I really don’t have a lot to say today.
I am barely able to complete a thought these days. And I go from one task to another, in spurts, not completing anything.
The laundry is half-folded.
The filing is half-filed.
The grocery list–half-purchased.
I have managed to complete one thing, though. I have managed to completely ignore all the cleaning I had planned for the week. Something had to go, and really, that’s just the least attractive task on my list.
Today is going to be warm and sunny. Thinking about a happy hour with friends this evening. Thinking that would be fun. As long as we don’t discuss school boundaries. And as long as Henry feels better.
Henry wasn’t feeling better last night. And it’s 10:00 and he’s still asleep. Not a good sign. I slept on the floor with him (as is our custom when one of the kids has the barfs), with a nice big barf bowl between us, just in case. We had no barf, but just the mere possibility is enough to keep me from sleeping well.
That, and the fact that I’m old and the floor hurts my old self.
School pictures came back.
All I can say kindly is Kate has a hard time with the pictures.
And William…well…let’s just say there was an excess of product in his hair that day. We chose picture day to try out a new product. I think this aptly communicates our very high intelligence and also our high degree of common sense. I can only imagine what his teacher thought.
Ella has a new word. “Boob.” And she uses it correctly, too. Because when I teach the children something, I teach it all the way. My daughter cannot say ball, or cup, or please, but she can say boob. Thank you, thank you very much. This morning I found her standing in her crib, completely in the buff (which brings up a whole new set of concerns.) She points and says “boob.” That’s my girl.
The Man has this way of being all organized. His socks are grouped by color in his drawer. His shirts hang in the closet in day-of-the-week order. He has a rotation system, y’all (we feed each other’s neurotic tendencies). When things are stressful around here like they are right now, my thoughts turn to ways to bother The Man.
I’m really mature that way.
I think of things like switching around the shirt order to freak him out. Or mismatching his socks and see if he notices before he gets to work.
One time I ate all the ice cream and put the container back in the freezer filled with rocks. Imagine his surprise when he went for his midnight snack. Oh, c’mon, you know you’re laughing at that one. That was just funny.
Today, he may get a voice mail from the Wiggles. Maybe “I Am a Dancer” or “Fruit Salad.”
Well, that’s about it. Thank God it’s Friday…