F is still watching sodding gyroscope videos. I think his new strategy is to bore me into getting one to shut him up.
I have spent the last half hour trying to coax the sick rat to eat whilst the healthy rat takes full advantage to crawl all over me and shit under the curtains and escape. I think L is finding the reality of imminent demise too much to handle so most of the rat-coaxing duties fall to me (the rat has an inoperable tumour and the vet has sent it home to live out its remaining comfortable days in a familiar environment. "Make a fuss of him", said the vet, but of course, this is the Jean-Paul Sartre of rats, who cordially loathes all human company. All I can really do is offer him delicious and easy to eat foods and leave him in peace in his stinky house).
(Gah, been interrupted by reappearance of weeping L again. He is taking this so so hard, poor thing. Many nights of rat tears) .
Wore Spanx today in the hope they might improve my posture, but I just have Constricted Waist Rage.
I am supposed to be at the rehearsal for the Cadre Noir de Saumur tonight and I'm not (combination of childcare gnarl-up and not actually having anywhere to write about it). Je suis gutted. *Piaffes, desolately, jumps over a heavily laden banqueting table to the accompaniment of Verdi*
I think I might have bought another advent calendar in a fugue state yesterday night.
THIS. THISTHISTHIS. Seriously, click the link and admire, whilst, regular readers, also remembering that I did this first, sort of, with shitty, slapdash, felt execution. "The spider" says M "Is a real spider pretending to be a tortoise in a spider cosy". Which is an alarming thought.
Jumping today on the lovely Gecko, which was exhilarating and terrifying and wonderful. It takes a bit of bravery and some deep breathing and then afterwards I feel superhuman for twenty minutes, which is incredibly rare for me.
Enjoyable guide to the mysteries of Williams Sonoma, via mr Cookblog, who I also saw in New York and a great deal of fun (and food) was had by all, except possibly by the crabs slaughtered in our honour.
Going to London in December, briefly, for pre-Christmas thrills.
I didn't take any pictures today, so you'll have to have one of our holidays. One day, perhaps, I will tell you the epic tale of our trip to Petra, but for the moment, suffice to say that this is After the Donkey Blues but before The Puppy Related Weeping and the Plush Camel of Negotiating Sorrow (we had a lovely, lovely time, but that day was quite something, that and the Contact Lens Incident, also a story for another time). I love how we are all ignoring the majesty of Petra here. Whatever, ancient Nabataean Monastery. L has pre-teen sulking to do and I need to faff at my child's face. You can't take us anywhere.