Having your mother, who is basically Martha Stewart, come for a visit and cook and clean like a true maniac. She cleaned my room, y’all. She is the ONLY person other than myself whom I would allow to even witness my room in its usual state of chaotic decrepitude, and not only did she witness it, in three hours she cleaned that sucker from top to bottom. I can only assume that she’ll dine out on the horror of it for weeks to come, but so far she’s been very pleasant about it to my face. We have also been eating like royalty, including fried chicken with hawaiian rice, pork chops with garlic mashed potatoes, roasted sweet potatoes, and fresh green beans, and tonight’s meal of sauerbraten with poppyseed noodles and red cabbage. That’s not even including the chocolate chip cookies, pound cake with chocolate cream cheese frosting, and banana bread. Mr. Squab thinks he died and went to heaven. She also does all the dishes, and has been helping me sort through all the Hatchling’s baby clothes and clean out the Hatchling’s room – oh, and then today she went out and bought the Hatchling a new twin bed because she has already outgrown the toddler bed we just set up for her about a month ago. (No, really: as in breaking the slats that hold up the mattress. She’s the size of a four year old.) We also went out today and got supplies for her to knit the Hatchling a purple and green cardigan with dragonfly buttons. A clean house, good food, new clothes and furniture: these are the building blocks of a peaceful Squabby mind. We will be very sad to see her go, and she’ll probably collapse from exhaustion the minute she steps onto the plane.
Having a reaction to the flu shot I got on Thursday that makes me feel … well … kind of like I’m getting the flu. So I’m spacey and really tired and not much good for anything. I woke up this morning at five o’clock with what I thought was an allergy attack, but it didn’t go away and I’ve felt increasingly blech as the day progressed. (And if you ever need evidence that I am not a morning person, just try talking to me when I’ve been forced out of bed at 5 AM by nasal difficulties. It’s not pretty, y’all. Not pretty at all.) It had BETTER be a reaction to the shot and not some actual disease coming on, because I’m supposed to fly out to see my sister and her new baby this coming weekend, and I refuse to be waylaid. Take that, contagion.