Jesus. Could I Be Any More Random?

Another purely perfect day here in the 'hood and blue skies are smilin' at me and I sort of want to upchuck at the perfection of it all because I am not in the world's best mood but am sort of wishing I was on my way somewhere. The destination would not even matter but it sure would be nice if it involved really, really blue water and people who speak a language I don't understand.

So last night I finished reading The Family Fang by Kevin Wilson and I pretty much ripped through that book. A page-turner for sure in that it was not unlike a car wreck in its ability to capture and keep my attention and damn, it was different and it was well-written and I have to say that the Fang parents were perhaps the worst parents I have ever met in a book. Maybe. I don't know. Here. Let me sum up my critique: That was some crazy shit, there, y'all.
And we wonder why I have never gotten a job reviewing books.
Huh.
Elizabeth, I know you were reading it. Did you finish it? Did you like it?
I thought it was going to be a bit Wes Andersonish and yes, it was. Which is a good thing. Speaking of Wes Anderson- when in hell is Moonrise Kingdom going to be released? I am seriously jonesin' for some Bill Murray.

Okay, on to my next random observation. Let me think. What would that be?
Uh...it's a beautiful day.
No, no, I already said that.
Okay, here's one: When you boil shrimp and crab legs, don't put too much salt in the water. Mr. Moon and I practically floated to bed. We both drank about forty-two glasses of water and/or juice after dinner. The seafood was delicious. It didn't TASTE that salty but I guess it was.
(This problem may have been compounded in that we both ate more than enough to satisfy an entire shipload of starving ancient mariners.)

So Mr. Moon noted, while cleaning up dog poop the other day, that one of the dogs at least, had worms. Great, right? First tenacious, untreatable fleas, now worms. We both wondered if perhaps that would be reason to get them put down but decided that no, probably not. So Mr. Moon bought worm pills when he was out buying an egg incubator. We gave the dogs the worm pills. Now we are waiting for the resulting vomiting and bloody stools.
The fun never ends around here.

It seems to me that back when I was a child, my best friend's mother, Mrs. Ferger, incubated chicken eggs with a cardboard box, a lightbulb, and some straw. Things are different now. (Mrs. Ferger may have used dog wormer on her kids. I would not be surprised. It was simpler times back then and god knows we all got worms every spring.) Mr. Moon bought an incubator and an egg turner yesterday and spent hours on the internet trying to figure out how to incubate eggs.
Good Lord. Way too complicated for me. There are humidity and temperature to consider. Also, of course, the turning of the eggs. You have to turn the eggs for eighteen days and then stop. But is that eighteen days after the hen has laid the egg or eighteen days after you have begun the incubation process?
Who knows? Not us.
Also- I just took a picture of the eggs being incubated in the device and then went to put the cord on the camera to transfer the picture to here and dammit, the little cord won't connect and I looked in there to the connection place and it looks fucked up! What happened? I successfully transferred about fifty pictures yesterday via the cord.
Okay. I just used the card to transfer. This sucks. This is going to mess my life up bad.
Anyway, here's the picture:


Looks like a prop in a bad old science fiction movie, doesn't it?
Poor little orphan eggs in there. Why won't my hens set? I don't know. They are terrible mothers. They lay eggs and then just abandon them to go out drinking with the girls and have wild sex with the rooster.
I keep thinking that if any of these eggs do, by some miracle hatch, the resulting chicks are going to be wandering around like that poor little bird in Are You My Mother looking endlessly for a mother-figure. The dog is not my mother. The cow is not my mother. The plane and the boat and the Snort are not my mother. Etc.
My luck they'll think I'm their mother.
Well, that wouldn't be so bad.

I suppose I have wasted enough time here. I have to take a walk and then make that baby quilt. When a baby is coming due, you feel like there must be some magic required to bring it on. Like we have these powerful powers to get the labor started. At the moment, I feel like the baby is waiting for the quilt to be finished. This of course is ridiculous but still- one must do all one can. Lily says she's been bouncing on the giant yoga ball. Owen enjoys watching that. I remember once, when my mother was overdue with a baby, she literally jumped off the kitchen table. Women become desperate at such times. (Note- do not try that at home. It is not recommended to jump off a table to induce labor. Plus, it didn't really work. No. You should let the medical people induce your labor with the special drugs they have including one that is put up your vagina which was originally designed to prevent the formation of nonsteroidal anti-inflamatory drug ulcers, which has been known to cause uterine rupture and amniotic fluid embolism. Yes. Really.) I myself once drank an inappropriate amount of black and blue cohosh tea and then went jogging to get a labor started. This did not really work too well either. Anyway, I want to get that quilt finished and that's all there is to it.

So I will stop here even though I am sure I could just ramble on all day long, talking about diverse and interesting things up to and including Rush Limbaugh but I refuse to talk about him and am hoping that he will just disappear off the face of the earth. I doubt that will work and I doubt that finishing the baby's quilt will work in essence of it making Lily go into labor if I do but one must do what one must do, logic be damned.

Happy Monday, y'all!

Love...Ms. Moon