School has started! OMG! LOL! I am writing things like that, now. My brain is entirely gone. I spent last week giggling into my balled-up fists.
Our son denies it, but he's pretty happy as well. If you ask him directly, he'll claim that school is torture and he despises every minute he has to endure there, but if you avert your eyes and stay quiet and still, he'll eventually walk right up to you and volunteer all kinds of happy news about his classroom and the lessons contained therein. Then if you lose all self-control and shout, "See, you DO like it!" he'll run away and you might find him eventually behind the washing machine, snapping and growling.
Henry's feral, is what I'm trying to say. It's about time you all knew it. I am not ashamed. I love my feral boy.
I would be a lot happier overall if seasonal allergies were not trying to kill us all dead. I spent the night pleading with Scott to roll over on his side; he's much happier when he's on his back but this means that his allergy-related congestion leads to snoring which leads to me engaging in homicidal fantasies. Scott told me this morning that whenever I was asleep, I was snoring just as loudly, if not more so. Instead of angrily shaking me awake, Scott just shrugged and gazed at me tenderly. Well. I find his side of the story hard to believe, as I am far too delicate and feminine to do anything like that. This is all to to say that I am now quite sleepy, and would like to go back to sleep, please, yes, okay.
What else? My graying-hair adventures are proceeding apace. I don't know how anyone does this who doesn't cut their hair crazy-short. My hair is, at its longest, 3 inches (oh yes, I measured) and about half of that length is gray. I am not liking the orangey color the rest of my hair has faded to. Mostly I'm concerned that someone out there probably thinks that I think this looks good. So from now on, anyone looks at me, I'm going to shout, "I KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE." I'm sure this will clear things up right away.
Oh! If you keep up with me on Twitter, you probably heard all my ramblings about the Park Slope Tornado of 2010. In case you didn't: we had a tornado. At least I think it was a tornado. In Brooklyn! It was five minutes of sheer chaos, with the dog going cuckoo-nuts while the three of us stood around and tried to make sense of what we were seeing out the windows--or to be more precise, what we weren't seeing, which was anything, because it looked like we were going through a car wash. And then the wind died down, and we saw this:
This, my friends, was the table we had on our roof deck. The large, heavy table. Taaable. The storm picked it up and dropped it down to the street below. What's amazing is that it didn't hit that white car, nor did it hit any people, with its jagged edges and enormous nails and so forth. So the dinky little lanterns on the roof deck and feather-light folding chairs, those stayed up there, but the table was blown off the roof. Oh, weather. You confound me.
Eden and I finally got around to updating Let's Panic, so you should really go over there. This week: More Things Pregnant Women Shouldn't be Allowed to Do." I'm going back to sleep now. No I'm not. Maybe I am.