Adventures in Mr. Mom-ing (to conflate two movies).
Emeline didn't want to stay at the Treehouse very long. I don't think she's feeling well, though she currently doesn't have a fever.
We walked home. Wait. I lied. I walked home; she was carried 95% of the way.
As a treat for my not-feeling-good little girl, I stopped and got her a fudgsicle.
By the time we arrived home, she was covered in melted fudgsicle and my left arm and shoulder were similarly coated.
She is now freshly bathed and clad, and I have a new shirt on. She is spacing out on the couch and I am going back to reading Sandman.
Oy.
At least the story has a happy ending.
From my recollection, the lugging of toddlers when they will not walk is no. fun.
Oh, my. Life is REALLY hard for the three-year-old right now. He is WAILING. Somehow, still cute.
"Still cute" is the only reason he's likely to live long enough to annoy you as a teenager.
Yay, Emmett.
What? No exclamation point, Eeyore?
I kid.
I still have my matchbox from Amante's.
The Green calls you. (Thank all the gods I did not have any last night. I feel rough enough as it is.)
edit: Do'h! Forgot to say YAY Emmett! Go you with your homering skillz!
The Green calls you.
She does. I also have a picture of the stained glass window on my phone. Not that you can make it out clearly, but I know what it is and that's all that matters.
I also have a picture of the stained glass window on my phone. Not that you can make it out clearly, but I know what it is and that's all that matters.
Work has given me a new shiny camera. I will have to take it home to "practice" and see if I can get you a good shot of it.
So, in all this interviewing I got a bit of a first-hand account of the Hatfield-McCoy Feud. Interesting stuff, that. I think I'd rather not have known, though, that my grandma lived in a house with bullet holes from the feud.
