I hope everyone noticed Mason's correction in yesterday's comments. Apparently there's a big difference between four knives and five. Me, I'm just the girl with plastic-handled cookwear from my wedding. What do I know?
Yesterday turned weird almost immediately after I returned home. When I was writing yesterday's entry, Blake (who had fallen asleep in the car) was catching a snooze with the Boy. I figured that they would stay down 45 minutes. An hour, tops. Imagine my surprise when they both stayed asleep until 8:30, at which point they woke up and wondered where the day went. Me? I went to bed.
In a tangentially-related issue, Blake, who has wet the bed every night for the past 5 nights, is about to be demoted to pull-ups tonight. He is mature enough to deal with night wetting. But he isn't choosing to. And I'm getting mighty sick of stripping the bed, shaking baking soda over the wet spot, waiting until the night to vacuum up the soda and putting on new sheets…only to do the whole thing again. So: new nightlight, new rules (no getting in the bed with us if you've wet the bed) and we'll try the pull-ups for a few nights. I'm pretty sure that one of those things will work.
(P.S. That rule is general, by the way. If you wet any bed at my house, there will be no cuddling in the big bed. If this makes you change your travel plans, I understand.)
As for tonight, I should be marking, but instead I'm going to a movie. A bold plan, but I have to say that I'm sick & tired of spending every Sunday guilty, angry and in total thrall to the idea that I Should Be Marking. Fuck it. I'll just have to work harder at school and stop surfing the archives for the Comics Curmudgeon. (It sounds so simple, doesn't it?)
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*