Oh the Guilt

I feel about the blog the way I felt in the sixth grade about the pile of unanswered letters from my (school assigned) pen pal. If I saw those letters today they'd make my stomach hurt. Actually just thinking about them now... ugh. Poor poor Herman (or whatever his name was) standing next to his empty mailbox in Idaho (or wherever) waiting for letters from me that would never come.

And I know no one really counts on this blog for information or goodness knows entertainment. But it's making me feel guilty just sitting here empty. So onto content:

I started Library Science school. It's overwhelming but interesting. Not what I'd planned on learning- database schmadabase I always say. But oh well. I'll be able to out search my husband up and down the internet before I graduate and a few of you know what that truly means.

Lazlo is finishing up a dissertation I mean a (not incredibly important) paper for an Old Testament class which has completely consumed him for several days. I'm sitting here with the poorly preserved carcass.

I baked some bread. It failed to rise, as usual, but was still yummy. Stupid yeast. And today I made a chicken pot pie which was...interesting. A week ago when my dad and Lisa (his lovely wife) were in town I made a blackberry pie, which was delicious, but sadly they did not partake.

As an aside about pie, I have never made a pie that got entirely eaten. There's always the smallest sliver of a piece left on the plate. With something like dip, no one really notices who got the last bite, but with pie I guess it's obvious, and I must make pie for a lot of overly polite people, (I'm not willing to concede another possibility- my pie really is great) because I always have to toss one sad little last piece into the trash. I used to save it, but it's a lot sadder to throw out a last MOLDY piece that you found in the back of the fridge three weeks later.

Today Lazlo was dancing with Wren singing, "I know you, I danced with you once upon a dream..." when she sweetly wrapped her hands around his neck and suddenly pressed down with her thumbs just below his adam's apple. It was pretty funny. Also today, she was sitting on my lap caressing my face when she reached back and, with all her weight behind her (23 lbs.), smacked me open handed in the eye. Yeah, that's our girl. So far she only does this to us, so I guess it's okay. But montessori school might be out.

Ramona continues to move from laying-spot to laying-spot throughout the day, sprinkling the already patchy yard with the totally dead, dog hair covered areas she likes to call "home". The stroller is broken, so she's not going on a lot of walks. If this sort of passive aggressive behavior is how she communicates, that's just fine. No more Huntington Dog Beach for you. The one good thing about Ramona being an outside dog (although she likes to think of it as outside "pariah") is that my once dwindling panty supply has rebounded and remains intact. (Library Science has taught me that, contrary to popular opinion, there can never be "too much information").

I recently watched the one and only season of the sci-fi space western 'Firefly'. Not my usual style, but I found it enjoyable.

I have a lot of fabric scraps from my sewing projects so I've decided to make a tiny army of cloth robots. I have three so far, but soon their ranks will swell with numbers far greater than you can imagine. (mwuhaha) So far they don't have faces, but once I find some tiny googly eyes, (and some little bells to stick inside so they rattle) they'll be on the march.

Look for them soon. I'm calling them CANCELBOTS.