It’s 9:00 pm on a Friday night and I’m about to start editing a report for one of my clients.  I actually agreed to this, in a moment of weakness over IM, when asked R U busy?  Can U look at something 4 me?  I chirped, Extra hours? Sure! Send it over! What, you want that on Monday, yes? *silence* No, tonight.

Ah.  So I’m reviewing a huge document in like 5 pt. Arial Narrow or something about a topic I know nothing about. It’s time to multi-task with a little wireless and a little CSI.  Much better.

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Emerson and I took our near daily trip to Target this evening.  I have a question.  Is there anyone out there who can deny the gravitational pull of the $1 lots at the front of the store?  Because my empty wallet says I can’t.  Tin buckets! Fuzzy pens! Batteries!  Itty-bitty pads in candy colors!  Jelly shoes, fer cryin’ out loud. (OK, I didn’t buy the jellies. I didn’t even try to stuff my feet in them. Maybe.)

I went to Target to buy a headband to hide my horns. Seriously. Tiny little back story:  Got pregnant, got super-duper strong hair that never fell out. Am ecstatic. Birthed child, breastfed child, maintained anti-shedding Wonder Hair.  Took child off boob, all hair promptly fell out in protest, especially from around temples. Am less than thrilled, maybe even start saving hair. Eight months later I’m sporting these awesome four inch horns that refuse to be tamed by ponytail or bobby pin.  And all those tiny little headbands kept falling off my tiny little head. Or felt like they were squeezing my brain like some plastic, alien lifeform. Until I found this.

This isn’t nearly the right pattern, mine is more retro with purple and green, but it’s light and comfortable, and you can make it as wide or narrow as you want.  I don’t think it’s left my head in almost a week, a fact I’m not ashamed to admit, it’s so good. Horns be gone, plus!  I get to jump on the whole pirate-chic that seems to have appeared. Lucky me!
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For a while now Michael has been pushing to make some additions to the family.  I’ll tell you, I was hesitant.  Was I ready for that kind of commitment?  What would it mean to our daily life? Maybe I’d have too many eggs, what then?  And who was going to clean up all that shit?

Sometimes you have to realize that you’ll never be quite ready. Not for

Chickens.  That’s right, my friends.  Currently there are six 10 day old chickens living under a heat lamp on our dining room table.  I lost control of my senses at some point and now? Goddamn chickens, that’s what.  They are pretty cute, but they poop constantly and I think I went to unload the dishwasher yesterday and while I was gone they grew three inches. These suckers are going to be BIG.  I fully expect one of them to demand coffee, black with a paper next week.  I must be nuts.  It is entertaining though, if only for conversations like this.
Him:  Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this is front of them.
Me: Do what?
Him: Eating chicken.
Me: Do you think they know?
Him: I don’t know.  Somebody told me if you give them chicken skin they’ll eat it. They love it.  It just seems so wrong somehow. But so delicious.