Post nasal drip hell to be exact.
It isn’t autumn if there isn’t a cold floating around the house. Himself came down with it first, the Misterpants. I finally succumbed last Friday but not after kicked, screaming, and whining about it. Four days in and I am full of snot and have a wicked cough that would give even the worst smokers hack a run for its money. All I want to do is sleep but I can’t because I am too busy coughing and trying to read a stupid large amount of assigned reading (yo profs, wtf gives?). Oh, woe is me.
Hi folks, Myles D. Kitty, Esq. here. I’m writing to you today because Spring is too busy on the phone, swearing up a storm about something called financial aide and how the people who distribute it have their heads firmly lodged up their asses.
You’ll likely not be surprised to learn that I don’t have opposable thumbs. I get by fine without them. Sure, I can still open the screen door or whomp on Hugo’s ass. I just do it without that pesky thing called a thumb getting in the way. Besides, why mess up my amazingly good looks with something like an extra toe (or god forbid, two).
I promise to get Spring back to you soon, and if we’re lucky it’ll happen without jail time. I still can’t believe she is allowed to work with sharp pointy metal sticks. From the sounds of it that financial aide department should be glad that they’re on the other side of a counter from her.
My favourite season of the year is finally descending on Puget Sound. Cue the rain, soaked socks, and umbrellas, autumn is here and no amount of bitching will make it go away. For me it signals an ability to wear thick wool socks and free reign to ignore my unshaven legs. For the kidlet it means a hat and scarf to wear while wearing for the school bus. For the cats it means being stuck inside, glaring at the sky and wondering at what lengths it will take for them to drive me nuts.
It is time for our biannual trip to Southern California next month and for the first time we’re bringing Misterpants with us. Himself’s Grandmum turns 90 on September 11th and with her failing health, rising age, and living in another state we decided to make an appearance in Malibu and surprise her. This means a two and a half hour flight with a five year old in tow and ruining the day of the five other people seated in first class on out flight. I apologize now folks but you should all be glad he has grown out of the colic. Just sayin’.
This also means missed days of school since the kidlet starts kinder at the start of September. He is beyond looking forward to it, every day around here starts with, “So, Mum. When will the school bus pick me up?” The answer to that is Unholy:30 kiddo. Make sure you’re dressed and your underpants are on, k.
I’m not in disbelief that he is starting school, but still rather in disbelief that someone is still allowing me to raise a child to begin with. I’ve seen more than one person lament about how they are going to be lost or without something to centre their day around. I secretly want to rack my head against the wall when I see this. I am positive it has something to do with refusing to lose my identity the day I lost the placenta. Get a hobby, get a job, get an education. Shit, get a puppy. But stop your whining, you’re making those of us who click our heels and squeal as the bus pulls away look bad.
Behold. For it is plied and it is good.
This skein comes in at 4.5 ounces and 390 yards. I will not divulge exactly how many days it took to ply it (several), how much was left on the bobbins (a lot), and what I told Myles D. Kitty I would do to him if I caught him playing with it (a noose may of been mentioned).
That is eight ounces of lace weight singles waiting to be plied into sock yarn. Which I will do as soon as I can lock the cats and the child into a room for eight hours. And since I can’t do that you can now expect it to be done around the time Misterpants leaves for university.
This morning I was woken up by a chilly Misterpants and a demanding grey asshole. After both were done clambering into bed the kid turned around, gave me a kiss, and said “I love you Mom.” My heart swelled, for my child is not liberal with oral declarations of love and affection. And while I reveled in the moment, he sneezed and proceeded to wipe snot all over my sheets.
It just goes to prove that a five year old can ruin any moment, not just the ones between two consenting adults.