Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Something something.
Basically what it boils down to is this:
I’ve double booked us on activities and appointments and all of that, LG is always sick, so the days are a blur. I really can’t find any other creative ways to make excuses as to why I never seem to even think about writing anymore. It’s a shame, since I used to love it so much, but if I even so much as think about opening my laptop, my precious angels will play their favorite game: Let’s see who can top the other at getting Mom’s attention. The winner basically is the one who makes said Mom shove an ice pick in her ear.
Fun times, you guys, fun times.
Priority one is basically getting to the gym at least daily, or doing something. I’ve rediscovered my love of cycling, via way of spin classes. It made me dig my bike out, dust it off and just go. It’s become an obsession to the point of now thinking it’s time to upgrade my bike. I’m a Bianchi girl. I LOVE my Bianchi. Very retro and steel, which I love, and will keep forever, but it’s the itch. The only problem is…
We’re making the push to finally expand and upgrade our kitchen. I don’t need to tell anyone that this is in the category of “I hope you enjoy it because you’re certainly never going on vacation again” territory. I can’t even go into words how much my kitchen gives me hives. Cooking isn’t the problem. My kitchen being stupid is totally the problem. Oh and speaking of hives, we have a new family member.
For years, after I developed serious allergies, I leaned towards not being a cat person. Self preservation, mainly, because I don’t hate cats, but when they make your eyes feel itchy and your nose swell shut (and those assholes know it, so they sit on me), it’s just easier to be all “fuck cats, dude.” But the kids have been wanting a cat. Particularly LG, who loves cats, and unicorns. The latter is kind of hard to find. Believe me, I’ve been looking for years. Before it was ironic and popular. Like bacon and mustaches. Often we’d be driving and the conversation would go like this:
LG: Mom, I really NEED a real cat.
Me: No, what you NEED is a frontal lobotamy.
They were both fully aware that I was allergic. But my boss had told me that Siamese were easier on the allergies. The Mini wanted an animal that would love him, as neither of the dogs care that the kids exist. So in secret we went to a breeder. I rubbed them all over my arms and legs and was fine (Also Claritin, as allergies have been running rampant in this part of the country this year, even for people who don’t typically have seasonal allergies (i.e. me), so who knows if my eyes won’t swell shut when I decided that allergy season is over. Because it’s totally my decision.
So now we have a cat. And you’ll typically hear “Where’s Perry?” in our house. Yeah, that’s where the name comes from.
Having a kitten in the house, I’ve rediscovered something about myself that I had forgotten. I really dislike having baby animals. Yes, they’re cute, but I like my animals adult and self sufficient. Because I hate potty training anything, and I feel as if my life is basically walking around waiting for another living being to shit. Do you know how stressful that is? But overall, he’s a very laid back and badass cat. He tolerates the kids shenanigans without any complaint or fight. And so far, isn’t the typical moaning Siamese. Also? I’m not sneezing.
Gromit is seriously going to outlive all of us. For a nearly 14 year old cancerous dog, he’s still happy, and eating. What it basically boils down to, is his tumor (dubbed the pinky ring) is going to just become too big and will split too easily. It sucks that I have to make an executive decision over something like a tumor, when he’s still a happy, easy going dog.
Also, I want to become an expert on all things Mid-Century Modern. I’ll let you know when I find a break in my schedule so I can just brush up on that. Lofty goals, people. Lofty goals.