Friday’s score:
+1: Started and finished the freelance assignment. Hah! Put it aside to be proofed and submitted on Tuesday. (No point in racing to get it handed in on Friday; Monday’s a holiday and it wouldn’t get approved in time to invoice on Tuesday anyhow.)
+1: Lower back hurt so much that I yanked Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary out of my stack of reference books to use as a foot rest. Wonder of wonders, it fits under the desk, is the perfect height to take some of the stress off my back, and is surprisingly comfy.
+2: Good cello lesson. Also found out we’ll be playing Beethoven’s Eighth this fall with orchestra, as well as a Mozart overture, Schubert’s Rosamunde suite and something clarinety. (A bonus to studying with the principal cellist, who learns the programme ahead of time in order to do bowings.) Whee! I was hoping hoping hoping we’d do Beethoven with this new conductor! Good cello lesson stuff included dynamics and expression. Not-so-good stuff included intonation (stupid left elbow) and impatient sulky right wrist (who wants to lead like it used to and leaves the right elbow in the dust when I’m not paying attention). Lessons are officially set for Saturday mornings, Friday or Sunday evenings if my teacher will be out of town on Sat. (Note to self: I really need a mirror to practice with. I should cruise garage sales.) Also, I got group lesson material for the Christmas concert.
-2: Started reading two books, both pretty boring/badly written/not conducive to actually reading. Good thing two other books I reserved are in at the library (My Life In France and The Demon’s Lexicon, the latter of which I requested them to purchase, and they did!)
-1: Frogged all two inches of the in-the-round top-down short-sleeved sweater I started in April and tucked away in May, then pulled out to work on again two weeks ago. (Evidently I am not a summer knitter.) Frogged because I was increasing at every marker… including the one placed to solely identify the middle back as well as the four raglan markers at which I was supposed to increase, because I didn’t think the instructions through. Durr. Froggity froggity frog. Cast it all on again. I was surprisingly sanguine about frogging all that work and redoing it. Maybe it’s the lovely Harmony needles and the deliciously soft Pima cotton I’m using, or maybe I’ve achieved that knitting Zen thing. (Ha. Not likely. I think I just didn’t have the energy to get upset.)
Friday wins out in the plus column. I’m not counting the insane drivers on the highway last night who wouldn’t let me merge and the eighteen-wheelers who shoved me into lanes I didn’t want to be in.
We are running into an irritating problem with food. When he asks what’s for dinner and we tell him, he immediately says, “Oh, I don’t like that.” Now, this is patently untrue a lot of the time. We tend to prepare meals that we can all eat together, so the automatic response really, really gets on our nerves. Both HRH and I have blown up at it once each this past month. Part of it comes from his conflation of the terms ‘want’ and ‘like’ – we have to point this out to him sometimes – and part of it comes from the fact that if he could live on chicken nuggets, he would. Except his memory hasn’t caught up to his tastes yet, because when we give him chicken nuggets these days he sort of half-heartedly nibbles them, then decides he’s done. We just need to keep reminding him that the kneejerk reaction isn’t helpful to anyone.
The biggest drama of the past month happened the day or the day after we came home from Nova Scotia. I’d unpacked everything and placed a travel-sized tube of hand cream on the toilet tank next to my hair stuff, to remind me that I wanted to take it out to the car. He used the bathroom and flushed the toilet, then spun around… and knocked the hand cream into the bowl as it was draining. There was a shriek and screaming and he ran into my office crying so hard that we couldn’t understand him. HRH came running from wherever he was, and I had the boy by the shoulders trying to calm him down. We honestly thought he’d hurt himself badly somehow, although we couldn’t see any blood. We finally got him calmed down enough to understand that he’d knocked “the sunscreen, your sunscreen, Mama” into the toilet and it had vanished. He was deeply distraught, and we had to kind of hide the snickers while I hugged him and told him that it was okay, that it hadn’t been irreplaceable or expensive, and that we knew that it had been an accident. We talked about how important it was to close the lid before one flushed, and gradually the sobs stopped. HRH told him that when he was little he’d done the same thing, only he’d knocked his mother’s hairbrush into the toilet, and he’d been afraid his parents were going to be mad, too. “Did you get it back?” the boy asked, interested. “Oh, no,” HRH said. “Long gone.” And then we had a talk about where the drains go, and the boy decided that if we got a big net we could go to the water filtration plant and scoop out both the hand cream and Grandma’s brush.