The Big Woo is sick. Everyone. The whole tribe is hacking like slot machine playing grannies in Reno. I blame the weather. Poor Misho was cheated out of a decent Chicago summer. Only a day or two over 90 degrees! I like it hot. And steamy. I want to be overcome with the vapors and flit around in flowing fabrics proclaiming my desire on some street. I believe Misho has the same desire but the poor kid can't seem to catch a break in the weather department. We've been rained on most of the week, and thank god he's been sick. Didn't feel like going out in the first place. But, the collective pants are getting itchy, cause he's twirling around like a dervish and climbing the walls. Or the bed.
I'm doing weird things to entertain him.
Whether he's into Psycho Mother Butterfly (my name of choice this week) is another thing.
Winter sucked. Summer blowing pretty hard. Don't get me wrong, I hugely heart rain and all it's natural consequences. But now I'm a parent. And there's daily agendas to put together. It's not even winter and we're engaging in weird indoor antics.
Most disturbing, and through no effort on my part, the rain filled air causes my hair to spontaneously bust out into an exploitative baby beauty pageant up-do.
I'll work on my baton twirling.
2 years ago