February 10, 2007

Darth Grubby Strikes Back

I just channeled my teenaged son.

Even though he currently lays innocently sleeping in his bed (well, perhaps not innocently, but I've heard enough about them to know that I don't want to peek into his dreams, so let's say 'innocent until proven guilty', shall we?), his pernicious influence still percolates subtly throughout the house, perhaps throughout the known universe.

I know this because I just started up the water in the tub in the (probably vain) hope that it would eventually warm up to the point where my scalp won't actually freeze solid on contact, and as I turned on the spigot I had the clear thought:

"AGAIN??! But I just washed my hair three days ago..."

(Hey, I've had the flu, give me a break)

That clearly wasn't MY thought running through my head. As my son will no doubt be happy to tell anyone foolish enough to ask, as recently as Thursday I was a member of the Nagging Mother's Hygiene Police in good enough standing to feel compelled to yell orders from my death bed regarding sufficient Shampoo Rinsage and the proper use of a Loofah Mitt.

There's too much testosterone around here. Clearly The Cat isn't a sufficiently balancing female influence. Perhaps we shouldn't have had her spayed?

I need a wife.

February 09, 2007

On Being the Ping Pong Ball

I have a flu. Or maybe an inner ear infection. I don't know, and I don't care. Whatever it is, I hate it with a red hot passion that *should* be heating the house to a much warmer temperature than it currently seems to be enjoying.

It's bad enough that I feel exhausted and dizzy and nauseous (and probably unrelatedly, I also have killer cramps). As insult added to my injury, I am an object of ridicule because my lack of balance combined with complete inability to get up the energy to open my eyes is causing me to occasionally careen around the room like a deranged ping-pong ball, bouncing off walls and furniture at random. Except that I emit amusing grunts and expletives in exchange for the charming 'poink' noise that your normal, sane ping-pong ball makes when it breaks its shins lightly bounces against something.

All I want to do is get from a prone position on the couch to a prone position in my bed. Is that so much to ask?

Evidently it is. I suspect The Cat of moving furniture whenever I run (desperately) for the bathroom. I suppose she can't help it, being a Cat and all, but I still intend to wreak my revenge by covering the ottoman and the area in front of the heating vent with crumpled tin foil.

As soon as I can make it through the kitchen door without breaking my neck.

Maybe next week.

February 03, 2007

Admit It...

A week without me is like a week without sunshine, isn't it?

Well, actually, a week *with* me is like a week without sunshine, too. Or at least, to be more accurate, a week without warmth - because that's what we're in for, here in MN. Day after day of significantly below zero weather, with a nice refreshing Arctic wind to liven things up.

I love Minnesota, I really do. I have to keep reminding myself of that...

The Silver Lining is that I am REALLY appreciating my wool sock collection now - and so are the boys. We personally have rugless hardwood floors under our feet, and without our nice wool socks we would be a LOT colder than we are right now.

The boys are also appreciating their handknit mile long wrap-it-four-times-around-your-head scarves.

See, I knew that silly knitting addiction would come in handy sooner or later!

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