I’ve got Pacho Bell’s “Canon in D” stuck in my head, which is frustrating because that is a lot of instruments and a lot of parts for one person to hum.
There’s nothing quite so demoralizing as losing solitaire six* times in a row.
*Ok, so it was really seven, but I had such lousy cards for one of those hands, I feel like it doesn’t count.
Because I have a bunch of work to finish up tonight, Mike, my wonderful husband, is making me dinner.
We’re having Mac ‘N Cheese ‘N Peas, one of my favorite dishes (seriously, no sarcasm).
“How many peas do you want?” he asked.
“Ummm, 167,” I said in true smart-alec form.
“OK,” he replied and began counting.
That’s how much he loves me.
But then he got bored and said, “If you want me to count your peas, you’re not going to get very many peas.”
And I’m pretty sure he loves me a whole lot, just not 167 individual peas worth.
Another coffee shop day.
On this occasion, a dad, mom and their two kiddos (the boy likely three, the girl obviously just started walking) walk into the shop. The little girl starts tottering around and the pacifier drops out of her mouth.
“Ooops, 30-second rule!” the dad hollers.
Obviously, this is his second kid.
Our kitchen is small.
Small enough that when I pulled a bowl of peas out of the toaster oven and turned around to put them on my plate that I inadvertently ran the bowl into a wall, thus sending little green balls rolling across the kitchen floor.