Sick annnnd sick.
It’s Wednesday. We’ve had a cold since Sunday. I’m so over having a cold. Unfortunately, I still have it.
Poor baby. She must think I’ve turned into some sort of brain-devouring alien, and I want to pull said brain out through her nose like the Egyptians did. Except instead of a hook, I use the dreaded NOSE SUCKY BULB.
Seriously, I think Nate can hear the screams from work.
Today we are GOING OUT! To the grocery store, if we can take the excitement. The amounts of mucus have prevented me from doing much of anything (up to and including getting dressed. I managed a t-shirt this morning, and that’s it. We’re not a naked house, we’re more of a “pants and shirts optional” house. I mean it, too. I’m sitting in the living room and I can see no less than 3 pairs of abandoned pants. Of course, I fully intend to put on pants before I leave for the store. I’ll even go super formal and put on SHOES!)
Where was I. Oh yes, grocery store. I need to buy some food because I’ve sent Nate to work with PB&J sandwiches for lunch for the last two days and I’m fairly certain that he is NOT actually seven years old. Plus, all the bread I have left is one end. And nobody wants that.
Made cookies the other night. I did not take a picture of the outcome, which is unfortunate. It was pretty funny. Ever tried to make cookies without adding flour? Doesn’t actually work out all that well. In my defense, they were oatmeal cookies, and I did think it weird that there was no flour in the recipe, but then I figured that there was just enough oatmeal that it took flour’s place. Which turned out not to be correct. As I discovered when I went to pull out the first batch of cookies and saw instead a tray covered in one massive gloppy glop of melty cookie dough. Sigh. And just when I thought my baking catastrophes were behind me. I was all Betty Crockery, baking cookies while Fiona watched me from the swing, thinking “Aw, isn’t this nice, she’ll grow up with great memories of me baking cookies and blah blah homemakery stuff” and I’m cleaning up as I go so there’s no big mess when I’m finished, and everythings going great and the timer dings and I open the oven and…”shit.” (Betty Crock of)
So, not so much.
Ah, well. I tried.
Aw, crap. I swore I wouldn’t do the photo captions where the baby is talking. And now I have. Sorry. My deepest apologies. But I’m still not changin’ em.