So I was thinking that there was very little likelihood of me finding time to blog. Well, I’ve been thinking up blog posts pretty much constantly since yesterday, and the problem is now that I have a minute, choosing which one to write up. So you’ll be getting the grab-bag.
(Sorry, reading about what I’m thinking about writing must be nearly as boring as listening to someone’s dreams from the night before. Not entirely riveting, unless they are actually prescient in some way. I’ll try to stop, but I’m pretty excited about the whole process.)
There’s this sign, down the street from my work, on the sidewalk, advertising “20% off BOTOX”.
Now, isn’t that just the wrong approach to be taking? I’m thinking that anyone tony enough to be shelling out for botox is not looking for the cheapest deal. Or, if they are, they don’t go into a place because of a sign on the sidewalk. And if they do part with cash for a vanity medical procedure, they probably would be somewhat leery of being seen going into a place with such a sign out front. It just seems odd, to me.
My kids are starting to play together. OK, mostly, it’s fighting over the same toy, but several times this week I’ve noticed J working with A to show her how something works, repeating it over and over, so they are, in fact amusing each other. J has this coloured wooden building blocks set that includes a wooden pipe and bar, and last night A was holding the bar and J was making it disappear into the pipe for her. Together. For upwards of 7 minutes!
J informed me several times today that she misses her Gramma. My mom was here for a month, and just left on Monday. I certainly miss her, but I wonder if I have primed J by asking her if she misses Gramma. Ever since then, she has added I miss Gramma to her litany of conversation on Gramma – Where’s Gramma? Gone home to her real house. In ‘Toria. In an Airplane. I just don’t know if I just gave her the word, or the idea as well.
It is a good thing that my beloved husband (henceforth: BH) thinks food is fuel. More or less. I think I’ve averaged about 2 dinners a week since I went back to work after the birth of A – BH doesn’t cook: we survive on frozen, takeout and leftovers the rest of the time. And I think I have produced a record number of smoke incidents in the kitchen. I haven’t yet burned water, but give me time. While typing this and waiting for the sheets to come out of the dryer, I managed to burn the last tray of peanut butter cookies (his favourites) to a cinder. Fortunately, he’s pretty easy going about such things. It’s just me that wonders if it is another early sign of Alzheimer’s.