just need to brew an entire gallon and wear two cups on my head, maybe modifying one of those beer can hats to dispense hot liquids. I don't know.

That certainly seems more practical, but I will pretty much wet my pants every five seconds, and then I'll spend more time going to the bathroom than working, which is counter-productive, so what's the point of all the coffee?

See my dilemma?

I know for sure that my grandma pretty much just drank that stuff like there was no tomorrow, but she drank it without the cream and sugar. I just can't. I have to at least have some cream in it, or the heartburn will make me die, and that means more calories go towards coffee, and less go towards food, and I just don't know about that.

Ugh. The dilemma.

Maybe I should just sleep an extra half hour, and then I wouldn't be so tired, and then I wouldn't need the coffee.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Like that's an option. More coffee it is!

I finally got around to canning in my new kitchen! Granted, I only did one small batch, because it was a new recipe and I wasn't sure of the outcome, but I did it.

It was glorious.

The whole reason for so much counter space (it's like miles and miles of it) is so I can have room when I'm canning, and the plan was perfect. I never ran out of room, nothing melted or got burnt, and even cleaning up afterwards was awesome.

Oh, and pineapple jam? It's pretty darn good, too. See?