Breaking the Silence

Don't you hate when you check a blog, but the blog-writer hasn't written anything? For weeks? Or days? Or hours? Yeah, me, too.

So, I'm popping in at midnight on Saturday to say a couple of things.

I agreed to take a transcription job, so I've been typing furiously when the kids go to bed. It's kind of boring and whenever I agree to type for pay, I suddenly get crazy ideas like: Oh, I should put all the Christmas china back into the hutch. Then my storage room would be cleared out a little. Or, I should paint the entry-way and I wonder if that wall in the kitchen should be red? Or, Today, right now, I should put out Halloween decorations.

But, of course, I can't do any of that. I have to type. I can do nothing but type or I won't possibly be able to meet my deadline. Tomorrow, I will have to fit in four hours of typing. Why do I do this to myself?

Today, when Babygirl went to sleep, I went to Joann's Fabrics--a brand new store with wide aisles and a take-a-number system for the fabric-cutting station, so customers can take a number and wander the store rather than standing impatiently in line. Oh, I loved that! I could live in a fabric store, easily. Just walking into one makes me want to drag out my sewing machine (I need to have it fixed) and learn to knit and resume my scrapbooking. Fabulous store. I bought black material to make YoungestBoy a cape for his Halloween costume. He's going to be a character he created called "Flame."

I went to the grocery store afterwards and came home to a house full of kids. When I drove past my living room, my baby was peering out the window, waiting for me.

DaycareKid's birthday party is tomorrow. We are invited, Babygirl and I, but the last time we went to a birthday party, Babygirl freaked out and we had to leave before it began. I've been preparing Babygirl for Sunday's party. I told her a few days ago and she said "birthday cake?" Today, I told her that tomorrow we're going to church, then after we rest, we're going to DaycareKid's house. She said, "Party?" She's probably no smarter than the average two year old, but I was impressed that she remembered why we're going. I hope this means she will not be frightened and that we can stay for the party.

I love to go to other people's homes, even though it makes me suddenly self-conscious about my own humble home.

Well, the clock strikes twelve and I've turned into a pumpkin. (By the way, we saw "Friday Night Lights" on, well, Friday night. Loved it, and my husband loved it even more. He grew up in Texas, playing high school football and read this book years and years ago. Great movie.)