I am sitting at my desk after sending a patient off to get her blood drawn when I look down at my right arm and realize I have pancake batter dried to my right forearm. And not just a dribble. A whole damn mess of it.
Construction continues at the "house of screaming children" (as I often like to answer the phone. Ala IHOP) They have discovered that my bedroom is not actually connected to the rest of the house by anything other than gravity and good intentions. And they found a mess of papers and odd bits from 1850-ish. Newspapers, school books, a fountain pen and an unfinished letter to a cousin who had come to visit and since returned home.
Things I have learned, but do not surprise me:
1. my house is damn old
2. it should have fallen back into the earth many many years ago
3. the 3-day job is reminding me of that trip on the SS Minnow
4. it's going to cost me... about double the original estimate
4. Z does not like to sleep at Grandma's house
5. I did not pack enough cookies
They now think they will be done painting by next tuesday. next tuesday people. as in 4 more days in the future. Wherein me and the peanuts (and Sam the Man) stay at G-ma's with Michael. Who has no job. and will not. stop. speaking. ever. Yesterday Z told him to "shut up and be quiet!" at least 4 times. Z does not mince words.
C wants nothing more than to pet Buttons the 14 year-old de-clawed cat. Buttons would rather have his back claws extracted. He spends his time alternately hissing and growling at her. Does this deter C? Nope. She stands there and says "Buttons is my friend, he loves me" The girl is afraid of lint on the floor, but a cat showing all his teeth and spitting at her is her friend. who loves her. She has the full on crazy. And trust me, that kind of nutty does not come from the platypus side of the fam. That's for damn skippy.
Now Z on the other hand. She's one of us. We all would like to tell Michael to shut up and be quiet. with a few extra expletives.
Please send wine. and duct tape. or a shovel to bury the evidence.