The headline news of the week is: I survived. As did the Denizens, one and all. In spite of dire threats to our sanity and very lives, we have survived Week One of the new quarter.
All hail coffee, alcohol, incense and ‘mood music’. Special thanks to Kate Price, the Poxy Boggards, Merry Wives of Windsor and as always, Rush and Maddy Prior.
In other news…my daycare center is taking Monday off. The official excuse is Columbus Day. This irks me not so much because they’re taking a day off, but because of the timing. Reminding your coworkers, right after a hellish week like this one, that you’re not going to be around on Monday is like holding up that old middle finger and laughing maniacally right in their exhausted ‘and now we’ve got three weeks of cleanup to deal with’ faces. I’m probably as popular as toe jam right about now in the office.
Lessee. Danger Mouse announced yesterday that she wants to join the Girl Scouts, and told me she gave our phone number to the troop leader. Schwell. Eldest wants (and deserves) piano lessons. Captain Adventure is at long last starting to really talk, but unfortunately appears to be largely inventing his own language rather than using the perfectly good one we already have around here. Boo Bug is going through a Drama Queen phase and clings to me like scandal to a politician at all times. Having to physically peel her off me at drop-off in the mornings is getting really, really old.
There may be open warfare between her and Captain Adventure by the end of the weekend. He does not take kindly to people challenging his complete and sole ownership of The Woman. Also, I think he’s working some molars through his gums right now. Cranky? Ha! ‘Cranky’ does not begin to describe the mercurial temperament my little man is displaying right about now!
In the middle of the work-week madness, my husband decided to install shelves in the office. This is good, because we need the storage space. However, few things will strain a marriage like having one spouse drilling holes in the wall and muttering things like, “Crap, I think I missed the stud again…” while the other one is explaining to yet another user that the database crashed so hard the insurance company isn’t even taking quotes on repair and are just cutting a check for the total loss.
Unless is it the same spouse saying things like, “You know, instead of a cake for my birthday, I think it would be cool if you made a bunch of pies…”
Pies. For one hundred people. It isn’t the baking of the pies that scares me – it’s the overnight storage of them. That right there? Is the crazy-talk part. I started contemplating which types would be OK in the garage overnight, and by what devious methods I could warp the space-time continuum such that all the cheeses, meats, and other things for which refrigeration is not optional could share a fridge with ten or more custard pies, and the next thing I knew I was slumped in my rocking chair clutching an empty martini glass muttering, “We are so having this crazy thing catered!”
However, knitting was still accomplished. Look! It’s a sleeve!!
One more of these little babies, and then I can start the seven thousand hours of finishing work!
I’m just being melodramatic. It’s only six thousand hours of finishing work, and I know it. If I’ve told me once, I’ve told me a bazillion times: Quit Exaggerating!
Needle Tart asked ‘where do you knit’ in her blog today…here’s my spot:
I alternate between the rocking chair and the corner of the sofa. The sofa is more comfy, but prone to Denizen Invasion. They can swarm that sofa faster than a hill of ants attacking a watermelon. Demanding cartoons, juice, cookies, popcorn, backrubs and braided hair, with a green band on the left and a purple one on the right. NO! Not like that!!!!
Ah, daughters. Delicate little blossoms of feminine joy.
Bossy, bossy, bossy…
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