Gah. Nothing like starting the week off sleep-deprived. Helpdesk Man doesn’t snore very frequently, but when he does… hoo boy.
Well, it’s 2PM and everything is oosing along nicely. My 30 minutes of cleaning turned into 40, even after I scrupulously added an extra four minutes to make up for taking the muffins out of their tin. Never let it be said that Smokey the Magnificent cheats at her 30 minuteses. On a Monday, anyway. (The muffins were quite something, incidentally. I filled them with marshmallows and chocolate fishies, which swole up and drizzled down the side of the muffins like so many molten eyeballs.) It was mostly unloading the dishwasher and cleaning the stove, which had had kidney beans boil over on it some days previously.
I also dutifully spent 30 minutes on my article, and channelled my inner Zindi probe cutting swathes in the grass with my push mower. It’s kind of addictive; I would have kept going, but the baby takes mowing as a personal affront.
Then I got distracted and ended up watching a whole bunch of Youtube clips from Hello Dolly and the Wall-E soundtrack. So, um. Back to work.
Later…
Hmph. The baby is sitting on my knee carefully ‘planting’ cupcake crumbs in the keyboard.On the bright side, I managed to get in a bit more mowing by plonking her in her pram outside with a tomato. Her dress will never be the same again, but the lawn looks better.
I did some mending this afternoon, which made me feel v. domestic. I zigzagged around the edge of an embroidered beastie-cloth which was coming unravelled, and the zigzagging made me feel so reckless and spirited that I re-zigzagged the edges of some of the snortlepig’s nappy inners. Which are nearing their last legs… how does one further downgrade a nappy inner? Cleaning cloths, I guess. If I were a nappy inner I’d consider that a step up in the world, especially given that my cleaning cloths tend to live lives of undisturbed ease on a shelf in the cupboard. But for that very reason, I don’t really need thirty new cleaning cloths…
Helpdesk Man is at his parents’ tonight, so I have an hour to make the place look slightly more respectable. For a relatively productive day, it looks like I spent it in a coma. Ach well. I bought some groceries and did some laundry, and the baby managed “Where’s my chin?” successfully twice. “Hands on head” still eludes her; it’s probably the mercury in my filling.