I'm not supposed to be here right now. I'm supposed to be finishing up some painfully dull articles on things like "The Reply," "Bills of Particulars," and "Service of Pleadings." (It's safe to wake up now; I won't be mentioning them again, except to note that I liked it a lot better when I was writing "The Answer," which made me feel very authoritative and superior-- how many people do you know who not only have The Answer, but have written it down and sent it off for publication?) I'm two days behind schedule on them and I'm really not enjoying the last bits that have to be done. You might think that this would provide enough incentive for me to buckle down and finish these little sleeping pills, but you would be wrong.
Instead of being plagued by guilt over my inability to get my work done, I am now plagued by angst over the fact that I have just joined NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month, if you must know) and I am already totally ineligible for cool prizes. To win prizes, you have to post every day this month. But today is the second of November, and I didn't post anything on the first of November, so it is technically impossible for me to post something every day this month. I'll have to console myself with thoughts of what a tremendous personal achievement it will be if I manage to post every day for the remainder of the month. The anticipated joy is overwhelming.
I suppose I could have joined NaKniSweMo (National Knit Sweater Month, okay?) instead. All I have to do there is show up at the end of the month with a finished sweater that was knit entirely in the month of November, but (a) I already promised my kids, who claim that they are cold, some gloves and hats, (b) the daily blogging thing will be a whole lot faster, and (c) I just knit a bunch of sweaters in a row, and I'm not sure I can deal with another right now.
Last week was a non-stop assault of homework, after-school activities, and driving, driving, driving. Most of the week passed in a blur, although I have some hazy recollections of spending a lot of it as SuperHomeworkEnforcer, also known as the Evil S.H.E. As in "I want to read my book/talk to my friends/lie here and do nothing, but S.H.E. said I have to finish my math/science/music practice."
Among the better moments: A 4H meeting where the girls (minus a protesting daughter that S.H.E. imprisoned at home on account of an unfinished social studies project) decorated cupcakes and cookies. Some of the projects
turned out a little better than others
although they were all very cute. Their origins as cupcakes notwithstanding, nothing with a frosting face was permitted to be eaten.
And, of course, there was Halloween. The insane busy-ness of the week left us totally unprepared with costumes. (Don't even go there. I get through most of my days one step at a time, and I can't even conceive of planning costumes two or three weeks ahead when I am routinely surprised by the sudden realization that it's time to feed all these people again.) At 5:55 p.m. Sunday night, only Matty knew what he wanted to be, but he dresses up as a Power Ranger whenever possible, so this was a no-brainer for him. Nate was going to be a Ninja . . . no, a judge . . . no, a hockey player . . . and he settled on a football player because the shoulder pads were much less intrusive than hockey gloves, which might (gasp!) have made taking all that candy more difficult. As usual, Isa --who went last year dressed as cauliflower-- had my favorite costume. We came up with it at the very last minute, and after a moment of terror on her part--which occurred shortly after I shouted "how would you like to be headless?"-- it all came together with astounding speed: one judge's robe, 5 safety pins, a small pumpkin, and some Mr. Potato Head parts.
Whoops. I just looked at the clock, and in the time it took me to cobble together this post, I could have cast on and knit a few rows of the NaKniSweMo sweater that was going to be so much more time consuming than this NaBloPoMo blogging. Plus, I can hear the boys rooting through the kitchen for leftovers, which means that it must be time to feed them. Again.