Three Days, In Photos and Gifs

Friday morning Caedmon and I headed out earlyish to take advantage of the early bird special at the oil change place.  It probably has a better, more exact term, but to me, it's the oil change place, as it is the place where we go to get our oil changed.  As you can see, I am modeling excellent language skills for our children.

The problem is, this was my first time at this specific oil change place, and as I was unfamiliar with the customs and mores of this strange land, I drove up the wrong way to the garage.  As I was trying to turn the vehicle around in a somewhat tight spot (ah, so that's why this way is exit only!) there was a somewhat befuddled mechanic looking out the windows at me.

Him:

Me, as I executed a nine-point turn:

After finishing there, we still had a good 45 minutes to kill before the library opened, and as I have a Target gift card, our destination was clear.  I don't go to Target often, as I like for our bank account to remain at reasonable levels, and Target is a den of spending sin.  Everything is just too tempting and too cute, so I just don't go.  Well, except for Friday, of course.

You should know that I love stripes, and I love black and white together, and this pitcher just kind of jumped into my hands.  Besides, it was $3 and now I have the perfect container for my pink peonies come June.  Until then, it's holding all my wooden spoons for me.

After Target and the library, Caedmon and I headed across town to the Blood Shop, as it is lovingly called by our youngest.  We brought plenty of books for him to look at while I was donating, but every time we go there the nurses are all, "Would he like to watch cartoons?  Let's change the channel and get this boy some cartoons!"  I was also reminded no less than three times to be sure and get a snack for Caedmon, too, when I was finished.  "Make sure your son gets a snack when you do!" "Don't forget to get your boy a snack!"  "Don't leave without getting your son some cookies and juice!"  Honestly, he doesn't look malnourished, so I guess Blood Shop Nurses are just extra nice to small boys.

He is pretty cute.

Saturday it was a good thirty degrees below freezing so I couldn't go for a run, and my hand still hurts like the dickens so I felt like I couldn't do much of anything else, plus my coffee maker gave up the ghost, and the children were exhibiting their cabin fever by pretending to be human pinballs, our house being the pinball machine.  So I did the only sensible thing, and made all three of them do a Jenna Wolfe pyramid workout with me.  They were a lot less pinballey after that.

Sunday morning I woke up and thought, Maybe today I'll get to go for a run!  My weather app informed me otherwise.

We did find one door to the van that wasn't frozen shut, so we made it to Wal-Mart to get a new coffee maker and to church.  Then we returned home to watch a game that I won't mention, except to show you a photo of Atticus decked out in his Vikings gear.

Due to the outcome of the game-that-shall-not-be-mentioned, our house is in full-blown mourning.  I'm trying to figure out how to help Derek process his grief:  So far I'm thinking black cloth over the mirrors and stopping the pendulum in our clock, although this requires removing the batteries which feels a lot less, I don't know, mournful.

The above isn't really an accurate representation of Derek right now, because the man doesn't cry (like, ever), but I'm sure it's how he feels on the inside.  Actually, it's probably more like this:

A Midweek List

• You know those garage sales I went to last Friday?

The one billed "Selling a library of beloved books" was a gold mine.  Or an ink and paper mine, I suppose.  It was an older couple relocating across the state, and the sale was in their actual, built-in-bookshelves, at-home library.  Hardcovers for $1.  Paperbacks $0.50.  I have no idea how I made out with only these nine books, especially when, as I went to pay the absolutely delightful lady holding the sale, I only had to pay fifty cents apiece, even for the hardcovers, because I "obviously have such great taste in books."  I've read half of these, so my goal is to read the remainder throughout this year, as they're mostly classics I should be familiar with, anyway.  Although, if we're being honest, I'll probably never read that bottom one all the way through (Leviathan by Hobbes), as philosophy isn't one of my genres of choice.  I really just bought it because 1) it has a pretty cover, and 2) I like the word "leviathan."  What?  Bibliophiles can be shallow.  Obviously.  

• It looks like I've been a little too extreme in my instructions to my children to never, ever, ever, cut any of Mommy's flowers, ever.  After last week's yellow irises that I brought indoors had faded, I brought in some pink and white peonies.  Atticus followed me around as I merrily clipped my way through the backyard, anxiously running his hands through his hair and asking, "But aren't you going to get yourself in trouble?"  I tried to explain that it's my rule and I am thus free to break it at will (although, really, he's seen the hypocrisy that exists behind my "Only one cookie and then you're done" rule as I mow through half a dozen cookies in one sitting, so I don't know why he's having so much trouble with this flower thing) and that he can collect flowers to bring inside, too, as long as he has my permission.  

He looked unsettled every time he passed these the first full day they were there.

An unexpected advantage to bringing my flowers inside is that I'm finally able to smell them.  I've always heard people comment on the fragrance of peonies, but evidently when they're outdoors the scent is too widely dispersed for my sad sniffer to detect anything.  Bring a bunch of them into our front entryway, however, and man!  They've been perfuming our house rather beautifully for days, and I am proud to say I do enjoy the way flowers smell- I've never really been sure, as I can't stand floral-scented candles and such; they give me an instant headache.  The real thing, however, I can handle.  Joy!

• I got two calls last week asking me to participate in a local blood drive, and although I tried to explain that I've tried and tried and tried and my iron count's always too low, they insisted I try yet again, and I caved.  A helpful friend watched the kids, I assured her it would probably only be for about 15 minutes, but lo and behold, my iron levels were two-hundredth's of a percent higher than the lowest admissible amount.  They drained a bag of liquid life-force out of my body (I'm going to start a petition to have the Red Cross change the ever-boring term "Blood Drive" to "Liquid Life-Force Drainage Event"- I'm sure loads more people would sign up.  Or not.), I was immensely pleased not to have failed yet again, but I did wonder at the notable absence of signs saying things like, "It's a bloody good time" or pretty much any pun involving vampires.  A wasted opportunity, I say.