School started three weeks ago, and because I’m scared to death of having nothing to do, I’ve somehow managed to fill my calendar with arrows and freelance assignments and out-of-character plans like “September 7 – PTO meeting”. While I have your attention, let’s get something straight. Although I live in the United States, where periods tend to fall INSIDE the quotation marks, I actually prefer putting them OUTSIDE the marks—as is supposedly preferred in the United Kingdom. I’m living on the edge over here! Someone send me some cherry bakewells!
Let’s see. I was folding laundry on Friday, and I came across a pair of Jeff’s underpants that were ripped a bit between the elastic and the fabric. SO, Harper and I did what anyone would do. We designed a bunny sling.
The only person in the house who isn’t completely crazy about our brilliant Fruit of the Loom repurposing scheme is Jeff. However, I do believe he’ll come around when he sees that We’re Going to Be Millionaires.
On Saturday, we drove to Springfield to visit my sister and her family. While there, I fell in love with this guy.
Oh, this goat. He was above begging for food. He didn’t try to chew on my shirt. He just wanted to chill out and have his nose scratched. (Confession: While Jeff and the girls created a ruckus, I ran out of the zoo with the goat. He’s currently sitting on the stool next to me doing what goats tend to do—throwing back wheat grass shots and asking questions about html and the embedding of photos. I have no idea what I’m talking about, but I know more than the goat. (He can’t read, and his attention span barely exists. But he’s really cute, and I’ve heard rumors that he can play the tenor saxophone.))
Meanwhile, the girls have decided that we need a dog.
My sister’s dog is crazy and fun and loves to jump around and play ball, and we don’t have anything like that in our house.
(Except for the goat. But that’s our little secret. Ixnay on the Oatgay.)
((Wait. Speaking of Billy Goat (which we really weren’t, right?), I once went to one of their shows. Ah, to be twenty again.))
(((On a semi-related note: Am I too old for Doc Martens? Because just look at these. I’d almost trade the goat for them.)))