My daughter is either going to be the next Steven Spielberg, or Hannibal Lecter.



I came upon this scene, yesterday afternoon. She said it was a party. I didn't ask what was being served.

And poor Ken. Who knew that Mattel's best kept secret was Ken's family history being positive for male pattern hair head loss?


A few weeks ago, when Ken's condition was in the Pez-Dispenser phase, Cakers showed me the injury, without apparent concern. When I commented that Ken was not looking well, she used her finger to bob his head and said, "It's okay, Momma. Because now he can say 'yes.'"

I'll Take Tennis Balls Upside the Head for 200
For the past 10 days, or so, my life has felt like the unwitting target of a perpetual-service tennis ball machine. Doink. Doink.

First off, we had back-to-back family gatherings last weekend. Saturday, doink, and Sunday. Doink.

Then, there were two late nights at work, via the Parent/Teacher conferences. Doink.

After the last late night at work, I returned home to an empty house (husband took Cakers to see a live performance of Dragon Tales). So I put on my jammies, picked up my knitting and sat on the couch to play "Let's pretend to live alone." 15 minutes into this wild fantasy adventure, along comes the son, home from college. Wholly unexpected. Doink.

With a bag of laundry. Doink.
A big bag. Doink. Doink.....
And a greeting.
And a query: "Is there anything to eat?" Doink.

Friday: I come home from work and am pleasantly surprised to be greeted by my brother, who is in town from San Francisco. I am happy to see him. He's staying for dinner.

My brother is in town to attend a wake for our dearly, nearly departed Uncle P00t. Who resides in the state of Wyoming. Yeah. That's what I said. Nearly departed. As in: Uncle P00t lives. (I absolutely did not almost Doink that last one. Would be way wrong.)

The wake is later today, in a small town Up North. We're supposed to bring a dish to past. Doink. And cash. For the funeral fund. We're currently under High Wind Warnings. 50-60 mph gusts, are predicted. Gulp. Doink. ::I just asked my husband how fast the wind is blowing. Before he could answer, the Cakers says "Way, totally fast!" Each word punctuated with a knowing nod.::

It will be nice to see cousins, and such. Someday, I might tell some tales on this family of mine. And my childhood visits to a small, edgy town, in Northern Michigan. But not now.

Blocking on The Daily Trouble Double
For weekends, now, I've had intentions of blocking that Vogue cardie. Yesterday, between a cut and color appointment, laundry and another surprise visit from a brother, I got on it.



Like my cool blocking board? A while back, Juno mentioned finding these cool, puzzle-like floor pads at Tuesday Morning. Dirt cheap (9 bux?)and make a wonderful blocking board. The really cool thing is that you can make it square or oblong. Bigger or smaller.

Needless to say, I was relieved to finally get going on this. I was muchly disappointed, however, that mid-block, I ran out of pins. Doink. I have a box of t-pins somewhere, and ripped through drawers and bags and bins in search, without success. Doink. So I decided to just go with it, and block what I could. Only to find, the spray bottle was broken. Doink. And my bought-for-blocking steam iron had been sent off to college, early fall. Doink.

Maybe next week. I gotta get to a funeral. And start praying for the wind gusts to be at our back. (Our family vehicle is a large SUV. Yes I hate it. Seldom drive it. And in the wind, on the highway, it's like riding in a box kite. I'm scared, Wilbur.)

Never date a tennis player. To them, love means nothing. Jack Handey
Mom. I just CAN'T stop dancing.-The Cakers, yesterday. As she danced in her princess dress.

Labels: My Daughter Scares Me