who's read the fanfiction. "Well, Sarah, how are you enjoying my Labryinth?" indeed.Wow, Labyrinth is a different experience as a (mostly) grown up woman
Also, I still can't wrap my head around the logic of that "one of us always tells the truth and one of us always lies" business. Confession: I had a book when I was a teenager that puported to explain it fully. YOU PURPORT WRONG, BOOK.
We've been to church twice since this epic. Yesterday they were
called to the front by the old gentleman for a wee message just for them
and the one other kid in attendance who - presumably, since he was
called by name - had been inside a church building more than the four
times my kids had in their entire lives. Imagine the terror, please, of
that moment just after my cherubic (looking) children held hands on their way up the aisle, past
forty-five smiling octogenarians and septuagenarians, and realized that they
were the centre of doting attention.
It was Seth's birthday party yesterday, and - loving, uber-talented, and repetitive wife that I am - I made him a expertly-iced chocolate cake and took a well-lit picture of it.
Just like last year.
And the year before that.
January 19, 2015
January 12, 2015
This raggedy boy is incontrovertible proof that God knows I'm an incurable know-it-all and wants to demonstrate how annoying it is. Also irony.
Sandi: Pull your bowl closer to you.
Oscar: It's not a bowl, it's a plate.
...three minutes later*...
Sandi: Lucy, pass me your plate.
Oscar: You said it was a bowl
Sandi: It's rude to correct me. I'm a grown-up, and sometimes I know what I'm talking about.
Oscar: You're not a grown-up. You're an adult.
Sandi: [Dies of frustration]
Now, admittedly, there's much to admire in semantic precision and rigorous attention to detail. Just not when it's aimed at me.
*that was not three minutes just then
January 5, 2015
Just most days.*
There are so many, many things that are excellent about life right now, layoff and man flu notwithstanding. For example, the kitchen is thisclose to being finished. We've gone from this
Even without trim, drawers, doors, and toe kicks, we can cook properly for people again. We can cook properly for people together, at the same time, with the people in the kitchen with us. That calls for an exclamation mark. Maybe two.
The entryway to our house is no longer the furthest door away from our driveway and smaller than a shower cubicle. Groceries can go from van to counter without buying an oxygen tank and hiring a Sherpa. The kids can get ready for school without standing on top of each other and/or spreading out into the living room. I don't have to walk through tracked in snow to get from the living room to the dining room. That dining room is just a dining room again, instead of a dining room/kitchen (and, for one memorable fortnight - a dining room/kitchen/living room/bedroom.)
The roof is done. The roofers - bless them - are gone, and the hours between eight and five are no longer lived in front of an audience who deserve hot coffee and snacks every three hours. We're very, very close to the final insurance paperwork and the end of an enormous headache that started ten months ago with just a tiny drop of water.
And- like a delicious cherry on top of all of this goodness - it's JANUARY, which means the season of final account reconciliations, expense summaries, 2015 budget work, and 2014 tax preparation is finally here.
The only fly in the ointment is the ongoing layoff and the fact that - as you might have noticed from Pinterest - one of us needs to be on a restricted diet for a little while, which - since you know we're not going to be cooking supper twice - means that we're trying to cook cheaply AND eat things that we don't hate AND that don't have any garlic or onions or sugar or beans or wheat flour or _insert any ingredient you normally cook with here_. FUBAR indeed.
There's not much to complain about, frankly. So I'll just get on with getting over myself, then, okay? Okay.
*I jest, Mom. I'm sure it was just PMS. (Speaking of - is it normal for it to get worse as you get older? Like really worse?)
** I just went for it there. Whoooooo! Living on the edge.