. . . and instead eat another cinnamon roll. Okay! I admit. 3 cinnamon rolls.
The snow is on its way out. In a few months' time, the news will be full of flooding stories rather than tales of snowbound travelers.
Today I slept in, listening to Radio 4 and contemplating my day. I am officially on holiday and am wearing my pajamas to prove it. Yesterday, I ventured out to the corner shop to pick up some supplies for dinner (Beef stroganoff; your father was 2.5 hours late and I had a flashback/forward to future evenings or a parallel past where fathers don't call and mothers are tucked safely away in kitchens, contemplating martinis made with Drano) and next door to help your Auntie W with some Ebaying, but other than that, we have been cosily tucked in bed or on the sofa, whiling our way through rather appalling television or videos. Yes, I said videos. Two DVD players and they are both on strike. Never mind. The VHS works and I've got enough Alfred Hitchcock and Samuel Goldwyn films to last the week.
In addition to sleeping in (I've been sleeping, you've been up to all sorts of hijinx, swimming around like an overexcited carp), we've had all sorts of exciting deliveries: my new wellies (for those retaining water), new soda cartridges for the seltzer syphon I got your dad for the holidays, and a new Toshiba flatscreen TV that your father's employer (an investment bank run by swiss gnomes) gave him as a 'thank you' gift. And. . . drumroll: the rug for your room! And two very sweet Jehovah witnesses who will be stopping by on Feb 4th for tea (herbal infusions, of course). I know, I know. But they were so sweet and really, what does it hurt to chat about faith? There's far too little of that kind of talk in our house anyway, what with your father being a firm C of E drop-out and agnostic. Which reminds me, I really need to get back on the synagogue hunt.
After our good news Tuesday morning, I went to North Middlesex as there was yet another letter waiting on my doorstep requesting more urine. I know. Really, how much urine can one hospital need?
I cajoled your Aunt W along with me (promises of Ikea work wonders), since my US drivers license expired in October and they won't renew it for me as I am not in the Services or a Services dependent. Since we're not flying anytime soon, I will probably have to retake the Ohio Driving Test, as well as sit (okay, little pedant. Okay 'drive') my practical exam next month. I rocked up to North Mid, paid my £3.20 for parking (I know, talk about fleecing golden geese) and went to Ante-Natal where the great debate over 1 or 2 samples began. And where the midwives now always know my name, which leads me to believe I must be Norm in this Cheers-like scenario.
I could write more, but I need a nap.