While perusing the tabloids while I loaded my groceries on the belt, I wondered if, when Britney Spears’ mother signed her up for that first record contract, she knew that one day the size of daughter’s backside would be the lead story of a magazine.

While cleaning out my fridge, I wonder if other people have to do this, or if I’m the only one who forgot about the cantaloupe in the back of the fridge until it congealed into something unrecognizable.

While listening to my daughter screaming in her bedroom because her mother once again is hoping for her to take a nap, I wonder if wishing that age 3 could come a little faster makes me a bad mom.

I wonder if buying lots and lots of socks with the intent that I will lose some is a sign of planning ahead or a symbol of just giving up.

I wonder how to get out watermelon stains. And I wonder why Tracy M. doesn’t like it.

I wonder why we feel the need to get more pets when we have such a bad track record as pet owners. And I wonder how long our new Betta fish will live. And I wonder if petting my dog really does lower my blood pressure.

I wonder why I don’t care if everybody at the table takes a sip of my drink, but freak out if somebody double dips a spoon into an ice cream carton.

I wonder why I hate white noise at night. Night is supposed to be silent. I wonder why my husband disagrees. Maybe he’s a communist. Do commies like white noise? I wonder…

I wonder if this post is too long, or not long enough. And then I wonder if I have possibly completely lost my mind as I descend into the ultimate navel gazing.

I wonder when DH will be home.

And if he’ll bring me a treat.

And now I’ve moved on from wondering to hoping. Hoping for a treat. An ice-cream treat. Ben and Jerry’s, to be exact, a nice little pint sized portion I can have to myself. That way, I can double dip to my heart’s content.