If the picture loads, it’s going to be an example of what happens when your four year old goes scouring the house for something to occupy his time. And then tries to turn his sister into a mouse.
Other than that–I spent yesterday being an absolute picture of a banana squash in motion. It wasn’t until late at night, when I’d sent everyone to bed and I stayed up late on purpose to knit in an empty house, that I figured out why I was so exhausted.
IT’S THE FREAKIN’ BOOK! Can I just say that it’s all well and good to PLAN an emotional trainwreck, but WRITING one has sucked the life-juice right out of me. Or at least it had yesterday–today it was the two hours at the gym.
And about that…
I had wanted to run errands after gym today–but it’s hard to do that when the short people go out after my water aerobics class and spend an hour in the pool, so I spent all morning priming them. “We’re going to the gym, right? But NOOOOO swimming!” And I thought I had them totally set–Cave Troll would repeat ‘No swimmin’, mom, no swimmin’.” Ladybug would repeat ‘No swimmin, mom. No swimmin’.”
And then Ladybug made one of those purely two-year old leaps of logic against which adults are completely helpless.
She found her bathing suit. And the pieces fell together: AHA, she thought, the reason we can’t go swimming is that mom has lost my bathing suit. Now that I have found my bathing suit, all of our problems are solved!
“SWIMMIN’, MOM–WE’RE GOING’ SWIMMIN’!” And she went dancing around the house, five minutes before we were supposed to leave, and I realized that I was doomed. In record time I gathered their bag with extra changes of clothes and swim diapers and put on her swimming suit and found the Cave Trolls and decided, “Oh, hell, I can go do my errands tomorrow, right?”
But wait…the best part is yet to come. I finish my water aerobics class and dry off enough to go fetch them, and when I get there, she and Cave Troll are heavy into the play dough gig. The Cave Troll–well, he has no trouble dropping what he’s doing, but Ladybug, the entire REASON we are not already on our way to go be productive people but, instead, are off for that final hour in the sun and the pool that will condemn me to torpid prone inertia in the coolth of the air conditioning for the rest of the day, is having far too much fun with the playdough. She, in fact, stays there with play dough, and she NEVER GOES SWIMMIN’!!!!
*sigh*
Well, maybe it’s not JUST the book that has me exhausted.
And oh yeah–imagine my surprise!!!
|
Your Hair Should Be Pink |
 Hyper, insane, and a boatload of fun. You’re a traveling party that everyone loves to follow. |
But upon taking the test a second time, I think I like these results better:
|
Your Hair Should Be Purple |
 Intense, thoughtful, and unconventional. You’re always philosophizing and inspiring others with your insights. |
(Thanks, Amanda, for letting me snarf this!)
Hahah!1 – My hair should be red because I’m a smart alec!
Kids – can’t kill ’em and there’s no resale value!
Mmm, but play dough is important… or so I’ve been told on countless occasions (usually 5 minutes after we should have left…)
My hair should be red! It usta be red. Well, Irish-setter colored. Now it’s mostly white shading to rat-brown.
Hooray for you and the water aerobics! Yayyyy Amy!!!
And Hooray for Bitter Moon, even if it has (temporarily) sucked you dry. You know that every time you empty the bucket, it fills with fresh vigor.
When you put your heart and soul in to a book like that it will be awesome in the end.
My quiz hair color was purple but I don’t really think I’m that much of a risk taker.
Like Roxie, my hair should be red, usta be red, now faded from its previous glory.
Keep swimming please – I’m exercising vicariously through you!
I’ll let you know after the trip what my hair should be. Dial up is deathly slow.