It’s post-iced-coffee afternoon, when I’d like to be taking a siesta (seriously, what culture/time should I have been born in? not this one) but instead I’m watching my foot swell from the cooking pot I dropped on it this morning. I mean it’s not that bad and yet. Also the children are playing with slime, which was well-conceived until little dots of it found their way onto the rug. It’s glue-based. Yes. Also, chemistry experimenters, don’t add pink play-doh to your slime, even if your purple pancakes beg for strawberry chips, don’t do it. The consistency will be ruined and you’ll soon have soup. And then you’ll have to make it again and then soon you’ll be all out of glue. Yay, impending back-to-school sales…
And why is it that at all times, one child desires to be put up for sale, while the other is so sparkly and dear. K.Lo might be a ball of anxiety about so many things, but it’s N.Lo who is a walking whine this summer, and it’s driving. me. nuts.
I made bread this weekend, and it miraculously turned out good, so now I’m trying cinnamon bread. I’ve never had luck with bread, until I did. It’s the magic kitchenaid dough hook, which takes all the overthinking (the sabotage) out of kneading. But I do have my doubts about the cinnamon, so we’ll see if it rises.
Also I realized that with the giant bookshelf that is being built, the living room will have to be painted sooner rather than later. Vaulted ceiling and all, I’m cringing just thinking about it. I think I have colors picked? Bamboo and crocodile tears, which translates to off-white and greeny beige, but that doesn’t sound nearly as interesting does it. And the shutters outside will still be black and the door will be a very specific shade of blue. Because they’re all related you know. It’s a painting snowball. Paintball? I don’t know.
I haven’t really yet found anything on Netflix that’s as good as Switched at Birth, so I’m all sad now. I had high hopes for those aforementioned series. I mean maybe they’re good, but the dance one is a little young and the Jane one is a little farfetched. As delightful as they are in theory. But 21 Jump Street amused me? (Non-Netflix.) There’s this whole thing about Korean Jesus.
Time to make eggplant pizzas, which I suspect is really eggplant parm. I really ought to blog at the time of day when I’m surrounding by all these philosophical/spiritual thought bubbles, and clearly post-iced-coffee is not that time. The bubbles all pop the second I sit down to post.