I just set a timer, giving myself 15 minutes to chirp out a post, so there will be few edits and hardly any connections between thoughts.
Sometimes a ratty old sweater just makes you feel better. Particularly a cardigan. Why is slovenliness so emotionally comforting? Up early, compliments of GBaby, I have "fixed" my hair & makeup before the household gets going. Because, you know, it is so important to have eyeshadow on before you bake cookies, which is one of my goals for the day. I've been a little Baker Queen this week. Muffins, biscuits, bread that is impersonating a brick... I don't know why I have such a hard time with bread. My dinner rolls are pretty decent. Anyway, despite the sweater dug out the depths of my bottom drawer, I am wearing my hair curled this morning. I think it looks like a mash-up of Farrah Fawcett and Nelly Olson. Really, a great look for 6:45 AAAM. I think that finger slip signifies Early Morning Greatness: Amazing Amplified Ante Meridian. GBaby doesn't have much hair yet, so no curls for her. She sat at my feet and grunted. Pretty sure I know what that means. When the timer goes off I'm on poop duty. Apparently, there is a world-wide shortage of snot (I'm really sorry about that word, but we're not talking "boogers" people, and I don't know the polite substitution for liquid running from your nose; maybe polite people don't talk about it.) and my head is storing it up for the winter. This stuffiness should help with the poop duty. Maybe I should wear a mask while I bake. Tomorrow night we're having a sleepover to celebrate Sambonio's 8th birthday. He doesn't like it when I call him Sambonio, so I won't do that in front of his friends. I am not really excited about it, because a "sleepover" probably means "little boys who will want their moms at 4:00 AM." And not AAAM. So I'm baking a birthday cake too. Shaped like a pirate ship. With candy. Hmmm... I'm hungry.