Words Written, Sunday: 1,112
Song on the iPod: Calling All Angels - Train
Yesterday's writing proved brief. BabySis came by with Coffee! and some needed photographs. We ended up laboring over taking digital pics of the hard copy photos so I could post them - as my scanner is both non-working and, umm, missing. My FIL has one down at his house but I felt too damn lazy to bother walking over to use it. Plus. My coffee might have melted on the way - as it was blistering HOT.
Digression: You know you're getting old when you say things like, "I remember starting school and having to wear a light jacket by the 1st of September." Global warming? I'm not saying there is or there isn't (as I'm not a brilliant science geek with my finger tip on the world's global status) but, damn it... I use to have to wear a light jacket by the 1st of September!
Anyhow... obviously we were able to get the pictures taken as you can now see BabySis in all her floaty glory as she hurtles towards the earth. Isn't she cute? And yes, those are BUNNY EARS hanging from the instructor's helmet. And yes, those are my hands in the reflection of the picture. Stupid sun.
For some odd reason, after the pictures were taken and BabySis had gone... I never sat back down to write. Sunday night usually consists of last minute scrambling. Did you know that spawnling laundry HIBERNATES in little hidey holes until 8pm Sunday evenings? Apparently, it hunkers down in the hamper, INVISIBLE, until late in the evening. Then, the hamper opens its great maw and spits all those stinky filthy clothes out on the utility room floor - where they scream for the mercy of cleanliness. And the spawnlings stand over them and cry, "But we'll go to school NAKED if they are not washed TONIGHT!"
I ask you -- where were these filthy clothes Friday night? And Saturday night? When I asked: "Do you have ANY laundry?"
The answer: They were Hiding. Invisible to the naked eye (but not to the naked buttocks!).
Tonight is bound to be a little more sedate. Dinner to cook. Weeds to watch. No, not my garden. WEEDS - on Showtime. Please, tell me you know of this show. It's brilliant! We watched all last season, Mr. Clean and I (not a kiddy show, folks), with our eyes wide open and usually laughing until we were falling off the couch. I've said it many times now but I'll say it again -- if only I could have come up with such a plot for a novel!
If you haven't seen it, run to your Showtime channel. Tonight's is the 2nd episode of the 2nd season. You'll laugh. But more than that, you'll THINK. You'll WONDER. Could you ever see yourself doing some of the same things?
And with that, I'm off. My empty skillet is calling my name and the spawnlings are banging their silverwear on the table.
Song on the iPod: Calling All Angels - Train
Yesterday's writing proved brief. BabySis came by with Coffee! and some needed photographs. We ended up laboring over taking digital pics of the hard copy photos so I could post them - as my scanner is both non-working and, umm, missing. My FIL has one down at his house but I felt too damn lazy to bother walking over to use it. Plus. My coffee might have melted on the way - as it was blistering HOT.
Digression: You know you're getting old when you say things like, "I remember starting school and having to wear a light jacket by the 1st of September." Global warming? I'm not saying there is or there isn't (as I'm not a brilliant science geek with my finger tip on the world's global status) but, damn it... I use to have to wear a light jacket by the 1st of September!
Anyhow... obviously we were able to get the pictures taken as you can now see BabySis in all her floaty glory as she hurtles towards the earth. Isn't she cute? And yes, those are BUNNY EARS hanging from the instructor's helmet. And yes, those are my hands in the reflection of the picture. Stupid sun.
For some odd reason, after the pictures were taken and BabySis had gone... I never sat back down to write. Sunday night usually consists of last minute scrambling. Did you know that spawnling laundry HIBERNATES in little hidey holes until 8pm Sunday evenings? Apparently, it hunkers down in the hamper, INVISIBLE, until late in the evening. Then, the hamper opens its great maw and spits all those stinky filthy clothes out on the utility room floor - where they scream for the mercy of cleanliness. And the spawnlings stand over them and cry, "But we'll go to school NAKED if they are not washed TONIGHT!"
I ask you -- where were these filthy clothes Friday night? And Saturday night? When I asked: "Do you have ANY laundry?"
The answer: They were Hiding. Invisible to the naked eye (but not to the naked buttocks!).
Tonight is bound to be a little more sedate. Dinner to cook. Weeds to watch. No, not my garden. WEEDS - on Showtime. Please, tell me you know of this show. It's brilliant! We watched all last season, Mr. Clean and I (not a kiddy show, folks), with our eyes wide open and usually laughing until we were falling off the couch. I've said it many times now but I'll say it again -- if only I could have come up with such a plot for a novel!
If you haven't seen it, run to your Showtime channel. Tonight's is the 2nd episode of the 2nd season. You'll laugh. But more than that, you'll THINK. You'll WONDER. Could you ever see yourself doing some of the same things?
And with that, I'm off. My empty skillet is calling my name and the spawnlings are banging their silverwear on the table.
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