(no subject)
I seriously have no idea what happened to the last week and a half. Okay, it started with my laptop's hard drive fizzing out, and then it just sort of steamrolled away from me. Particularly the last few days - seriously, every day after dropping Andrew off at school, my mornings were spent racing from one thing to the next, with hardly enough time to eat much less sit down (well, unless whatever I was doing required it).
Mostly this level of insanity was hit because my father-in-law is coming this weekend, and the guest room wasn't even close to ready, and it's been two weeks in the new house and I haven't had a chance to clean anything so it's all been piling up, and I'm still trying to figure out where things go and how the rooms are organized, and Andrew's room is a sea of boxes of all his baby clothes and toys, as well as whatever else was packed in those boxes a year ago. (I still can't find his nightlight; I'm sure it's in there somewhere, and the queen-size sheets are still missing, but I broke down and bought some on Thursday.)
And now Andrew's got a horrific cough and runny nose, and my throat is sore, and I'm pretty sure this is because the weather has turned cold - last weekend, we were in shorts and happy to be so. This weekend, we are sporting jeans and long sleeves and I'm trying to figure out if they make scarves for three-year-olds. Also, the house contains no chicken soup, chicken bouillon, or cough syrup. Or throat lozenges. Or husband who can watch the sickly child so that I can fetch those items (because he's in Indiana preparing to drive back here with Andrew's new bunk beds). This is problematic. I don't like taking Andrew out when he's hacking up a lung, because then I feel like everyone is giving me the evil eye.
(But we might go out anyway, because there's a farmer's market on Saturday mornings that I really like, and there's a few vendors who sell free-range grass-fed chicken and beef and pork and etc, and after reading Omnivore's Dilemma, I really want to try them. And FIL has requested the Mise menu for Monday night's dinner - the roast chicken with potatoes and spinach - and I've been dying to roast a chicken anyway, and I borrowed a roasting pan from a neighbor so all I need is the chicken. And if we're going to a farmer's market to cough on everyone, I might as well go to Walmart so we can cough on everyone there, too.)
(There is probably a certain level of irony in going to both the farmer's market to by the beyond-organic chicken, and then immediately heading to Walmart to buy mass-produced cough drops.)
So Andrew's teacher, Miss Nicki, comes running out to me after class on Tuesday, and says, "I have to tell you." She wore a purple dress to school on Tuesday, and all the little girls, when she came in, were fawning over her dress and talking about how much they love dresses and how much they love purple and oh oh oh and basically being three year old girls. Andrew stands to the side and watches quietly, and when all the little girls are done with their rhapsodizing and have gone away, he goes over to Miss Nicki, looks up at her, and solemnly says: "Miss Nicki princess."
Which I think is the exact moment Miss Nicki fell in love with him, and she now refers to him as "My Andrew" who can do no wrong.
I think there's a good possibility that I'm raising a master manipulator.
Mostly this level of insanity was hit because my father-in-law is coming this weekend, and the guest room wasn't even close to ready, and it's been two weeks in the new house and I haven't had a chance to clean anything so it's all been piling up, and I'm still trying to figure out where things go and how the rooms are organized, and Andrew's room is a sea of boxes of all his baby clothes and toys, as well as whatever else was packed in those boxes a year ago. (I still can't find his nightlight; I'm sure it's in there somewhere, and the queen-size sheets are still missing, but I broke down and bought some on Thursday.)
And now Andrew's got a horrific cough and runny nose, and my throat is sore, and I'm pretty sure this is because the weather has turned cold - last weekend, we were in shorts and happy to be so. This weekend, we are sporting jeans and long sleeves and I'm trying to figure out if they make scarves for three-year-olds. Also, the house contains no chicken soup, chicken bouillon, or cough syrup. Or throat lozenges. Or husband who can watch the sickly child so that I can fetch those items (because he's in Indiana preparing to drive back here with Andrew's new bunk beds). This is problematic. I don't like taking Andrew out when he's hacking up a lung, because then I feel like everyone is giving me the evil eye.
(But we might go out anyway, because there's a farmer's market on Saturday mornings that I really like, and there's a few vendors who sell free-range grass-fed chicken and beef and pork and etc, and after reading Omnivore's Dilemma, I really want to try them. And FIL has requested the Mise menu for Monday night's dinner - the roast chicken with potatoes and spinach - and I've been dying to roast a chicken anyway, and I borrowed a roasting pan from a neighbor so all I need is the chicken. And if we're going to a farmer's market to cough on everyone, I might as well go to Walmart so we can cough on everyone there, too.)
(There is probably a certain level of irony in going to both the farmer's market to by the beyond-organic chicken, and then immediately heading to Walmart to buy mass-produced cough drops.)
So Andrew's teacher, Miss Nicki, comes running out to me after class on Tuesday, and says, "I have to tell you." She wore a purple dress to school on Tuesday, and all the little girls, when she came in, were fawning over her dress and talking about how much they love dresses and how much they love purple and oh oh oh and basically being three year old girls. Andrew stands to the side and watches quietly, and when all the little girls are done with their rhapsodizing and have gone away, he goes over to Miss Nicki, looks up at her, and solemnly says: "Miss Nicki princess."
Which I think is the exact moment Miss Nicki fell in love with him, and she now refers to him as "My Andrew" who can do no wrong.
I think there's a good possibility that I'm raising a master manipulator.