the cosmic fart

Last night I had a little 'moment' while making dinner, solving yet another sibling dispute, and trying to finish spinning a bobbin I've had on the wheel for over a week. My back was hurting and I thought that was because I am a natural fool and took one of those impressive falls that leaves you with pretty green and purple tattoos all over yourself at the onset of the week. No, a little thought soon revealed the cause, I needed to pee. Why would I blog about this? People, life has reached the pentultimate of hectic when you realize you've not even let yourself go to the bathroom all day! My first thought was, of course, to hurl the wooden spoon at hubster when he came back in. I lost the nerve when he emerged down-hearted and sulking because my dear ewe, #5 insisted on going back to the barn via the driveway instead of her pasture, got stuck in the fence, and pulled two strands of wire down. Kinda seemed like good ole Mother Nature hurled her wooden spoon instead.

I fear I am growing up because instead of practicing my long family tradition of rabid, psychotic reaction to stress, I simply took care of business and then went off to knit the banshee of a pair of sleeves I've been avoiding all week. I'm halfway through one and about 1/3 of the way on the other. Hold a seance, pray for me, dance widdershins in your best underwear, just make the next three days pass quickly as I am determined to have a finishedcoat to show you by Monday. I am sadly behind on my holiday knitting, haven't finished the making of costumes, have to take some animals to a show on Saturday, the library called to say that the books the kids special ordered are in and I think they might bury me in the manure pile if I don't get them there to pick them up - OH, and I have a party to plan and execute on Tues. Course, the chores are an everyday thing since these wretched beasts seem to think they need food and water EVERY day, groceries may need purchasing unless we all agree to eat beans and rice for three days straight, in which case, I need to drive the 30 miles to Bangor to purchase more incense anyway so I might as well just get food and cook it. Please, please, gods of wine and honey make sure the local grocery store here in my spit of a town has organic wine in stock! In between, I will be rocking to and fro, working on those cursed sleeves. Why can't we grow more hair on our arms?