Sunday, October 11, 2015

Sunday. Again.

Sunday morning and my husband will be home today and I'm going to get that kitchen floor mopped and last night I lounged in bed for hours, reading back-issues of the New Yorker.
So let me ask you a question- do you ever read a NY'er short story and when you're done think, "What the fucking fuck?!"
Like, "Well, that's another twenty minutes of my life I'll never get back."
As in, "What am I missing here?"
Anyway, that's how I felt at 12:14 a.m. when I finished reading a story about a Vespa. I don't know. Maybe I was too sleepy to really grasp all the depth and meaning therein.

Moving on.

Bears repeating. It would be awesome if more than one bloom opened at a time but I'll take what I can get.

I hear that August's rash is still very much in evidence but he's still acting fine. And tomorrow they will go to the dermatologist and see what he says. He is definitely breaking the cardinal rule for children which is, "DO NOT WORRY THE MAMA!" 
Last night on the phone with Jessie I told her to have a glass of wine and maybe give August a little rinse off with baking soda water. And then, joking (of course) I told her to smear his face with honey and maybe put little cucumber slices over his eyes. She reminded me that she tried the cucumber slices thing once and it made her eyes puffy and red and itchy. 

Sunday. The day when some people go to church and some people hang out in their pajamas and some people go to museums and some people eat pancakes and some people watch football games and some people curl up in a ball and cry. 

The chickens don't seem to register Sunday at all. They don't change their feathers or deviate from their normal schedule. 

I believe I will emulate them today. 

After I eat one of their tasty eggs. 

Good morning from Lloyd.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. So glad I'm not the only philistine in the world unable to grasp the deep nuances of some of the New Yorker fiction.

  2. I used to read Harper's Magazine from front to back for years until one day when I cut those chains and that was a good day. Now I am ignorant once again and watch the world through my rose tinted glasses. I also read really trashy novels on occasion or if need be.

    That baby boy. I have been thinking about him and how the skin is our largest organ and how it is like a sieve and like a mirror and like a big sponge and also like a big place for getting rid of stuff. So maybe his skin is doing overtime for him to have a good start.

    When my tiny baby started to sit up, she would put her feet in a strange position, and when she started to stand she put her feet sideways. For months and months we were ordered to see this 'expert' and every time he tutted and tsked and turned her in all directions etc. until one day, I met this elderly doctor who was standing in for the expert on holidays and he just laughed and said that this was quite normal with premature babies and she'll be ok eventually when she starts to walk. Which of course is what happened. But, oh the worry! I still feel it in my stomach.

  3. Here's my dirty New Yorker secret: I never read the short stories. Never.

  4. The New Yorker ain't what it used to be. Not even close, alas.

    Glad little baby boy is happy again today, despite his ferocious spots.

  5. Marty- Just when I thought I was a genius for getting almost all of the cartoons...

    Sabine- Oh. All the worries. We never get over them, do we? And I m thinking most seriously about letting some of my magazine subscriptions go. They mostly bring me guilt and that can't be good. Thank you for the encouragement!

    Steve Reed- And yet, sometimes they are amazing. But I love that you admitted your dirty secret. It makes me love you all the more.

    A- Me too. He is growing and thriving. Despite his rashes.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.