What a weird day.
It started with Mr. H rolling over and asking "Did you put the chickens away last night?" and my replying, "oh crap" and then rolling over into Biscuit who was in our bed, in underwear (not a diaper) after a 5 am accident (in her own bed, fortunately) and going back to sleep. Fortunately Biscuit did not pee in our bed. Unfortunately I went outside and counted 6 chickens and my favorite, Apollo, was not among them. She wasn't in the yard and tufts of gray feathers scattered on the lawn seemed to be evidence of foul (fowl?) play.
(Apollo's baby portrait)
So, for lack of a better plan I went in and reheated yesterday's undrunk coffee and poured in extra cream. Which turned out to be lumpy. I gave up, put the coffee in the sink and left for work.
Then things looked up. Short line at Starbucks and Apollo miraculously returned (after Mr. H had explained her death to Biscuit who will clearly never understand death. Sidebar: her friends seem to be talking about death an awful lot at school and she frequently makes up stories featuring people dying. But then they come back to life. Just like Apollo. I try to just let the stories go--she doesn't get it yet--fortunately. I don't think Apollo's resurrection is going to clarify anything).
(more recent portrait of Apollo)
Then Mr. H and Biscuit came to my work to have lunch with me and I found out he drank the coffee I had set in the sink. Oops.
Meanwhile, in Southern California, my best friend had a baby girl! Much more interesting/exciting/important than chicken/coffee drama. I was obsessively checking email/her blog/Twitter etc looking for updates completely spacing on the fact that she's a Facebook gal. And she had called my cell phone hours before I got the message. Duh!
But all that obsessive internet checking for baby news led me to be very caught up on the crazy news of the day via Twitter. Farrah! That scumbag governor guy! Michael Jackson! Since I was so up on the news I was able to tell two folks about MJ's death. The first and last time I was the first to know anything remotely newsworthy.
We wrapped up today with swim lessons, a quick visit to the annual neighborhood ice cream social, dinner made by Mr. H who is, unfortunately, sick, and Biscuit refusing to go to sleep until 10 p.m. These late bedtimes are going to be the death of me. Or at least the death of my productivity.