I’m going to present you with a series of photos of things that have been damaged or destroyed. Some were perpetrated by the dog. Others were perpetrated by the baby. Which is which?
Owl is sick again – for the last two nights we have gotten ZERO sleep because he has coughed himself awake EVERY 15 MINUTES almost all-frigging night long.
I couldn’t take him to daycare with this cough til I got it checked out by a doctor and made sure it wasn’t the Black Death. But it was bad timing we had a big surgery booked for the morning and the boss’s daughter was moving so she wasn’t supposed to come in until later. Not to mention that it would be nightmarish to leave her trying to assist a major surgery while phones rang, orders arrived, and people came in to buy food and get prescription refills.
PH is in an important phase at work, training his employees to do his job before he is shifted to another office, so he couldn’t miss work.
So I was faced with the options of:
a) Calling in “sick” and leaving everyone in the lurch.
b) Hauling Owl in with me, admitting the surgery patient, and then manning the phones while the surgery went on.
I chose B.
When Mean Vet blew in ten minutes late, what do you think happened:
What do you think I/he should have done?
So Carol left for the other side of the country yesterday to show off Babby to all and sundry, while I was relegated to stay home and keep making this “money” thing they continue to tell me is important. I figured that I, like everyone else, would have to go without reading her blog for a few weeks, which is a shame, since it’s one of my best insights into what she’s thinking about – what with me being away at work for most of the day, and when I get home, us not being able to hear each other over the wails of rage that emanate from all-wrathful Babby most every night. Add that to the fact that she probably wouldn’t want to log in to her blag on her mother’s computer, and that makes for a perfect recipe for no posts.
But then, as I was coming back home for my first night of re-bachelorhood in many a year, a thought occurred to me:
Carol hadn’t logged off her blag on her computer.
[insert maniacal laughter over the next five minutes]
So. Now I have the keys. And the first stop will be the passenger’s choice! What would you like to learn about Carol? Any niggling little questions you want to know about her? Likes and dislikes? Further elaboration on previous posts from a different perspective? Embarrassing childhood stories or idiosyncrasies? Have your say in the comments!
Okay, I’m woefully behind in NaNoWriMo, considering I haven’t got a story yet and we’re three days in.
Maybe you guys can help me.
I’m trying to put together a story, half make believe and half real, basing the characters on myself and a couple of my friends when we were in our early teens.
It would help me out if you could answer any or all of the following for me:
1. What emotions do you remember most strongly from your early teen years (12-14)?
2. What is one of your strongest joyful memories from that age?
3. What is one of your strongest unhappy memories from that age?
4. Did you or your friends believe in ghosts/claim to have ghosts in your house?
P.S. More details about the torch relay later.
Okay, so, now we’re planning on making an offer on another unit in the complex. This one has sat on the market for a year, probably because their tenants understandably make no effort to pretty the place up when you come to view the home, plus there is a hole in the wall and the lino in the kitchen looks like it comes from the days of the pyramids (those egyptians were famous for their advanced working in vinyl).
We figure that if we make a low offer, plus 10,000 which the seller is to return to us upon the mortgage going through (kind of a cash-back arrangement), we will be able to use that extra money to renovate a bit. Put in some laminate flooring, new linoleum, paint, replace the washer/dryer and so on.
Let’s hope THIS place doesn’t get popular too. At least it has a yard. It’s a bizarre, five feet above the ground outside kind of a yard, and slanty, but it’s a yard.