This adorable face:
Did this to my knitting:
He didn’t just do it by accident. He jumped in my knitting bag, and pulled out my shawl, and dragged it across the floor, for his own personal amusement. Good thing the damage is slight, and that I know how to fix it.
And, lucky for Clyde, he’s awfully cute.
On this day that feels like a Sunday but isn’t a Sunday (and that fact will mess with our heads for the rest of this week), I have been knitting, my daughter has been tweeting like crazy, my son is practicing his clarinet, my hubby is being amazing by making some needed adjustments to my new footrests, we had tacos for dinner (which is one of the few dishes in my repertoire that everyone will eat), and Clyde? He’s been sleeping and cuddly:
Clyde has the right idea. This is what Second Sundays are for.
It was all fun and play at Casa de Kitties!
…what makes you a man isn’t the ability to conceive a child; it’s having the courage to raise one. –Barack H. Obama, February 12. 2013.
Today I am feeling sad for a good friend who has had to put her dreams away for another day. The road to fruition of the sweetest dreams is often sharp and craggy, full of nasty potholes that seem to spit endless stones up into the faces of those who travel upon it. I cannot say it is a test of faith or a forced lesson in perseverance, because it sounds almost trite to say it, though a little faith and a pound of toughness will surely help. There are tears, tears of anger, frustration, and sorrow. But may they serve to wash away all that is bad and negative. It is the tears that quench our thirsty souls and give us renewed strength to plod forward. Forward we must go. The dream is waiting.
Lately I’ve had to eat my breakfast while sitting in the very center of the kitchen floor, about as far away from the kitchen table as I can get. It seems that my kitten, Miss Bonny-boo, has decided that she would rather share my Greek yogurt, rather than munch her kitten chow. This morning I caught her trying to pull the foil lid from the container back out of the trash can, and then she considered taking a flying leap from the edge of the kitchen table to my lap, in the center of the room. Luckily, she abandoned that idea.I wonder if the yogurt smells like the kitten formula she used to get in a bottle. Finally she gave up, and I was able to finish my breakfast. Now, her brother Clyde is asleep on my desk as I start my work day. Yes, I’d probably rather have my yogurt to myself in the mornings, but if it meant not having my kittens instead, I think I’ll just keep repeating my evasive, yogurt-preserving maneuvers. Hey, at least my breakfast isn’t boring!