So, it occurred to me today that Mother's Day is this weekend. THIS weekend. As in the one that's coming. Good thing I was already way ahead in my planning! And had done... ummm... all of that... STUFF... that one does... for Mother's Day! Yep! No worries, here! Alllllll taken care of! Hi Mom! Does anyone want to guest blog for me while I just go run over to Hallmark for a minute...? I'm kidding, of course. I can't run out to Hallmark now; they're closed. Besides, we've already established that I never have any stamps. Mother's Day is almost upon me, and then comes Memorial Day, and before...
1) When is the first official day of Spring in New England? A) March 20th. B) Opening day at Fenway. C) Chickadee's birthday. D) Wait, they have Spring in New England? 2) What clues could you look for that indicate Spring has arrived? A) The snow bank in the yard has finally melted, revealing all the pine needles that didn't get raked up in the Fall. B) School puts up a big sign saying "PLEASE TAKE ALL BOOTS HOME." C) People you haven't seen since September come outside. D) All of the ice cream stands reopen. 3) Entomologically speaking, Spring is known as the season of... A) Ants. B) Yellow...
I have never been more proud to be female. Nothing says pride like a puppet. P.S. Enjoy... I am in bed with tissues and orange juice and may not be out for a while.
Forgot to mention... yesterday's rain had turned to snow by lunchtime. It started with snowflakes the size of golf balls before tapering down to something a bit less surreal. By the time I walked out of the office, it was a slushy yucky mess outside. I started my car and got out again to brush off the snow and ice... whereupon I discovered my windshield wipers had both been pulled up to a 90 degree angle to the windshield. Both wipers stabbed skyward, rising up from snow-covered car like twin bayonets. And beyond my car, extending down the row of parked vehicles... every single hood sported...
If one spends the entire day trying to clean up several years of accumulated clutter in one's house, one will find oneself reaching a calm place where the idea of bagging it all up and throwing it away seems like a brilliant plan. P.S. This might be the result of being high on cookie fumes. Further research may be warranted.
I deleted the previous post because I am uninterested in engaging in an interblog slugfest. I actually had no idea that the person in question reads my blog. What was meant to be a vent was quickly becoming a "he said/she said" thing and I have more important matters demanding my time and energy. Now, let's all get back to discussing my underwear.
I am moving to Hawaii. Immediately. Provided that I can get my car out, which may or may not be possible. I seem to have an itty bitty snowdrift blocking my garage. It's about three feet high, and I am typing this from the warmest corner of the house, where I am curled into a small ball and rocking back and forth, humming "You Are My Sunshine." In a minute I plan to hurl myself out the window--bathrobe and all--to try to get the attention of the plow guy who is neither answering his phone nor stopping at my house. And then, I'm moving to Hawaii. Chickadee became concerned, this morning, that...
