I sang an entire song yesterday in front of about 3,000 people with the back of my beautiful new red shirt tucked into my undies. To all of you on the South wall and our guest speaker from London… I am so sorry.
Friday night, we were so Winter Bored that the three of us headed to the [gasp] mall. We thought Rylie would love the carousel. We were wrong. Can you see the look of panic and distrust on her face? I hope we have not ruined her forever.
Last night, it took almost 2 hours to get home in snow that was, quite possibly, the craziest I have ever seen. [It’s a toss up between last night and the day I drove to Chicago Midway to pick up Chelsey. Halfway back to Grand Rapids, Chelsey looked over at me gripping the steering wheel and said, “If it helps, Katie, I’m not scared. I’m perfectly fine.”] Curt was driving last night, and we spent most of the time following snowmobile tracks on the side of the road and hugging mailboxes when we lost the two-track. There was no talking. Well, there was one exchange early on: “&$%^^#, Boy. That is enough passing. No more passing. Please. For the sanctity of life and all that is beautiful and right, No. More. Passing.”
We were returning from watching one of the best SuperBowl games I’ve ever seen at a friends’ house. I weighed myself when we finally arrived home: 8 pounds gained between the hours of 7pm and midnight. Sesame Chicken, I heart you. VKs… thank you for a splendid evening. And when L. crawled into my lap with her little nightgown on and snuggled close, I think my heart grew 2 sizes.
I am nearly finished with my first sock ever. Socks look to be a lot like mittens: small, quick, portable projects that have the Do It Again curse of “I’m done! I did it! Dang it! I’m only half way there. Boooooooooo.” Socks (and mittens), you see, traditionally come in pairs. I was lamenting this to an expert knitter the other day and she said, “Well, Kate. There’s an easy fix to that problem. Just knit the second mitten or sock first. That’s what I do.”
…and now, to figure out what to do with my bad self.
Productive would be nice,
Let’s not get our hopes up.
I shall start with making the bed.