I feel dissatisfied with a number of things, not the least of which is my housekeeping, and Bun and I are under the weather. Nothing major, just enough to make me dread the constant runny noses and hacking coughs that will cycle around this house until June.
Plus, Mother Nature remembered that it's November. It's cold and rainy, but I don't want to turn the heat on too high. We changed the way we purchase heating oil this year and I am paranoid that we will run out in the middle of February. The kids and I are constantly shocking each other with how cold our hands are.
(In fact, I have one friend who swears we could hang meat in our house. I just prefer to think of it as brisk.)
Anyway, all that to say I have nothing to really say. Aren't you glad you checked in here?
The best part of my day by far has been this note from Fiver that I found on my desk:
I like you Mom becuse you are a grate coke. Your food is the
No, you're the best, kiddo.
(That's supposed to be "great cook," which I knew but I still like to read "grate coke" in my head.)
What really cracks me up is that he signed it with his full name. Just in case I wasn't sure who had left it for me.
Now I think I will have a Reese's cup from one of the Halloween buckets. Purely for medicinal purposes, you understand.