It rained for a few days last week, the first heavy(ish) rains we’ve had since we took the carpeting off our porch. The carpet was pretty wrecked and had to go, but I can’t help wondering if the porch needs to be ripped up, too.

It’s super-pretty, but WHY IS IT GROWING HERE?

Today we are looking outside and sighing a lot.

Yesterday I asked Will what (er, who) we would dress as in the event that we attended Comic Con or a similar event and opted to cosplay. (No, I was not trying to avoid doing something else that I should have been doing. Why do you ask?)

My only idea, which is half silly, half awesome, was Betty Boop and Grampy.

Here is a semi-recent photo of the two of us:

I can’t think of any character that I’ve successfully done. Will, on the other hand, has been a few, including his infamous Halloween as The Colonel. He carried a recipe card in his pocket with “11 herbs and spices” written on it.

I have no real requirements except that I prefer to be, well, a girl. (Will’s awesome idea of Colonial Marines leaves me in a costume that, even if tailored for me, is really made for a dude.)

What do you think? Costume ideas? Suggestions for better ways I could spend my time?

(Don’t actually leave the latter. There is definitely nothing I could be doing that is as much fun as planning costumes we will probably never wear.)

P.S. Please note: we are extremely unlikely to attend any cons. This is purely for fun.

Every time I tell someone that we don’t have enough money for X, where X is something that person thinks we should have enough money for, I get a lecture on How I Should Handle My Finances. Because apparently it is just not possible that maybe I do know how to handle my finances but there just isn’t enough money.

(People of earth, please note: other people’s finances are none of your business. For real.)

It reminds me of the way people on the internet used to love to diagnose Sam as autistic if I happened to mention that he wasn’t a big talker. Hey, guess what! He is not autistic! He is in speech therapy, because he has trouble with a lot of consonant sounds, but it turns out that you can have a speech issue and not be autistic! Imagine that!

(People of earth, please note: other parents do not want you to diagnose their child over the internet. For real.)

Now that I’ve got that all out of the way, let’s talk about something else.

Like little cowpokes in a big field:

Or how I have given up dairy, sugar, and most grains and I am SO HUNGRY I COULD EAT EVERYTHING SO DON’T GET IN MY WAY.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

I require LOTS of sympathy. I have insane sinus pressure and I might DIE.

Okay, fine, it isn’t even bad enough for me to take a decongestant, but it IS bad enough that I asked Will to stay home and take care of the children. And I pretty much never take medication, so now that I think about it that isn’t much to go on. But asking Will to use up a sick day totally is.

I’ve watched three episodes of Buffy and slept through one, and now I am in the living room because Grace fell asleep and I don’t want to disturb her. Will took Sam on a quick errand so I am ALL ALONE. I should be knitting (deadline approaches!) but here I am, dreaming of all the delicious foods I hope I’ll be able to taste for dinner.

Is it bad that I want Mexican? Cheese is bad news for sinus stuff (it causes, or at least exacerbates, mucus) but I DON’T CARE.

What I’d really love to have is Indian, but we can get good Mexican food for the whole family for under $20 and Indian would be more like $50. If we had $50 we’d spend it on the amazing Lego set Will saw on sale at Target earlier. Or on something equally exciting, like a new bra for me. What, I need one.

All I know is, I need some FOOD. Will got me Pho this morning and it was PERFECT and JUST WHAT I NEEDED but my GOODNESS am I ever done with soup after two bowls of it.

So, to sum up what is rapidly becoming the dullest thing I’ve ever written: ow ow my face hurts ow, yay Buffy, YAY BURRITO, please send sympathy and/or distractions.

See?

As for who got my vote for Mayor…

So Nell’s theory is that people see curls and assume girl. And that is just so incredibly retarded that I think she must be right.

After all:

Gosh, I was cute. My mom sent the photo but I believe my father took it.

I am currently chanting, “Sam is going to be awesome, Sam is going to be awesome, Sam is going to be awesome.” I am going to keep repeating it until I believe it.

The apartment is pretty much trashed from packing.

I actually got through most of my to-do list. We’re packed. I have no idea how we’re going to get from the car to the baggage check-in, or how we’ll get through the airport with two carry-ons, Sam, and a carseat. (The latter will be accomplished exactly the way we did it last time. I just don’t remember how we did it last time.)

There is a video camera waiting for me on the east coast, a belated birthday present from my mom.

I have no idea whether I will have internet at the lake house.

The book contest prize will be mailed after we return to California.

OMG, I haven’t shaved and yet I am bringing my bathing suit. I should really address that. At some point. If you hear news of any Yeti sightings, you’ll know I didn’t.

Here we go…

It’s Lego’s 50th Birthday!

Even Google is celebrating.

I was just saying to Shelby on Saturday that I always thought I’d hate living in a house where I could trip over Legos at any time, but it turns out to be the thing that makes me happiest on earth. (OK, maybe it’s the boy who plays with the Legos that makes me so happy. Let’s not split hairs.) Via Simon.

I know, because I have been sucking it down all morning and I am still half-asleep.

Or maybe the generous slug of amaretto I’ve been pouring into each cup has canceled out the caffeine?

Sigh.

I’m sure there’s a rule about not rearranging the bedroom furniture when you are sleep deprived, but I’m not sure I can shake this bee in my bonnet to do just that. Somebody talk me out of it! (Or at least tell me if there is an online app where I can do it virtually first.)

There is probably also some crazy rule about not letting Betty Boop raise your child, but I thumb my nose at that one, too.

UPDATE: I resisted temptation… by rearranging the living room instead. I MUST BE STOPPED.

(Stay tuned, I am going to rearrange the wall of art tomorrow. I think this is a form of mental illness. Avoidwritingitis.)