God, this cold is going to be the death of me. Actually, let's hope it's not the death of me; let's hope I live to be a spastic old lady who collects teaspoons from all fifty states and dresses her cats in doll clothes.
Or, you know, not.
Can you tell that I am flying high on Dayquil? Dayquil is gooood stuff.
So, Mom and Dad arrive today. I am wrapping things up at the hardware store and thinking about what to pack for New Orleans. According to the weatherman, it is supposed to be 78 with a 40% chance of rain the entire time we are there and, I'm not entirely certain which of my spring clothes
Like, maybe when I'm not flying so high on the Dayquil.
Speaking of flying high; the Teenager competed in a school dance contest yesterday and she and her partner took third place, earning them a trip to the movies with their teacher this evening. The Teenager is stoked, of course.
Hugh and I snuck (sneaked? Who the hell knows, hellooo, Dayquil) into the gym to watch the competition yesterday afternoon and it was a-freaking-dorable. The Teenager wore a dress and had curled her hair into a most becoming style. She was picture perfect from the tip of her head (red ribbon to match the red tie her partner was wearing, her idea! OMG!) to the soles of her pink and green-sneakered feet and Hugh and I were suitably verklempt at the sight of her.
The dancing encompassed every style from ballroom waltzing to fifties style whateverthehellitscalled (Dayquil) and the Fox Trot to boot. The Teenager has enjoyed the class and had been practicing at home with her brother which, in hindsight, might have been less beneficial than we thought since she never really practiced following someone else's lead. On the other hand, my daughter is a natural leader and, her partner kept up just fiiiine.
Dancing With the Starz has nothing on them, is what I'm saying.
And, my head hurts so I am outta here.