I woke up yesterday morning and could feel the dull weight of impending disaster weighing me down. The squares for the sewing-up party had not arrived. My house was half-painted. I had an article due. I had a client to see. I have a shift to work on Saturday night and my babysitter cancelled. I had mountains of laundry and my bra (yes, I only own one) had been missing for three days despite an exhaustive search. (The bra thing is not that unusual. I have a lack of commitment to breast restraint. I save it for special occasions and public appearances that demand breast confinement. This shouldn't surprise you if you've been reading for a while). I got up, drank coffee and contemplated the possibility that I was going to host a sewing up party with no squares to sew up in a messy house while rushing around bra-less screeching "Don't touch the walls!" and answering phone calls about dilation. I also contemplated the possibility that it would be better if I wasn't here when that all started to go down.
(Wondering if there is enough money on ones Visa card for a ticket to Belize is a normal healthy reaction to impending disaster. Don't let anyone tell you different.) While drinking my 4th cup of coffee and feeling pretty good about my discovery that while I couldn't afford to run away to Belize, I was pretty sure about my chances of concealing myself in a mammoth pile of laundry....the doorbell rang.
Favourite thing #1
Kay and Canada Post.
One of the two boxes of squares has arrived, along with a lovely postcard and some chocolate to take the edge off. I am overlooking the fact that Kay sent three chocolate treats and that I have three children. I'm sure that she meant for me to have it. The second box has not yet arrived...but there are enough squares that I've managed to kick the impulse to try and knit 50 more before Sunday. (I knit four before I got a grip. Nobody's perfect.)
Favourite thing #2
My brother Ian. Painting, in my house.
Ian and I painted for hours and the broke the back of it. The living room and dining room may not get finished started, but at least there's nothing half painted. I have managed to convince myself that no-one will care. Ian also figured out how to paint very scary up high things and very kindly gave me tips on what direction I should leap off the ladder should it attempt to throw me down the stairs. (Hint: it is the direction opposite to that which my intuition suggests) He ate leftovers for lunch, he said nothing about the nature of the lime green that we were spreading around and we came to an agreement about the heat. (We have decided, knowing full well that we both carry the McPhee gene for non-compliance, as well as a Stewart gene for stubbornness and an unreasonable inability to lose anything, anytime, anywhere, that if we didn't agree to give up at the same time someone was going to get frostbitten. When we saw the forecast for snow last night we agreed to simultaneously turn on our heat. My heat is on. I am trying to let go of the suspicious part of my nature that wonders if he only agreed to a truce to lull me into a false sense of security so he could sneak home and wait one more day...thus winning heat-war 2004. ) When Ian was finished rescuing me from myself, he went to the beer store. My affection for him is unfettered.
Favourite thing #3
How short children are.
Emma's little poncho is almost done. This is only because she is little.
On the flip side, It would appear that I have painted the hall a colour that clashes so badly with the old runner going up the stairs that I cannot eat and think about it at the same time.
I am attempting to not fall victim to "home renovation insanity syndrome" in which one is trapped in an ever circling spiral of home-shame. The new walls make the runner look bad, the new runner makes the throw rug look bad, the rug makes the curtains look shabby......
The only advantage I can think of is that when I have finished deliriously gutting and replacing every item in my home I may have found my bra.