Hoo-boy. It's been a week since I've written a word, because it's been that long since we've seen a cloud in the sky. And when the weather cooperates, it's easy to fall into a nice-and-easy pattern that makes the days fly by:
- 8:00am - 4:00pm: Fry the bacon
I'm happy to report that the Lords of the Gig came through with contractual terms I can live with, so I'm going to sign on for another year. One of the best benefits of being laid off twice in four years is learning to take my job a little less seriously, and therefore hating it far less.
- 5:00pm - 8:00pm: Wage the rumpus
We've been out on the ballfield for a few evenings now, and Robert has gotten the idea that his mitt doesn't belong on his throwing hand. But I wouldn't call what we do a "catch." Basically, I aim for his mitt for ten minutes until he leaps on the trike and tries to mow down pigeons.
- 9:00pm - 7:00am: Embrace the horizontal
You might assume that horizontality involves collapsing on our decrepit couch, and in most circumstances you might be right. But at the risk of indecorousness, I don't mind admitting that my smokin'-hot wife is even smokin'-hotter when she's this pregnant. I believe we've adapted well to accommodate the belly, so much so that Two-Bert might be born with the peculiar ability to measure earthquakes without a seismograph.
Throughout all this comes the unrelenting charm of preschooler logic. On Friday I brought home an Easter lily from the farmers' market, unaware that the leaves contain a substance that is highly toxic to cats. We mostly like our cat, so the lily is currently perched 10 feet in the air, on top of a bookshelf. Ever since we explained this to Robert, he's been packing his cars up in plastic containers each night so the cat won't eat them and die.
