Thursday, January 04, 2007

We we we all the way home

Spent last night de-Christmasing my basement, so as to get ready for Beano's Bridal Shower in a little over a week. It's lookin' darn good, if I do say so myself. Tonight I'm tackling the upstairs.

M and I had this conversation last night:

A: How come every night I walk around for an hour and put things away?
M: Because we like to have a clean house.
A: No, I'm asking where all this crap comes from.
M: Oh. I don't know.
A: I'm calling a moratorium on any new things coming into the house. Nothing new may pass through our doors.
M: {Rolls eyes}

We successfully had a lovely dinner last night, all three of us, with none of us breaking down into hysterics. We had Mary's homemade tomato bisque, which is about the closest thing to culinary heaven as I've ever tasted and was a greatly appreciated Christmas present, and grilled cheese samiches. Zozo ate half a samich by herself, plus some pineapple, a few puffed stars and an apple wagon wheel (which is essentially just crunchier puffed air). She did quite well, although she did end up with some pineapple and cheese stuck to various parts of her face. And in her hair. And on her jeans.

After dinner we had a bath. Well, Zozo had a bath. I'm so used to saying "we" now when referencing her, which I swore I would never do but which is inherent in having a child. We also say things like, "Someone is tired," which I also swore I would never do. It's idiotic, really, to say that when you know perfectly well who is tired. Why I can't just say, "Zozo is tired" is beyond me. It's a parent-thing, I think. You don't even know it's happened until one day you hear yourself say "Someone is tired" or "Do we want a drink?" and you cringe and realize you've become one of those people who aggravate the piss out of you.

The Zoemobile is at the car spa today, having her 105,000 mile service package. Which means I am "stranded" here at work and going through my mental list of apocalyptic things that could happen when I don't have my car.


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