Of the emergency blogging system...
Actually, I just wanted to see if I could blog from school, and, voila, something else interesting to do besides teaching which really should be my first concern...
Yesterday was EXHAUSTING...my kids are both in middle school, and they both needed to go pick up schedules etc. yesterday, but at different times...as a result we spent from 10-11 at school, from 11:15-12:30 shopping for MY school clothes (I don't want to talk about it...not quite as depressing as the year some bozo in bulimia-land decided all fat women should wear horizontal stripes, but not nearly as neat as when I could fit into my pre-1st pregnancy clothes either.) And then we went to lunch--where my daughter committed the two worst heinous sins in the book-- 1st, she didn't get the toddler a drink when she ordered (I was getting kids out of the mini-van--this is what is known as delegation.) and 2nd, she threw away the toddler's fries while he was wandering around charming other diners at Wienerworks. Silly her, she thought he was done--judging by the size of his uber-tantrum, (brought on by sheer exhaustion, I'm sure)--I think the only reason the cave-troll didn't wake up and jump on Bryar's head as she slept was that he was too tired to think of it as he passed out on the couch while I took his sister to dance class. (This is unheard of in cave-troll land--usually it takes four stories, two songs and the appropriate number of hugs to get him to pass out--and all of these delivered by me.)
Anyway, all this hilarity was followed up by hours 1-2 at the school (This time for Trystan) and then an odd thing happened...we were driving home and both young-uns were HOWLING at the top of their little lungs because THEY HAD HAD ENOUGH and two things occurred to me.
A. If I turned right instead of left, I'd quickly be at Babetta's, my yarn haven of choice.
B. If I didn't go to Babetta's NOW AT THIS INSTANT I wouldn't have another chance to go for almost a month.
I felt the yarn withdrawals pumping through my overworked system, and suddenly there we were, at Babetta's, with sock yarn in hand. It was a lovely moment of junkiedom, purchasing what the Yarn Harlot refers to as the methadone of fiber...I'll have to savor it for a very long time... who wants socks?
As an addendum to this horrible day? We count to three before getting medieval on Kewyn's little baby bottom, right? Between games of tag at the fat-lady store (instigated by my older daughter, but since we were the only ones in there, who cares?) and a misguided trip to the Hallmark store (Kewyn, don't touch that...or that...oh for God's sake put your hands in your pockets and roll around on the floor, would ya?) we counted to three A LOT before we got home. (But not at Babetta's...all is peaceful at Babetta's, and so was the cave troll...) So anyway, we're laying around the living room before dance lessons, looking dazed and wrecked, and we start asking Kewyn, "Hey buddy...how old are you? Are you two? Are you this many?" And we'd hold up two fingers, and he got this very hurt expression on his face, this very "But I wasn't DOING anything" expression, and then he started to shout "No mama! NO TWO! NO TWO!!!!!"
So I guess if you want to ask the cave-troll how old he is, you'll have to wait until he's four.