It's been busy, busy, busy here at the house of toyland.
We went to a party on Sunday for which we were to bring a sidedish, and for which I impulse purchased a Zyliss folding mandolin while we were buying produce at the grocery store (so, as it turns out, I could more easily make mass quantities of tasteless au gratin potatoes AND slice a little skin off my left thumb.
Good times.
Monday -- because I have this amazing device that drastically reduces prep time for thinly sliced root vegetables -- I made a cucumber salad for our family picnic outing. But since Jed has decided he only likes sweet things made of chocolate, and informed me the sugared/vinegar dressing really didn't do much for him, I suggested he hold the slices firmly on his ass ... and stop talking to me.
Good times.
After we cleaned up and dragged took the kids on a lovely hike through the woods, he dropped me off at the auto repair shop where the mechanic had finally figured out why the Check Engine light was in constant party mode on my dashboard. Last year around this time the same mechanic fixed something, turned off the light, slapped an inspected sticker on the windshield, I paid him, drove away and two hours later the damn light was back on.
Being the lazy person I am I chose to ignore it for the next twelve months.
This time the mechanic pin-pointed a rusted out valve in the gas tank, fixed it, changed the oil and slapped on a new inspection sticker.
Finally. Good to go. Whew.
So I absconded with my recently injected, inspected, detected car (using my extra set of keys) and left a note saying I'd gladly pay him Tuesday.
Tuesday was its own disaster waiting to happen.
Everyone had the holiday weekend hangover, so we were already slow on the get-up-and-go. I was further delayed because after dropping off the kids at the babysitter's house I had to go back home and return the breast milk -- that I'd taken out but forgotten to bring to the baby sitter's when I'd dropped off the kids -- to the freezer.
Since I was already late decided I might as well:
1. Pay the mechanic for fixing my car. Dropped off a check.
2. Take the dog to the vet despite Jed saying he'd do it -- but never did even though the vet is two minutes from our house and he works near home and I work 45 minutes away and take the kids to the babysitter for a lovely two and a half hour commute each day -- but I'm not bitter. The dog needs surgery to remove a tumor on her leg. Shite. Scheduled that.
So so late now, might as well stop at the apple farm and buy some donuts for the people at work who are probably already picking up my slack.
Get back into the car and see the flashing lights of police cruisers ahead on the highway. Oh man, they're checking inspections (which I just had, hello ... mechanic and $375 worth of work to be inspectable) but the registration expired and still tentatively hanging on the windshild because I haven't yet peeled it off and replaced it with the one in the envelope that is stuffed in my bag. Have to go back and get Jed's car because I am NOT paying another fine for non-affixed registration thankyouverymuch.
Take a left out of that driveway and go back home. Run up the stairs to switch car keys, grab my gear from my car and transfer it to his, turn on the ignition and head for the highway.
Get into work, only to find out the jedster can't pick up the kids. Grrrrrrrrrreat! Never thought I'd get here now I have to hurry up and leave.
Of course, there I was wishing I could scrub that day right off the face of the calendar, when THIS day rears it's ugly head. Woke up to find that I'd forgotten to put the milk I'd pumped into the refrigerator. Dumped it down the sink. No shampoo left. Annabel's deciding she's too tired to get up. Drag her out of bed. Silas is throwing food at the dog, who is taking it an burying it in the couch. And Oh-look-at-the-time. Already running late.
While Jed gets Annabel to eat her cereal, I take the boy out on the porch and take a few (ok ...more than a few) pictures of him in his cute hand-me-down yellow jacket from the baby days of Annabel.
Got milk. Got lunches. Getting going. This day is going to be better.
We get to the sitter's house with not moment to spare. I make the transfer and off they go toward preschool and the rest of their day.
I'm still sitting there in the driveway, just trying to collect my wits, when I reach for the camera. I just want to take a quick peek at the boy in his yellow jacket before I hit the road again.
NO MEMORY CARD.
damn.
Damn.
Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn DAMN!
And that's when it happened, folks, I kid you not. ...
The Check Engine light, as if on cue, blinked back on.
In the pump station.
It was one of several arm-length shots I did for my mug that will be plastered in the new magazine's signature page.
I felt pretty good.
Today, I feel a little like 10 pounds of poop in a five pound bag.
And still there's tomorrow to look forward to.
*pay no attention to the visible bra strap
**le sigh.
So I've slapped up the new masthead.
Although, I must admit, shamefully, the Christmas tree is STILL standing on our sun porch. Dry as a popcorn fart. But while it's standing there MOCKING ME with all its dry, pine scent, it is no longer adorned with ornaments -- thanks to an unusual burst of energy last weekend. I have hope that by the end of this coming weekend it will be dragged to the edge of the road by my husband.
I'd do it myself but I don't think it'd be wise with Annabel leading the way (down our steep stairs) and Silas tucked into his sack (trying to get fist fulls of needles into his mouth) with his octopus arms reaching out.
So ... let the screamfest begin!
This is the last photo I took of the kids before I became an incubus for viral plague.
Aren't they cute?
I mean. I was a little concerned that Brother Bear here would topple, head first off the step while I tried to focus the camera, but Ittybit turns out to be a first-class seatbelt in that regard.
But I digress.
The day went on without any other concerns . ... well I did have a tension headache starting late afternoon, but nothing that really would herald the
Vomiting.
Diarrhea.
Aches.
and.
Pains.
symptoms which reared their ugly heads that evening.
You know ... Just your run-of-the-mill, overall full-body grossness.
Luckily the kids haven't gotten it yet. And the man wasn't out of town (or sick) so he could be the feeding, changing "don't put that in your mouth" parent for the day when it turned out the Babysitter's husband was home sick, too.
Of course I woke up this morning (feeling much better, thankyouverymuch) to find an earthquake had rocked our livingroom and a cyclone had blown similar debris through the kitchen.
"You know I did keep it pretty neat for the first three hours. ... you should have seen it then!" He laughs ... as he offers me a quarter cup of coffee.
Well, I had been feeling better.
You've been coming here for the last 21 days wondering to yourself: "when, for the love of mike, will she be taking down that holiday banner!?!"
I mean, sheeesh. You hate those people who leave up the Christmas lights until August.
This banner, dear readers, isn't the only thing still standing from our holiday celebrations.
So is this:
