1. School started for a week, and then we had a holiday to help me recover from the trauma of having to see fifty new faces all over again. It went predictably - I over prepare, start off pretty well, then my nervousness shows itself in the shape of running off my mouth and I end up saying something stupid in class (or at least I think it's stupid). Then I spend the next week or two beating myself up over it when the students have probably already forgotten, if they even noticed.
2. On Sunday evening, my middle daughter announced that one of her rats was looking ill - predictably, since it's a holiday weekend, and any vet visit would be under (expensive) emergency care. We cautiously discussed home care options (aka let's not spend another $200 at the vet unless we have to. Oh, all right, then).
|Google "rat" and "rainbow bridge" and what do you know...|
3. Having a boy. Oh boy. What a little testosterone can do. Play with my blocks or eat those dirty old slippers? Read my book, eat my book, or bang it repeatedly on Mummy's hand? Sit quietly with my rattle or empty the rubbish bin? Pull the cat's ear or tail? Make for the wood stove or stop to grab the poker on the way? Choices, choices. We've had to buy a fire guard and a play pen, baby equipment we never needed with the girls. And a baby monitor, in case he wakes up while we're destressing in the hot tub.
4. Ever since he learned to turn over, Alcuin's been pretty determined to not sleep through the night. Sometimes he has a four or five hour stretch a couple of days in a row to lull me into false hopes. I'm close to entering zombie mode. By Monday, I had half a dozen zits (I haven't had a break out for decades), several unfiled, broken nails, and I hadn't showered for three days. No accompanying photo. What was I doing when the baby slept, then? Watching Sherlock and sitting in the hot tub (not at the same time). There's only time for so much.
5. I know I must be of a certain age, because I don't find Benedict Cumberbatch irresistible. But we have fun dissecting the episodes afterwards in the hot tub, and comparing them to the original stories. The Sherlock Holmes I watched most growing up was Basil Rathbone. I think it must have been BBC2 repeats of the movie series. I didn't even realize they were from the 1940s until I looked them up for this post. I do remember being very taken with them, though. I wonder, is a name almost as silly as Sherlock Holmes a prerequisite for playing the character?
6. Oh yes, the hot tub. Hubby finally got the birthday/Christmas/birthday/Christmas present he's been contemplating: a portable hot tub. We've been spending most nights since Christmas simmering under the stars. An unexpected bonus is that when the whole family is in there, you're a captive audience for each other. And it's amazing how a little hot tubbing seems to bring out everyone's hobby horses.
7. The format for this week's sleep-deprived Seven Quick Takes are partly brought to you by the inspiration of Amy Dupire who, with her husband, writes the best Christmas letter I get every year, hands down. I'd name her husband, but I don't think he has a public website, though he ought to have an online business writing Christmas letters. On the other hand, Amy's an author, so visit her website and buy her books! Then head over to This Ain't the Lyceum where other bloggers are probably stealing ideas from their friends, too, even if they're not admitting it.