I made muffins this morning with William, and I was letting him stir even though I hate to because I like to have it done Right and Efficiently and My Way, but I let him do it because it is good practice for him and it is also good practice for me in controlling my controlling nature. So he was stirring, and of course he accidentally made a perfect lever out of the spoon and there was a geyser of flour, and luckily it was a small geyser and not like the one that went all over both of us and the floor and the cupboards the other day. A little did still get on my face and glasses and shirt, but I cleaned up relatively easily and managed not to say anything crabbier than a gentle "Please be more careful with your stirring" which was the kind of parenting triumph I wish was being observed from behind one-way glass because I think it's an accomplishment deserving of at least an approving little checkmark in a notebook.
So later I took William to kindergarten, and when I got home I put the twins to bed and finally got a chance to pee in peace, and when I was checking myself out in the mirror afterward I noticed I had flour ringing one nostril. Evidently I was insufficiently thorough with my clean-up. How many of the teachers and other parents think I use drugs now, do you suppose?
I'm sure it didn't help the picture that I have bloodshot eyes today. Paul is sick, and when Paul is sick I have to use all my inner strength not to kick him out the door. He is such a baby. I was queasy for three months and had a hacking, gagging cough for about a month of it but couldn't take any good drugs (e.g., flour) and he was all, "Yeah, so you said. Does this mean we're not going to have sex again tonight?" But he gets a totally normal minor cold and he's groaning on the recliner, going to bed early, taking huge slugs of Nyquil, picking fights with me about comment sections and then bailing with "I can't deal with this, I'm too sick," and saying, "I might not go to work tomorrow so don't wake me if I'm still here in the morning." Oh my freakin' stars, he should feel lucky I was still here in the morning.
As it turned out, he did go to work and he said he slept really well last night. That was news to me, since from my point of view what he did all night was snore deeper and louder until he jerked awake and thrashed into a new position, often elbowing me in the spine as he did--every 1-2 minutes. Tonight I'm keeping the rubber mallet by my side of the bed, just in case the Nyquil needs a little "help" knocking him out again.
I slept poorly, not only because of the thrashing and snorting, but also because Paul had turned the heat up 2 degrees warmer than usual (because he's siiiiiiiiick), and I've been liking it about 2 degrees cooler than usual, and so the 4 degree difference was roasting me slowly over open flames. And I would like to know what has happened to all the awesome "Logan Huntzberger is my boyfriend" and "Tom DeLonge's lips belong to me" dreams I was having before, because now I'm getting mostly dreams about looking for a bathroom, being late for a flight and I haven't packed yet, and having futile unsatisfying fights with former boyfriends.
In happier pregnancy news, I can now feel baby movements from outside my tum. I was sitting in the recliner reading a book (Twisted by Jeffery Deaver--really good if you like suspenseful, twist-ridden short stories) and I had my hand idly on my tum just to check and I could feel the kicks against my hand. I love this stage, but now I'm not going to get anything done because I'm just going to sit in a chair all day trying to feel more of them.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...