I’m tired. No really, I’m. Tired. Or is it no, I’m really tired. Or maybe it’s yes, I’m really tired. Whatever it is, sleep is plentiful yet restfulness isn’t, and I blame it all on houses and bank accounts and expectations. It’s like we have a newborn again and just doing a load of laundry feels like a task so insurmountable that when it’s done, I feel like my accomplishment should be written in the sky. I wish I was sad so I could blame my exhaustion on melancholy, but in fact I’m quite the opposite: I’m happy and positive. I suspect the energy it’s taking to turn rotten apples into lemonade and pound some weird pentagon-shaped peg into an oval hole, is likely the cause of my inability-to-perform-basic-functions-for-which-there-is-no-robot. The reality is that I need to finish this measly amount of what’s left of my ample portion of scotch, go to bed, and sleep like the dead (which any parent will attest is much, much better than sleeping like a baby).

desperate times call for lots of scotch (regular times call for it too)

Despite all this, life continues on at Casa del- reno-sucks-your-lifeblood. There’s been tobogganing, trips to museums, swimming lessons and birthday parties. It’s amazing that even though we feel so much and we feel it so acutely, we are not actually the centre of the universe, and the earth did not stop spinning on its axis. Shocking.

Due to my aforementioned tired-ness (and the fact I have a dentist appointment first thing in the morning – I know, as if), I’m going to cut this short and leave you with this:

Waiting outside The Beer Store (for those of you not from these parts, that name is not a diminutive, it’s just the name -guess what the liquor store is called?) for Marc to get… beer.

Kate: picking her nose Ugh, my nose hurts.

Me: Kate, your nose hurts because you’ve been picking at it.

Kate: But Mommy, my nose hurts and it feels like there’s a booger in it What Are You Going To Do About It?

silence

Kate: But Mama (this is what Kate calls me when she means business), it feels like there’s a booger WHATAREYOUGOINGTODOABOUTIT?

Marc returns with beer

Me: Drink Guinness

Kate: What’s Guinness?

Me: The answer to all our problems.

Kate: What problems?

Me: All problems.

Kate: Buuut MaaaaMaaa, how is you drinking Guinness going to get the feeling of a booger out of my nose?

Me: Because if I drink Guinness you’ll stop complaining.

Kate: in a huff  That makes no sense.

Me: If I drink Guinness, your voice gets very, very quiet, so even if you are complaining I can’t hear you.

Kate: But MaaaMaaa…

Me: You know what Kate, I think you should have the Guinness and I’ll go to bed early.

Kate: I don’t WANNA HAVE A Guinness.

Me: Then I guess you’re out of luck.

Simon starts to sing, really pissing Kate off, but distracting her from her booger-nose

Marc: You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?

Me: Yuppers.

p.s. I re-knit the toque, and it’s totally longer. Maybe a little too long. Like a smidge. Okay, a bit more than a smidge. A bit. Yeah that’s it, it’s a bit too long. So I re-knit the toque that was too short and now it’s a bit too long.  That’s not so bad, I mean “a bit” doesn’t have anything on “a lot”. If it was “a lot” too long, then I’d really be in trouble. Then I’d have to make it shorter after I made it longer because it was too short, and that would be dumb, and I’m not dumb, and I wouldn’t have done that.

I have to make my toque shorter. Fuck.

Advertisements