including, hopefully soon, this profound ick I have going on. Bleck. If I even think about how queasy I feel, I get queasier. My tastebuds are a hot mess which is obviously a complete tragedy what with lemon curd in the fridge. Also, tomorrow is T's birthday, and I intend to make some magnificent dessert concoction: homemade Boston Cream Pie?? I have also planned a fabulous Belgian beer crawl for T tomorrow night (don't worry, he doesn't read this) and really think it will be more fun if I can imbibe with him. The cat is being profoundly high maintenance right now which is all the more irritating considering yesterday's ESCAPade. Not an hour after I recovered him, I got both boys packed in the car as I needed to drop J at an activity. No sooner do we arrive than I get a call from DC Public Health: "Percy was found on Mass Ave and is now with a neighbor. They would like him picked up very soon or he'll be transported to a shelter."
Mother of...Oliver and I scrammed home to bring back my second pet-break animal. I'm over the pets today, people. Over them.
But back to the things I'm letting go of.
For starters I have decided that I quit re: Jack's Legos. I have, four or five times, sorted thousands of them by shape: planks, skinny planks, bricks, wheels, people, landscaping... The first time was a wonderful way to avoid Thanksgiving. The second time may have been in a fit of hormonally-induced nesting. I can't recall if I spent any of my pneumonia tenure wading through the damn Legos, but enough is enough. He can sort them if he wants to. Otherwise, if he spends an hour stuck under the mountain of them that crashed down over him, maybe he'll rest. If he loses time and his hands go bloody digging through eight feet of them, well, perhaps he'll learn something. Then again, he might not give a rat's ass, and so now, neither do I. Even if that means I have to close my eyes when I look into his room.
Secondly, I have decided that I no longer care what the children choose to eat together, by which I mean at the same time. Yesterday for breakfast, Jack requested honey nut O's and milk with a side of garbanzo beans straight from the can. Meanwhile, Oliver likes to mix milk and seltzer. Both of these marriages make me want to puke, but if they're eating, I'm not going to say a word.
These probably seem enormously self-evident to y'all, but I say, two steps forward!