Be. My. Guest.

The thing is, he doesn't smell anything, or so he says. Of course, he can't see or hear anything, either, so I take that with a grain pound of salt.

The snowflakes are getting bigger and fluffier.

While I was gone with the kids this weekend, Christopher continued some work on the house--he painted and installed a new door for the downstairs half bath and finished the trimwork and installed the new, brushed nickle hardware. Not a bad job for an actuary.

{{{AmyLiz}}} Ugh. You'd have been justified in pitching a screaming fit.

{{Cindy and Julia}} Get well, soon. This winter so needs to be over.

{{AmyLiz}} Have a tree fall on the garage. It was the only way we could get my father to renovate the kitchen. He used the insurance money for it rather than fixing the garage. (According to him, the only thing damaged was the add-on shed that held the lawn mower, which is no longer used because they have a lawn service. Uhm, the insurance wouldn't have paid out $7000 if that's all that was damaged.) Now, if I could just get him to update the electricity in the house, which is a fire hazard, but, noooo, that won't get done because dad thinks my brother should do it and is (you guessed it) too cheap to pay someone to do it. What is it with old, cranky fathers? My father is not a stupid man, but he's dumb in ways I just don't understand. Anyway, you have all my sympathy dealing with your FiL, at least I don't have to live with my father and just get to shake my head from a distance.

Cashmere, that new door is whoot worthy. I love the brushed nickel.

Amyliz, I will if you send me your phone number.

Let's hear it for the boy! Well done, Christopher!

What is it with old, cranky fathers? My father is not a stupid man, but he's dumb in ways I just don't understand

My father is increasingly like this.

AmyLiz, with my brother, he's worse about not doing ANYTHING unless there is a major emergency (that HE can see). It's a weird kind of entropy.

Nice work, Christopher!

I feel a little better. (Well, I don't, because I'm still nauseous, but I'm not as worried.)

The pilot is lit and burning correctly. And apparently gas is supposed to smell like rotten eggs, which this doesn't. This actually smells more like what I associate with oil heat, kind of dirty and dense. But my FiL had turned on some electronic filtering thing the other day, which hadn't been turned on all winter, and the filters (we discover now) are filthy. So Stephen took them out and turned the thing off. Also? Dead mouse inside the filtering thingie. Yuck. So we're waiting a few minutes to see if the smell recedes.

Sail, your father needs to call my FiL. They can compare how tightly screwed shut their wallets are, and the crazy! ideas of kids.

Lee, I'll hapily send you my phone number but only if you promise to call *me* just to squee about SPN.

Lee, I'll hapily send you my phone number but only if you promise to call *me* just to squee about SPN.

I can do this! We could have our own Friday morning water cooler talk.

I can do this! We could have our own Friday morning water cooler talk.

Hee!

{{{{Cindy, Amy Liz, and Cashmere}}}

Pretty door, Cashmere!