Larry (aka Mr. Security) has managed to load enough "protection" onto our new computer to make it almost as slow as the behemoth I was typing away on previously. You'd think, if he really wanted me to spend less time on this thing, that he would see the error of his ways, wouldn't you? Alas, I'm once again stuck watching pages load at a glacial pace; but virus-free, of course. And on a bigger screen.
As I type, Brian is indulging in one of those irritating, drawn-out whines that make the sound of fingernails on a blackboard pleasant by comparison. I cannot see the use of whining, evolutionarily speaking. It most definitely doesn't encourage the continuation of the species. Perhaps my children are a Darwinian dead end.
Dear Lord, don't let me kill him.
In other, more pleasant, child-related news, Lego's are 50 years old today. I heard on the news this evening that there are enough Lego bricks for each person on Earth to have 62 of them apiece. So, I am asking all the people who have obviously left their share in our living room to please come pick them up. Thank you.
Can you even imagine a world without Lego's? Do you realize this news means that, prior to 1958, parents had not only precious little in the way of TV to entertain their children, but also no decent toys either? What the heck did kids do? Play with sticks? Outside? All the time? Did parents back then simply shove them out the back door in the morning and slide the lock? And how many question marks can I put in one paragraph?
Brian is still whining. Say what you like, that kid has endurance.
Is there anyone else out there who cannot stand their children in the evening? I'm fine (well, I guess that may be debatable) until approximately 7:30 PM, when I suddenly realize that I have to share my entire life with these creatures and I cannot take it anymore. The whining, the nose-picking, the tattling, the Berenstain Bear books - everything becomes intolerable. So, I send them all to bed. The teenagers probably resent that a little, but tough. They need lots of sleep, anyway.
Let's not talk about kids anymore. Let's talk about knitting. So much more soothing....I'm knitting a scarf (the mistake-rib pattern from this post of Crazy Aunt Purl). Only I'm using size 13 needles. She must be a tighter knitter than I am. This is a very exciting project because I am using my brand new circular-needles kit (yes, I know you don't need circulars for a scarf; but I didn't own size 13's, which deficiency provided me with the perfect excuse to buy needles and I, um, sort of got carried away). Now I have a fun little carry-case out of which, on the merest whim, I can whip out a pair of any-size needles (from 2-15) and various size cables to connect them. I am knitter, hear me roar....
Pardon my exuberance, but knitting purchases are just so exhilarating. Better even than homeschool curricula purchases...I guess because knitting purchases don't involve children who may not want to cooperate with your plans to teach them 3 foreign languages before they are 12 years old. Knitting is just for me. Me, me, me, me, me.......
Hmmm....now I'm sounding like my 2-year-old. Maybe because Larry ("Aren't we paying 40 bucks a month for Weight Watchers?") won't let me have any more Twix bars. Even though I have 5 activity points to use up before my weigh-in tomorrow....isn't he mean?