The Pendulum Swings

Not to alarm anyone, but things are starting to fall apart at home a little bit. I’m a little bit flummoxed as how to stop the slip sliding away. This time. Because isn’t this an on-going theme?

Sleep less doesn’t seem like a good option. But it’s going that way.

(No, not with my marriage. And the kids are okay, I guess.)

I’m losing track of the details. Like yesterday, I thought it was a half day at my girls’ school. I made arrangements with my FIL to pick the girls up and take them to daycare (same daycare where M is).

At some point, though, the school changed the schedule because they had to make up a day from November. (I don’t even recall that they had a snow day in November.) So Tuesday became a full day, and Wednesday became a half day.

I didn’t read the memo. Literally, I didn’t read the email that noted the change. So when the school called asking why my FIL was there and were the girls supposed to have an early dismissal, my response was, “Didn’t you have a half day today?” *Ahem, no, it’s tomorrow.*

I am not on top of the shit, people.

Which is ironic, because *at work* I am on top of the shit. Maybe because there are fewer bodies around and someone has to be; maybe because I work with a team of people in similar straits as I; maybe because the interruptions are less random and more related to the task at hand.

Maybe because there’s less shit (or different shit, I’m not really sure).

Bills slip through the gaps, and get paid late. Things that should get done, don’t get done in a timely manner. (Usually, they eventually do get done. Usually.) The paper piles up. The house is… getting out of control again. We don’t have places to put things. We have too many things, and I don’t have time to purge. A decent level of cleanliness is present, but the clutter is starting to encroach.

However, I dutifully RSVP to every birthday party my children are invited to. Sometimes yea, sometimes nay. My priorities might be screwed up.

The girls are supposed to start soccer next week. This means two evenings of practice during the week (one for Kate, and one for Flora), and two games on Saturdays. I had originally signed them up thinking I could draft the nanny into helping at least one night a week. But her work hours changed, so she’s probably not available when I need her.

I’m trying not to panic about that. On the bright side, I see more fresh air and exercise in my future.

Oh, and we haven’t found a place to have the party for Flora’s First Holy Communion. I’m a little worried about that.

The good news is that I’m aware that my stress levels are pretty damn high. I have some regular chiropractic appointments scheduled, and I made a spa appointment for a Saturday in April. Next up is trying to get in some Pilates or yoga about twice a week. I found a great workout on demand. I want to get up in the morning and do it. At least once a week.

It’s hard to motivate myself to get up and do it, though. I am not a morning person. So how do I do it? I need to strengthen my core muscles, primarily so my back and hips stop aching all the time. But I lay there at 6 a.m., loathe to get out of bed to do a 26 minute routine. How can I do this? Internet, please help.

As for the rest of the stuff… I don’t know. I need to organize. I need time. I need a personal assistant!

Tell me something to cheer me up. Send puppy pictures. Whatever.

Four Letter Word

First, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who weighed in on my infrequent posting dilemma. I truly appreciate the support and suggestions. You guys — er, ladies and guy, are great.

As I suspected would happen, one of the suggestions was to get a laptop — or a cleaning lady. Another of the suggestions pointed out that a photo and a line of text counted as a post. (I remember how easy Photo Friday was for me last year!)

Unfortunately for me, Monkey accidentally trashed our digital camera, so I’m in a bit of a bind there. And though both DearDR and I can justify buying laptops at this stage in our careers (we could probably write them off, too), we don’t actually have the $$ to buy laptops. Or a new digital camera. Or replace the CD player in my 2002 Camry.

We are a household deep (and I mean deep) in D-E-B-T.

I’ve done some research, and I strongly suspect that we are not the only ones. This country is a country run (disasterously as it turns out!) on credit.

The average household credit card debt in 2004 (the latest year for which I could find numbers) is $8,000. I suspect that number is shooting up astronomically these days.

DearDR and I are above average. Now when it comes to things like height and intelligence, above average can be good. But obviously, not when it comes to things like credit card debt.

Granted, this is the direct result of some… I hesitate to call it bad decision-making per se. Dumb decision-making. Kind of cross-my-fingers decision making. “Things will get better so I can do this right now” decision-making.

And we didn’t run up our credit cards on fancy shoes, jewelry, or, I don’t know, a boat. We ran up our credit cards on gasoline, food, diapers and other baby stuff, decent clothes, car repairs.

We ran our credit cards up when I took a year off to be a stay-at-home mom and DearDR dropped some hours to study for his license exam. Should I have gone back to work when Bun was six weeks old? We wouldn’t be in this mess if I had — or at least, it would be less of a mess. I second-guess that decision all. the. time. But I can’t go back and do it differently. I have to live with the consequences.

Our mortgage is probably below average — we bought this house directly from the owner, and that keeps costs down, yo. We haven’t missed a payment in 3 years; I pay a little bit over the minimum.

I don’t even want to talk about DearDR’s student loans.

And of course, although I went back to work in February, it turns out that prices of just about everything went up at the same time. We saw our weekly gas budget go from about $40 to $120. Monkey started preschool and a new (more expensive) daycare. We considered not sending her this year. Or not sending her to the Catholic school pre-K program we wanted to. But in the end, we knew it was time, and St. J’s was the right place.

The bills, including those heinous credit card bills, are getting paid. On time. And I don’t just pay the minimum due on the cards. I want those suckers to go away, and I throw as much money as I can every month at ’em.

We’re not in danger of losing anything. Or of having to sell organs on the black market.

We don’t use credit cards any more. It’s a struggle, but we live within our tight budget. I am taking out a consolidation loan, cosigned by Nonna, to reduce the interest — taking it down to a quarter or a third of what I am paying now. I’ll still be sending the same amount of money, but most of it will go to principle instead of evil finance charges.

This isn’t a pity party, but I gotta tell someone how it is. Because I stress out about this every single day, and if I don’t get to talk about it, I’ll explode.

We are sheltered, fed, and clothed. We have great health care coverage through my employer. We even get treats (the occasional date, a beer with friends, Eat ‘n’ Park dinners once or twice a month with the kids). We just don’t have the disposable income for digital cameras and laptops. Cry me a river, I know. Some people can’t eat, for goodness sake.

And if I had the cash, I would hope that I remember them before I buy that laptop. Someday, I hope to be able to do both without thinking — or stressing — about it.

You know, my mom was right. I should have been a pharmacist.

No Excuses

Even though what I am going to write sounds like a bunch of excuses, it’s not meant to be.

I am very frustrated by my infrequency of posting. I like to think I have people who check in here from time to time who are frustrated too. (I could be mildly delusional.)

National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo, to those in the know) is looming. I want to do it; I did it last year; I have no idea if I can do it this year.

I barely get two posts a week up here. A lot has changed since I did NaBloPoMo last year — I went back to work; Monkey started school and a new daycare program; DearDR has started a private practice.

It’s all a matter of making choices. The choice of when to write, for example. The choice of what to write. I will say that lately I have been thinking less about writing about my children (whom I love and who are very entertaining) and more about writing about what I am “going through”. Not necessarily pretty stuff — kind of like this post — but stuff that right now looms larger for me than the adorable things that my kids do.

This was all brought to a bit of a head at the latest Burgh Blogging Mommy dinner. I felt very encouraged to do more as Red Pen Mama, and I know I would like to write for the Burgh Mom site some of the moms are working on.

But the big question for me is: when? The big obstacle is time.

When I get home in the evenings, I’m on my own with the girls. And I don’t have a laptop — I have to go into a separate room to write/post. DearDR works long days, seeing patients in the evenings, and often catching up on paperwork. And I’m okay with that. He does the morning routine (with help from his parents, and me packing Monkey’s lunches), and I do the evening routine. He sees private practice patients Saturday. Usually he is around Saturday evenings, sometimes Sundays (sometimes he’s doing paperwork — that damn paperwork. His gravestone is going to read, “I have paperwork to do.”).

In terms of the house, I do the lion’s share. I wish that weren’t the case; I wish DearDR chipped in more. He does big jobs (like cutting down trees), and he takes out the garbage on trash day. That’s how it breaks down at home.

I sit in front of a computer all day long. Reading, typing, editing, etc. It’s hard for me to want to do that when I get home, too.

Choosing to write and post after the kids go to bed means that something will not get done. Laundry, cleaning the kitchen, putting out clothes for the kids for the next day. Once or twice a week, that’s okay. But to post for a whole month? We’d be out of clean underwear in no time. Or overrun with mice eating the crumbs in my kitchen. I could write at work and post at home, I suppose, but I think that would be frowned upon. Plus, if I did take the time to write at work, it would mean that I was blowing off work, and we’re all busy, with a pretty big deadline on the plate (I’m mixing metaphors a bit, but I really didn’t want to use a version of “loom” again), so that would be an unpopular decision. Even if I were the only one who knew I was making the decision to write instead of, say, read my page proofs.

And, also, I like to sleep about 8 hours a night. I’m not sure how willing I am to sacrifice sleep to blog.

None of this is to conclusively say that I am not posting every day next month. I did it last year; I made it through 13 days in April. And I have lots I want to write about.

I am also not throwing myself a pity party. I am not alone in being a full-time worker and a full-time mommy, with full-time housework and full-time hopes, dreams, and aspirations that sometimes take a hit. (Housework takes a hit occasionally too.) I am pragmatic and not a perfectionist. I don’t aspire to be Super Mommy. (Just a super mommy, you know?)

And now I’ve been introduced to Plurk! How do people do all this and, like, watch TV, too?

I used to think I was an efficient, organized person — I think I was an organized, efficient person. But now I can’t find enough hours in the day. Maybe I used to sleep less, too. My memory’s fuzzy on that point (maybe I drank more). I am reluctant to let that version of myself go. But until I dig her out and get her working for me again, I hesitate to do anything as crazy as saying, “I am definitely doing NaBloPoMo!”

But I can definitely say I may do NaBloPoMo. Let’s see if I can get back up to three times a week for now. We’ll go from there.

Weekend Letters

Dear Monkey:

If you think I was enjoying myself scrubbing the bathroom instead of playing with you outside on an improbably gorgeous autumn day in October in Pittsburgh, please reconsider.

It’s just that your dad tore up part of the disgusting rug in that bathroom (advice: never, ever, move into a house or apartment with a rug in the bathroom), but only part of it. And I decided to hire a babysitter so I could finish the job.

I’m grateful that you wanted to help me. But between the chemicals I was using to thoroughly disinfect the space and the clear detridus of I don’t know how many years accumulated under and on the edge of said rug, that room was not safe for you. It wasn’t really that safe for me, but my system is stronger.

Plus, “help” in the toddler lexicon is different from “help” in an adult lexicon. For example, on Saturday, you “helped” me clean the dishes by stirring a potful of water (“I’m making an apple cake!”) on one side of our divided sink while on the other I rinsed dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher. You often help me in the kitchen by doing arts and crafts while I put dishes away or cook. I can’t imagine how you were going to help me in the bathroom. Possibly by brushing your teeth and drinking a lot of dixie-cupfuls of water.

So for you to have come in after your walk with the babysitter, come see me covered in crap, and, when I told you to please go back downstairs, say, “You’re breaking my heart” was equal parts exasperating and amusing. I hope you will excuse my reaction.

First of all, where are you learning these things, these emotional words for heartbreak and love? Do Daddy and I say them to you? Are you picking them up from the four-year-olds at day school? Are you sneaking Hannah Montana at Bella’s house?

Secondly, given a choice, I would have left the bathroom exactly as it was for a couple more weeks, and gone outside, into the sunshine and air with you. But Nonna and Pap-pap are coming to visit, and my lack of effective housekeeping shames me. I had to do something.

Believe me, I want to spend my time on weekends with you and your sister. You are amazing and adorable and sweet and exasperating, and I love you so much it creates an ache sometimes from my throat to my stomach. But part of me loving you is going to work, and cleaning our dirty house, and taking you to the grocery store with me.

Please, don’t break my heart by telling me I’m breaking yours when I can’t come play with you. Time is precious and fleeting. But sometimes, I gotta clean the bathroom. Okay?

Your Momma

Dear Babysitter,

I understand that you are 14 years old. And texting to a 14 year old is like breathing. But your job, the job for which I am paying you, is to entertain and play with my child. Oh, and also to keep her out of my hair.

I am unsure of how to approach this with you. My kids like you a lot; my husband and I like that you literally live across the street so we can watch you go home at the end of your shift. If I tell you to leave your phone at home, it is likely that you will decline to work for us any longer. I hesitate to tell your parents to ask you to keep the phone at home — you could be texting with your mother for all I know. I would feel like I was tattling on you.

But, honey, it is not acceptable to me that you sit texting on the couch, while my broken-hearted three-year-old plays lackadaisically with her toys. It was nice of you to do arts and crafts with her — at my suggestion. And also to take her for a walk — also at my suggestion. But you’re going to have to do a little bit more if you decide to pursue babysitting as a means of earning cash. At this point, I would hesitate to recommend you for another job. Your two weaknesses are your inability to straighten up when you are done with the kids, and this whole non-stop texting thing while letting my kids entertain themselves. You need to be a teensy bit more engaged with them. I am hoping that when I talk to my husband about this, he will guide me to an effective way of communicating with you. (He’s good like that.)

Or maybe I will just buy you one of these, although such a step seems a tad heavy-handed.

In the meantime, I remain, your sole employer,
red pen mama

Random Thoughts: Frustration

I have mentioned that I have been “working on” a book-related post. But I think I’m going to scrap the idea.

I have been striving, since I gave up reading novels for Lent, to work more non-fiction into my book-reading repetoire.

On a recent trip to Joseph-Beth Booksellers to spend a gift card I had received for my last birthday, I picked up Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope. And while I admire him greatly, and think he will be a fantastic president, and he’s a good writer, and I appreciated the arguments in this book that let me know his policy ideas… I got utterly bogged down. Around chapter 10, I was lured away by a Michael Connelly novel called A Darkness More Than Night. That one moved right along.

I did eventually (kind of) finish Obama’s book. (Okay, I completely skipped chapter 10. But I did read most of the chapter on family. And some of the afterword.)

While I was attempting to finish Obama’s book (and thoroughly engrossed in Connelly’s), I was anticipating reading The Maternal is Political. It is a library book, and I had waited a long, long time to get it, and I had read good things about it at one of my favorite sites.

But I don’t know if it was the overload of political reading/coverage/emails at work (another story entirely) or what, but I just didn’t get into it. The essays were very short, and I didn’t feel they were communicating to me or about me. Maybe it’s because I don’t have an illegal alien as a nanny, or am not even close to being speaker of the house, but all I felt was disconnect. I am all for teaching my kids to vote responsibly, and bringing them up as vegetarians, and being environmentally friendly, and so on. Some of the passion in the essays came off as shrill to me.

I didn’t finish it. I don’t think I even managed half of the essays. I tried to renew it, but it was on hold, which considering how long I had waited for it, I was not surprised.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t disappointed either.

As these reviews show, I am clearly missing something. If Obama wins the election (here’s hoping!), maybe I’ll try it again.

Another product about which I had read rave reviews was this DVD, Mom and Toddler Fitness. I have been trying to find a way to get structured exercise into my life. I thought this would be a good place to start.

Turns out for me, not so much. The problem is that I have TWO toddlers to “exercise with” instead of just one like the parents on the DVD. Also, when I get down to floor level, this is clearly a sign. It says: “Jump on Mommy!”

Bun has been pooping in the bathtub. Regularly. It’s as if she waits until she’s in the tub.

Bun is quite the pooper, in any case. I think she goes around five times a day. Usually, even after pooping in the tub (which just leads to a giant waste of water), she deposits a sizable load in her diaper before bedtime. Anyway to train her to go between dinner and bath time?


And: On mandatory overtime again, next week, at work. An extra hour a day. Crap.


On a slightly different note, I have added an a-ha station to my Pandora. You remember a-ha don’t you? (Allison, you may be excused from this discussion.) Along with a-ha (still waiting to hear “Blue Skies”), I have gotten a good dose of Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, Duran Duran, New Order, and a bunch of other artists that take me back to my high school days. And while it is a little fun to remember some of the stuff going on while these songs were “hot off the press” so to speak, it is reminding me to please listen to what my teenage daughters will be listening to. Because why all of a sudden does Dave Gahan, singing Martin Gore’s lyrics, sound like a freaky crazed stalker?

Because I am the mother of girls, that’s why.

Wake-Up Call

I went for the fourth cup of coffee this morning. I have been successful to cutting down to three cups — I was actually toying with the idea of starting to go to half regular and half decaf. Not today.

Why is it that my children can blissfully sleep in until 7:30 or 8 o’clock on the weekends (sometimes even 8:30)? But during the week, they wake up five minutes before my alarm goes off??

This morning, Bun was screaming at 5:25 a.m. Binky replacement and a little rocking got her back to dozing at least. However, in the meantime, Monkey had awoken and was now perched on the edge of my bed. I got her to lay down, but snooze time was lost to elbows, knees, and deep sighs.

I am seriously dragging here. I am trying to get to work around 7 a.m. for the next week or so. I have a lot of details to take care of to get Monkey all set for school, so I’m trying to leave around 3:30 in the afternoons. Yesterday it was her varicella vaccination (that’s chickenpox to you and me) and school supply shopping (let’s see if those supplies actually stay out of Monkey’s hands for a week. I’m betting against it). Tomorrow it’s a visit to the new daycare.

In the meantime I have to clean my house, because my brother, sister-in-law, and their three boys are staying the weekend there with my children. This is good, though, because DearDR and I are celebrating our anniversary — not in our house! (Honestly, our plans are so very lame, I’m not going to even mention them.)

I will get sleep this weekend. I hope I make it to then!


Okay, I keep hoping my camera will be resurrected. In the meantime, what would you suggest I get? I would like some inexpensive, user-friendly options, but you can go ahead and tell me what you would buy if price were no object, too. (Price is definitely an “object” — a big, fat obstacle-type object.)

Lather, Rinse, Repeat: The Sick Cycle

I didn’t write a lot about what was going on with us last week for two reasons. One was I wanted to get that post about X and The Ex off my plate. It was something I really wanted to write about, and I knew if I got involved in “the daily” I wouldn’t get it done.

Two, I wasn’t having a lot of fun.

Since I have come back to work, the girls have suffered several infections and ailments (some mysterious). I don’t know that the two are connected, although it is hard to dismiss the coincidence. The most stressful part of it (aside from having sick children) is dealing with it long distance.

As a typical example, I will get a phone call from Day Care Lady:

DCL: Monkey/Bun is running a fever.
Me: How high is it?
DCL: Oh, about 100 degrees.
Me: How has she seemed?
DCL: She’s a little fussy. But she ate well. OR: She’s screaming her head off/Telling me her ear really, really hurts. She won’t play/eat/nap.
Me: Should I come get her?
DCL: It’s up to you.

So then I agonize about whether or not I should leave work, and phone the pediatrician’s office in the meantime. If I get an evening appointment, it goes: pick up kids, take Sick Kid and Well Child to doctor’s office where Sick Kid cries and cries while Well Child jumps around and is loud to get the attention that Sick Kid is getting from Mommy and The Doctor, hear Sick Kid has another ear infection (or two), get prescription for antibiotics, leave office, try to get dinner into kids, run to pharmacy to fill prescription, keep kids occupied while prescription is filled (this is why we go to the Target pharmacy), go home, wash/bathe children, get them in pajamas, get medicine into the sick one, get milk and/or cookies into children while they watch a video, read books, sing lullabies, collapse into exhausted heap on couch, drink a beer, go to bed my own self.

One or two days later: Repeat with formerly Well Child as Sick Kid.

My father-in-law has taken Sick Kid on one or two occasions; he was the one on hand the day DearDR had to get to work and we had the paperwork for the medical proxy. Then I am on the phone with him and the doctor, listening to Sick Kid crying in the background. This is stressful for all of its own reasons, including the fact that my FIL — as much as I do love the man — is kind of useless with the kids. He gets them to the pediatrician’s office, and gets them back to DCL, and that’s about it. He doesn’t ask the doctor anything — hence I am sitting at my desk 30 miles away talking on the phone; he doesn’t really listen to the doctor; he doesn’t drop off the prescription to be filled. (He thinks we should get our prescriptions filled at a different, closer, pharmacy. He is not all about the multitasking possibilities of Target.)

It would be much better if Bella were our medical proxy, but Bella has a lot on her plate already. Nanny is not doing very well. (Additionally, my grandmother, up in Erie, is not doing well either.) More details on this in another post.

The most frequent diagnosis has been ear infection. They have each had four in the past five months — on two occasions (if memory serves), both of Bun’s ear have been infected.

The upshot of all of this is that my girls have been referred to an ear-nose-throat (ENT) specialist. I have an appointment at the end of the month.

I am having a lot of regrets about my use of antibiotics. My thinking at the time was simply, “Oh, it’s just an infection. It’ll go away with this medicine.” And, true to form, the infection did go away. For awhile. But then the infection, or another infection, came back. Again, and again, and again. In Monkey’s case, she took a break from the ear infection to get a throat infection.

I wish I had taken the “wait-and-see” approach to the ear infections. As in “wait 48 hours to see if the infection clears up on its own, treating the pain and low-grade fever with ibuprophen and/or acetiminophen”. Many an ear infection will just clear up on its own, according to the literature.

There is a chance, of course, that I would be right back where I am, only having put my children through a couple more days of pain first. So there is no point in beating myself up about it.

But now I keep thinking about facing a man, an expert doctor-type man, who is going to tell me to put tubes in my children’s ears, and saying, “No thank you. They’ll outgrow it.”

I need some ammunition people. I will be doing my own research, of course.

Or, if you or someone you know thinks tubes are the way to go, some encouragement in that direction. DCL says tubes are awesome (her oldest son got them as an infant). My father advises passionately against them.

I should explain here that as an infant and a toddler I had ear infection after ear infection. The last course of treatment my pharmacist parents agreed to was one month of 1 teaspoon of amoxicillin daily. I recall having a couple ear infections as an older child, too, around 5 or 6 years old. But ultimately, I did not get tubes, and I’m fine (my ears are fine, in any case — I’m a bit of a loon, frankly).

Advice welcome; assvice will be submitted for ridicule. Thanks.

Mama Called the Doctor and the Doctor Said…

“It’s probably a virus, and there’s nothing much we can do for her.”

Great, thank you. I missed half a day of work for this, which means I have to work half a day on Saturday? Fan-freakin-tastic.

Admittedly, when your 3-year-old starts screaming that her lady business hurts (yes, she knows all the scientific names for everything, she just chooses to use “lady business”, courtesy of DearDR) when she is peeing, you kind of figure something is up. And it’s better to go to the doctor than not.

And now, I’ve got a 3-year-old who seems to have no problem peeing when someone else is in charge, but when I take her, she balks and cries and says it is going to hurt.

The medicine I picked up at the doctor’s suggestion (takes the sting out of peeing; turns urine orangey-red) stains everything bright yellow. It is a pill, see, and I have to crush half of an adult-sized dose, then mix it with some kind of liquid and get the 3-year-old to drink it. That didn’t go over well at all last night, and now I have a bright yellow stain in the middle of my already-not-so-attractive kitchen floor linoleum. And she’s not going to be able to wear that shirt again.

I suppose I could ask her to snort it, but I might be prepping her for a bad habit later.

I am very tired, Internet peeps. And real peeps. And family members. I don’t think I have it any harder or any worse than anyone else — at work, at home, in my extended family. So, while I don’t want to complain, I really want to complain.

I’m tired. My head is splitting. I have been working from 7 a.m. to 4:30 or 5 p.m., Monday through Friday; I have to come to work on Saturday this week.

When I get home, it’s kids and house duty. I can’t get to bed before 10 p.m. even when I need to.

The children have gone to the doctor every month so far this year; some months, we have had to go twice. They have been on nine antibotics between the two of them, and had three viruses (at least).

DearDR works. That is what he does. He works every day, longer hours than I work, and he gets less sleep than I. On Sundays, he makes brunch and cleans the hell out of the kitchen. And, then, often works a little.

I’m tired. And I’ve got five more weeks of overtime to go. Oh, well.

Maybe it’s time to schedule that spa visit (DearDR got me a gift certificate for Christmas).

Just Daze

For the record: It was 4 a.m. today.

And then coughing, sniffing, kicking, pulling and general restlessness until 5:30 a.m.

I’m telling you, icebox or no, next time Monkey climbs into bed with us, I’m going into her room.

I honestly don’t think I have gotten a complete, full night’s rest since I conceived Gabriel in October of 2002. Not even on “vacation”. I know I have plenty of company.

And a study like this comes out. Makes you want to go on a rampage.

I’m going to try to lay down. Sleep may be too much to hope for, as I will be in the same room as Monkey (on her couch); she is still coughing. I am hoping that she will feel that 4 a.m. wake up, too, and just pass out eventually. If everything is quiet enough.

Nothing to See Here

I keep meaning to post photos of the Christmas festivities (such as they are), but DearDR disconnected the digital camera port, and I haven’t figured out which wire goes where yet.

I have been looking around the blog-o-sphere, and it looks as if everyone has had a good time. I have no complaints myself. It was too busy; it always is, especially now, married with kids. I said to DearDR, “One of these years, I would like us to just be in one place all day long on Christmas.” He replied, “That would be nice.” I added, “How about Italy?”

What? That’s one place.

Come back Friday. More to see; more to read. My house is a zoo, and Bun’s birthday is Sunday. Oy.

Oh, yeah, Happy New Year too….