Time has become a very strange element in my life. All the week past I kept thinking Joe's birthday was Wednesday, when in actual fact, it is tomorrow. Ask me how much an ass I felt like, ordering his "cake" (Emma's Bakery chocolate peanut butter bars) by leaving a message on an answering machine? Go on. I can admit it now, though I reserve the right to delete this post at any time.
Yep. Took a big ol' stupid pill this past week, and time stopped moving at the proper speed. A busy day at the shop, and it's four in the afternoon before I even think to glance at the clock, but with the decreased foot traffic and some cantankerous children and an hour feels like an eternity. Truthfully, since Eli came along, time has felt like a mortal enemy. He just turned three two weeks ago, but I swear I've aged at least ten years since he was born. Hell, all of a sudden, just stepping into my panties (such a cute word for something so large) is a frustrating yoga exercise. One slip and I'll be breaking a hip.
Tomorrow I was supposed to go rescue a sofa, with the intent to have it recovered in the newest Amy Butler home dec fabrics (August Fields collection rocks, btw), but we have decided to go bike shopping for all the kids, and let Joe pick the restaurant for dinner. My gastric wellness is in the hands of a newly minted seven year old. I'm begging off knit-night for the first time that I can remember, and taking it down to just the third Tuesday of every month; no one has the gas to blow on extra trips anyway. Feels like failure, but is actually just a sanity-saver. And now my sleepy-time concoction has kicked in fully. Tomorrow I start stock-piling Nat Sherman "Mint Natural" cigarettes, because the FDA is pulling flavored smokes off the market. Clove smokes, too. Get 'em while you can, because the safety-nazis have decided you aren't allowed to have them. I don't even smoke, but I also reserve the right to start again at any time, so the sock yarn in the freezer will have some company. You never know when a Rizzo-moment might strike. Us bad girls have to be prepared with our upscale smokes. I'm buying a birthday cigar, too. never had one, but Diane Keaton sure looked cute with hers...
I'm off to terrorize Herr Becher with my snoring. Thank you for all the calls and encouragement about Saturday's post. And my apologies for skipping Sunday... it was a lost day, spent eating chocolate and reading all day. Really lovely and rare for me. It felt naughty and decadent, and the kids behaved beautifully, mostly because I took the lazy 'let them play games all day' approach to parenting. It's actually been two days of total mental collapse, and I really do feel better now. I'll be back tomorrow, with a few balloon pics, and Joe with a chocolate ring around his face. Latah, knittas. C