It's French For Anal Retentive

Have you ever broken [or exploded] a pyrex any something'r other? Let me take a moment to highly recommend avoiding this. I decided to make Murph pancakes Saturday morning. Bad idea. Well, not initially. I had my pan preheated, my batter lump-free, going along all swimmingly with the good ole' "Mise en place" [meez on'plaus - things in place - rigid, orderly preparation and cleanliness around your area]. I went to return the milk to the fridge, barely brushed past the big pyrex dealy I use to pour the pancakes... and I swear time started ticking slow-mo. I saw the whole thing go down and was screaming before it busted violently against the floor. I would not be shocked at all if the neighbors found glass in their kitchen. It was that all over everywhere. And it took a good half hour - maybe forty five minutes - to clean up completely. Loves it.

We had no pancakes on Saturday.

Memorial Day, we'd gotten an American flag to hang, but couldn't figure out where exactly to hang it. So, it's inside. In the corner. I decided I'd paint the front door that afternoon. I went with a darkish royal - sort of saphire-blue - not because it was Memorial Day. I'm patriotic, not idiotic. Really, it was truly a beautiful color. But it simply was not doin' it for me. I've always had a red door... from the very first house I rented to the last we moved from, I'd ask the landlord [or in the case we owned the door, simply decide] and paint the thing red. So, it would seem natural to go with red only that everyone and their dog on my street has a red door - seriously, the dogs. Anyway, I ultimately decided to repaint with a coral-ish, terracotta red. Loved it. Looked great. Woke up Tuesday to a hot pink door. True story. Nothing had changed but the sunlight. So, ya know. Square one. I found a can of darker crimson-red left over from another project, thinned it out and sort of brushed a brushy brush brushed layer over. I love it. I love it. I love it.

It's bright. It's fresh. It stands out. And my dog can fit in with the others now.

JHeimer has baseball day-camp [I just typo'd gay-camp] this week. It's six hours long. Hecka-long. But he enjoys it. And I have one-less "Mom, can we? Mom, can I? Mom? Mom? Mom?" for a little while... and absence makes the heart grow fonder. Naw... I love this gig. But it can be a juggling act, ya know!

The RunBun is an official sitter-upper. She really wants to crawl. And my life is about to shift [I just typo'd again, but I won't put what - just remove the f there in that word before this]... which makes for a funnier sentence as it's about to hit the fan, really. Kids, this girl KNOWS WHAT SHE'S AFTER AND THERE IS NO STOPPING HER. Already, she rolls and rolls and rolls to get from point a. to point b. 30 feet away at break-neck speed. If she could roll up stairs, I know she would. There's a sock monkey up there yelling for her to come play!

And well - that's all for today. I've got stuff tu'DO!