Good morning, world. Is it raining where you are? It’s been raining here, and every ant in the tri-county area is taking refuge in my house, little six-legged bastards. And while they’re here, they’re helping themselves to anything they want in the kitchen. They launched a stunning siege last night for the remains left on one plate in the sink and I countered. They returned three hours later for the batter drippings on the underside on a mixing bowl left from the baking of Luke’s birthday cupcakes. We beat them back. This morning it was a crumb on the stove, and now, they’re parading under the toaster. They’re in the bathroom too. Pouring in from under the power outlet and hunting around for god knows what. I’ve had to hide the toothpaste. It’s like the house guests that wouldn’t go. Except even Great Aunt Mildred would get the hint that it’s time to take her leave were I to attack her with windex and cuss words that would make a sailor blush. Sigh.
On the upside, the rainstorm precluded the need to wash my car. Not that I was planning on acting on that particular need. But, hey, whatever.
And in other news, the knit-along continues. Remember that race between the tortoise and the hare? Well, if it had been between a porpoise and a wallaby, the wallaby would have apparently kicked the porpoise’s ass. But I’m also scarfing. My cousin is trading me one handknit Griffindor scarf for four trips to the movies. Movie #1 was District 9, which was intelligent and had some good battles and exploding pigs but was gory in a way that reminded me of Jeff Goldblum trying to eat a donut. Hey Cousin Chris, I’m nearly a quarter of the way through this sucker now. Zombieland?
And it’s October, so my Grandmother’s Viking has been put to good use. This weekend brings the Folsom Renaissance Faire, for which I am reasonably prepared, but Luke needed a shift and a biggins to be a proper fair brat. That’s nearly done. I just have to finish some seams in the under arm gussets and produce a belt with a sword holder. Who in their right mind arms a three-year-old and brings him out into public, you ask? I have never claimed to be in my right mind and I expect there is sufficient evidence here on this site to the contrary.
And the end of the month brings along Halloween of course, and Peter Pan’s flight. I bought the leggings at Target for $2.80, in the girl’s department. The savings in time and money I accrued there can to laid towards Luke’s therapy later in life.
Crow’s are due to hit the shelves tomorrow. Good entries for this year’s Halloween writing contest. Hope you like them too. I expect you all to read it, like it, and refrain from telling me about all the typos you find on page 42.
Today marks Luke’s third birthday. I can tell you that I’m a fair bit more comfortable this morning, sitting at my computer with my coffee, then I was three years ago at this particular time. I’d like to say that I sent my three-year-old boy smiling off to school this morning, proudly holding his pumpkin cupcakes to share with his class. The boy and cupcakes did make it to school, though the boy was grumbling and bleary-eyed and wanting to go back to bed. He’s his mother’s son. I expect he’ll be enjoying the concept of “birthday” a bit more by the time I secure his return.
Now then, it’s a Wednesday. I’m still catching up on laundry and it’s about time to launch my fifth defensive play against the insect invasion in the kitchen. If you see a mushroom cloud form over my house, you’ll know I’ve gone too far.