"You know, I cried when I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet. And then I laughed…really hard."

Today dawned hopeful, cold and clear – and plopped down on stuffy, whored-out and pissy. I am having a terribly discouraging time with aspects of Nels’ preschool environment. I am having a lot of difficultly lately interacting with my son and expecting respect while getting along (when did he turn into a messy-headed wolf cub?). I am having an annoying time with the local printery. But mostly, I’m having the worst time overcoming my residual head cold and my poor attitude.

So, it’s time for a little gratitude. Here are some great things that have come out of the last few days:

  • Helping my children learn more chores (they are surprisingly adroit!)
  • Explaining money-saving to them both (Nels’ goal: a squeaky duck; Sophie’s, winter boots)
  • Explaining “flashing” to them both (thank you, John Waters cameo!)
  • Sophie’s term for a productive cough: “hork ball”
  • Nels’ kisses and cuddles (when he’s not directly defying me at every turn)
  • New sewing patterns in the mail – Victorian garments (ooh, practical!)
  • New laser printer (zine approaches self-sufficiency)
  • Ralph’s support (very well-rendered this week)
  • Friends either helping or offering to help
  • Ladies’ Night at deli tonight
  • Brown sugar ham sandwich. ‘Nuff said.

I feel a lot better typing that out.

In other news: Sophie is getting a new loft bed in her room now shared with Nels (P.S. I like sewing or the possibility of sewing more than a potential for my own children’s coddled existence!). I was recently re-reminded of why we are glad to live our lives more simply (and no, I’m not referring to our phone and DSL services’ disconnection for non-payment, which has now been remedied). We’re considering going to one car although I will have to draft up my last will and testament now that I’m biking in Grays Harbor. Harris and Blackie have to go to the vet under false premises to have things cut off them (nuts, cancerous growth resp.). My brother never writes nor calls from Portland, the ass. And we are actually very sad here at Casa Del Hogaboom over Heath Ledger’s recent demise (rare pop-culture reference, here).

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