TWO: Our twelfth anniversary was yesterday. We remembered at around four o'clock, while I was outside with the kids and Seth was making meatball sandwiches for supper, and celebrated later with ice cream and an episode of Dr. Who. Fortunately, the quality of a marriage isn't determined by the quality of its annual celebration.*
THREE: My parents took Norah to Manitoulin Island with them this weekend, and here's her list of things to pack. (Note that she included "Grammy" and "Poppa" in her list. Thorough, is my girl.)
FOUR: Housecleaner. Friday.**
FIVE: Lucy, who at a year and a half still doesn't have much to say, fake burps at the table and then laughs like an idiot.
SIX: My front door looks like this.
"Awesome how?" you say? Awesome in that the plywood is only there so random vagrants don't wander into my home to watch David Tennant make angry muppet faces while our real front door is in the shop, getting painted glossy red. Glossy, glossy red.
SEVEN: Also I am awesome at photography.
EIGHT: Seth has been offered a job. Repeatedly. At first we were like "no, way", then we were like "how much, you say?" then we were like "where does he sign?". It means that his time will be less flexible, his piece of garbage truck can be sent to the scrapyard where it belongs, and I won't have to feel guilty about not doing his books when I'm not doing his books. Two out of three ain't too shabby.
NINE: I spent my hard-earned money on a laptop (a cheap one, don't get all carried away), which means that - since the siren song of the couch still lures me as I stumble downstairs at five in the morning - I'm writing this (and all of my other Great Work) wrapped in a blanket and partially reclining.
TEN: I fell down the stairs and broke the baby gate at the bottom. That wasn't awesome, but the fact that I'm the only person to have done it*** is.
ELEVEN: Football season is here, and we're so excited that we re-attached the cable to the television box. Joy and unicorns and such. Not awesome is the fact that - because I'm a sober, responsible adult - I left my fantasy football league this year. Sad face.
TWELVE: Did I mention the housecleaner?
THIRTEEN: Food. The end.****
---
**Which is not to say that I've Made It, except in the sense that I've made it to the point where I can choose between having any two of clients and/or a clean house and/or non-feral children.
***Twice.
****When, in all these years, have you known me to actually finish a list? Never, that's when.*****
*****Does anybody else think that the number of stars is getting ridiculous?
