I heart spring

The time has arrived, the time I have been waiting for since I bought this netbook. I am sitting outside, with a glass of wine and the internets at my fingertips.

Today is a very good day to be me.

There are volunteer pansies springing up in the garden boxes and the flower beds (and a whole lot of weeds), Edgar is snoozing in the sun, and I think I will barbecue a large piece of beef for my dinner. This little chunk of real estate is the best $100 grand I ever spent.

With that said, life is insane. I am preparing for the show, and there is much work to be done. I'm stealing these few hours from a million other things I should be doing. Right now, I don't care. It's far too fine a day to do anything except listen to audio books, knit, and putter.

_______________________________________________________________

Mother's Day

I just tried to phone my mom, and there was no answer. No surprise there. With five grandchildren to occupy her and her own aging mother to pay attention to, the daughter 200 km away is not even on her radar screen.

But, mom? I am the woman I am because of you. And despite my many unpleasant qualities, I think I'm your finest work. I am strong, powerful and amazing. On this day, I raise a glass to you. Well, done. And thank you.

Fuck you, you homophobic assholes!

I've ranted in every online fora I'm a part of. I've ranted in real life. I've flounced on facebook.

But, it's not enough. I am still pissed off. Actually, I am more than pissed off. I am HULK SMASH ANGRY. And, that anger is not going to go away anytime soon. So, in the interest of protecting my blood pressure, I'm going to try and get this off my chest.

Gay is not a lifestyle choice. It is not a disease. It is biology. Some people are born attracted to people with the same parts. Some people are attracted to people with the same parts and people with the other parts at the same time. Some people don't like parts at all. Some people are born attracted to the opposite parts.

And all of the above is not any of your business unless you are the party directly involved in the attraction of the parts.

So if your young niece/cousin that you barely know announces that she is marrying another woman, you smile and say, "Congratulations!"

That is the only socially correct response. You do not email my mother and give her a blast about said niece being an abomination unto God. You do not hijack a 65th anniversary party with your bigotry and hate. You do not have a say. It is none of your business.

And, this is perhaps my biggest problem: you do not pressure my mother into lying to me.

Because my mom shouldered this burden all by herself, because she didn't want me to go HULK SMASH, because she knows that I have strong opinions and she knows that I've been on the brink of blowing for years.

Well, perhaps Mom had a point, in the interest of protecting herself.

I've had it. I've had it with being polite and pretending that I don't see that you think I am unaware of God's will because I am divorced. I drink! I dance! I have sex outside of marriage! I have multiple lovers at the same time. I will not have children. I will have a fulfilling, rewarding career in a traditionally male field. And I will be successful. I have smiled and not talked about my life, because I'm not interested in what you think. Your secret condemnation is (here's a clue) NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

Really, I am not interested in your questions, your ferreting for information so that you can pray for me. I don't believe in your god. I don't believe in any god. And, I'm really not interested in your opinions. Your opinions of me don't matter. I don't like any of you very much; haven't for quite some time now.

But you do not get to stand up and tell another person of your own blood that you don't agree with her "lifestyle". No. Not now, not ever. Now that I really know what was going on, I'm done with you. I never want to see any of you again.

I will not allow you to crush this young woman like you tried to crush me. I will have nothing to do with you ever again. I will support her, and cry tears of joy at her wedding. Then I will get really drunk and dance until my knees hurt.

Home sweet home

I went home for Christmas yesterday. Since the roads were crap, and I am recovering from some sort of terrible plague, it was probably not a good idea.

However, having knit eight pairs of socks, I was going to deliver them, dammit.

Plus, I had to pick up these:

The background wheel belonged to my grandmother, the foreground wheel, my dad purchased at an auction sale. Neither of them are operational, but the one in the front has potential.

Not Christmas gifts, because we don't do that, but, a very good Christmas nonetheless.

Ten Days to Go

I loathe Christmas and everything about it, except the food, the booze, and the time off work. The visiting with friends and family is kind of cool, too. And the music is all right. If it's good (meaning, written prior to about, oh, 1950 and not performed by anyone that was born after me. Generally speaking).

In short, I hate the commercialism, the need to give great, grand gifts to everyone, as if some stupid snow village encased in a globe tells my veterinary assistant how much I care. Or that a hokey tree ornament was thoughtfully chosen for me by my bartender(s), when every one else shining the bar with their sleeves that night got one as well.

Cynical much? Not me.

Thankfully, my parents and siblings opted out of this nonsense years ago, and I've managed to convince my girly pals that I'd rather spend time with them instead of shopping for stuff. It's a huge relief.

But, now there are the small people. And, small people love Christmas. I do hate disappointing them, when they are so easily pleased and are so generous with their smiles and hugs. There's something about the phrase, "Auntie Misstea, I love you" that makes me want to make sure that the universe farts rainbows just for them.

So, I sucked it up last night, and went to a book shop. You'd think that 11 days before Christmas, it would be a gong show, but apparently not at 5:30 on a Tuesday. Good planning on my part, for a change. And, I must admit, the 40 minutes I spent playing around in the children's section was rather fun. There's some cool stuff out there. From now on, I will be the Auntie that gives books and knitted things.

So, with that in mind, I got home from work tonight and spread out all the unallocated knitted things on the sofa:

I need eight kid-sized somethings. I have them. Problem is, I have no idea if the sock to foot size is at all reasonable. I'll ask LSG (because LSG knows everything) and then, it might be a little insane around here. I can't believe I'm doing this.

My heart is still two sizes too small, just for the record. And Santa is creepy. He breaks into your house, FFS.

If you could read my mind

You tube + Friday night + drinking = walk down memory lane

My parents went to Detroit & Iowa

and all they brought me were these freaking amazing gifts!



That's right, I am now the proud owner of an pink John Deere hoodie with matching gardening gloves (Iowa) and a key chain made in the Henry Ford Museum's shop (Detroit).

I'm gonna be too cool for school, because my three nieces? Got the exact same sweatshirt. I think that's the best thing ever.

If I am sick...

I don't ever want to get better.

This case of Finishitis continues. It feels really damn good to get some of that stuff out of the WIP basket (though somehow, the basket isn't getting any emptier).

Tonight's project was to finish socks that I started in January, 2008. Yup, I blogged about them here. J just turned 33. Oops.

I stalled on these because I had forgotten to note how many stitches I used for the heel flap, and was concerned about running out of yarn.

Finally, last Tuesday, running out the door for knit night, I grabbed them, thinking that it wouldn't really matter if the heel flap was done over 32 or 34 stitches, and if there had to be a contrasting toe, well, I could always give them to Dad. He wouldn't care.

Turns out, my heel flaps match exactly, and I have about 4 meters of yarn left. One is a tiny bit smaller than the other, but no one's feet match anyway.




I'm running out of old projects. What a strange feeling.

Mini B turned 4 today.

Where does the time go? I am very ashamed to say this, but it seems like just yesterday, when I met my dad for dinner, on the day of your birth and said "Hello, Grandpa!"

And Papa Barry, as he is now known to you, stood up a little straighter, and well, preened. Just like the rest of us, Mini, he'd been waiting for you.

Mini B, you are an engaging, fun, busy girl. You like tractors, you like princesses, you like changing your clothes, you like playing the drums. You are a girl with a strong personality, and I hope you don't lose that (though I am sure your parents wish you would tone it down a little).

I just spent the better part of 24 hours in your home, and for the record, I'm going to quickly record some of our interactions. If I am lucky, I will share these at some future event:

"Hi Auntie Mister!"

"Mini B, that's Auntie Misstea."

"Hi Auntie Mister!"

I couldn't correct you. Your Uncle J called me "Mister" for a good two years.

At four, your favourite word still appears to be "no." This is amusing, because your parents, before you could even speak, decided that "stop" and "danger" would be the words they would use to rebuke you. Their logic was that those two words were too hard for you to say, and therefore you would not throw those words back at them.

Well, I think that was wishful thinking. You know "no", and employ it frequently. Good job, kid.

However, you are a shouter. When you want something, you holler. It's a sound that doesn't even have syllables. It's just nasty.

When you wanted to get over the baby gate last night, you made that nasty sound. I happened to be closest.

So, I took the bull by the horns, and said, "Well, I'm not your parent, but where I come from, Mini B, that's really rude, and we don't speak to people that way."

You looked at me for a moment, thought about it, and then bellowed "Open!"

And, I looked at you, and said, "That's better, but that's still not what I am looking for."

And in the background, your parents were coaching you, "say please, Mini B", "remember your manners!" I have a feeling that Granny was laughing her ass off around the corner.

You stood up even straighter. Squared your shoulders. And said, with a ever-suffering voice, "Please, open!"

So, I opened the gate. And you flounced through and went on your merry way.

It was hysterically funny. Don't ever lose that expectation that doors will open for you. If you use your manners (and trust me, it works).

You were surprised to see me the following morning, because I left before you went to bed. We (your parents and I) neglected to inform you that we were having a sleep-over. A sleep-over with a bonus guest You were a little bit stand-offish with my friend for a few momehts, but it didn't take you very long to get all bossy, telling her where to sit, before she even had a cup of coffee. You are very lucky that Mamayaga loves kids, and liked playing along with you.

All in all, it was a lovely morning. However, you need some boundaries, girl.

I went downstairs to have a bit of a wash and get out of my jammies. I grabbed my stuff, and headed into the downstairs bathroom. Since the basement is basically your playroom, I didn't think I needed to pay attention to you. Until you opened the bathroom door. Thankfully, I was brushing my teeth.

You just wanted to talk, and that was awesome, because that's the kind of relationship I hope to have with you, but still, not knocking. Not cool. So, given that information, you closed the door, and I continued on with my ablutions. You knocked about a nanosecond later. I said, "open!"

I was going for broke. I had no idea how your parents felt about nudity, but, you knocked. Right when I was about to change my shirt.

I whipped off my t-shirt that I wear at night, and you said, "you've got boobies!"

And yes, it deserves bold, because at that exact moment, your father, my little brother, was hollering "it is ok for me to come in?"

I said yes, well, to both questions. In retrospect. I've never put my clothes on so fast in my life. OK, that's an exaggeration, but Mini B, you are not going get the details about that other situation for a very long time. If ever.

But anyways, you simply didn't care that your Auntie's boobies were hanging out and your daddy was in the same space (it's a very large basement, with lots of walls, for those who are playing along).

You are a smart, strong, confident girl. The things that drive your care-givers crazy right now are things that will make you an amazing woman. Go forth and be yourself Mini B.

And I will laugh myself silly. Because you are exactly like your father was when he was your age. I love the both of you to bits.

Three score and ten

I just got off the phone with my father.

He turned 70 last Friday, and was waxing poetic about the things he'd achieved in his life. He said he hoped for a few more years, as long as he could take care of himself.

I told him to fuck the bible, and Abraham Lincoln. I need at least 20, if not 30 more years with my dad. I'm not ready.

Then we talked for a bit more; poor dad, it must suck to talk to your daughter, who is exactly like your father (ooh damage; can we get a hell, yeah!).

Happy belated birthday, Dad. I'll talk to you any time you want. It's even better when Mom isn't around.

Easter at the homestead

Since Granny and Grampa are chocolate fiends, I have to do something else for Easter.

Plus, I think my sisters-in-law appreciate that I don't wish to add to the future not-inconsiderable dental bills.

For once, all the socks were done before I presented them to the recipients (just barely, though. Cast off the last one just before everyone arrived for brunch):

Is anyone else singing "One of things is not like the other? One of these things just doesn't belong...?"

All wrapped up and ready to go.

On the feets! Squee! I'm a lucky, lucky auntie to have little kids who are thrilled to get socks.

Mini B's Mom: What are those, Mini B?

Mini B: Thocths!

Mini B's Mom: What do you say to Auntie Misstea?

Mini B: Please!

And later:

Mini J's Dad: Who's Dad's sister?

Mini J: Auntie Missie.

Mini J's Dad: What did she make you?

Mini J: Socks!

Clearly, my work is done for another year.

Too many deadlines!

So, I started this sweater in January...

(tiny, wee cute sweater. Missing one lousy sleeve).

The kid it was intended for has grown some. It won't fit.

So, this morning, I cued up some module notes and did some reading. Thank FSM that I can read and knit:

(and this is a far more accurate representation of the colour. It's a lovely semi-solid purple).

Though, doing the reading was hard, because I was constantly tempted to take a nap in today's glorious sun:

The goal is a sweater for Easter. And two assignments between now and then.

Hey! I still knit.

Meetings, when I am not chairing or busy taking notes, are an excellent opportunity to work on socks.

Also, there was that three-hour power outage at Construction Inc. yesterday. Ha! All you non-knitters, I had something to do!

I started a tiny, tiny little sock, so that I could have something ready to show my hairstylist how to turn a heel, and then I was hooked on little socks:

2.5 mm needles, 36 sts, basic twisted, broken rib sock pattern. Would fit the average six-month old niece.

Those socks were so cute, that I immediately cast on socks for her big sister:

2.5 mm needles, 48 sts, basic twisted, broken rib sock pattern. Shooting for a kid's size nine.

And for a comparison, here is one of each together:

Oh my! These are too cute! Because I am dorky, I weighed the socks. The wee socks are 15 g, and the big sister socks are 28 g. I'm using Wisdom Yarns, Marathon - Los Angeles (gah! This has been in the stash for a while - too lazy to find a good link).

I've cast on, in the same yarn, a pair with 44 sts. Those will be for the cousin.

After that, looms the big question. What do I do for the boy? Purple and lime green are too girly, otherwise this yarn would be perfect.

Monster Misstea

Notice to all readers: this rant may not make sense.

I'm a lucky girl. I have a good job, a pleasing home and family and friends that adore me. That adoration is mutual.

Really, I've got it going on.

But every once in a while, something sends me around the bend. That something has happened recently, so I'm compelled to speak about it.

The event:

I'm sitting with my dad, in one of the city's finer restaurants, and he says, "Oh, there's a group coming in, and it's your Uncle D's friends"... My dad is very smart, but he's not quick on the uptake.

I immediately sit up straight. I'm going to play defense for my dad, no matter what.

Sure enough, it was a group of people, one of which is a big bull-shitter. Always bellicose. He decided to mock my fine, always serious, well-spoken father. He was teasing my father about having dinner with a cute young woman.

Meaning, me. And insinuating that was there was something fishy going on.

My dad was polite and bashful, talking about "the daughter".

I sat there and smiled. I made some small talk about the weather. I made appropriate comments about the motions being discussed at the annual meeting.

Uncle D, came in, with his wife. We had hugs, a big reunion. Not only was I "The Daughter", I was "The Niece."

Oh. Dear. This isn't fun any more.

I looked over at the fat over-blown fucking bastard that was mocking my dad and told him that he was jealous. Jealous of who? Me?

No, you are jealous of Barry.

Because Barry gets to have dinner with me.

And that bugger was all, "Wait, thought this was fun... I don't get it..."

Fuck you asshole, for making fun of my dad. I will stomp on you with my tiny kitten heel and make mincemeat of you with my intellect. You do not mock my dad and get away with it. Never.

Fuck you (I feel so strongly I have to say it again). And when my dad retires, guess who will be the new representative.

That's right. My brother. I bet the same lame joke won't fly so well as I'm sitting there with my brother, his wife, and their two children.

I look forward to seeing you eat your words, asshole.

Fly Away Home

That's the title of a pretty crappy Canadian movie. It's about the guy who raised a bunch of orphan Canada geese.

Pretty lame, but an uncle of mine was the producer.

Anyway, I flew away home yesterday, and just got back now. I was gone 25 hours. Too much to do.

The occasion was Mini B's third birthday. I cannot believe that it's been three years since my world exploded and all these little people to love started arriving.

Mini B is a talker, like the rest of us, and there were some choice moments:

The minute I walked in the door (I was two and a half hours late), she grabbed my parcel and said "For me." It was not a question. She knew it was all about the presents.

After the cake was done at about 8 pm last night, she announced that the party was over. However, she didn't seem too bothered that none of us left.

She received a microphone that played tunes. She kept giving it to me, saying "Sing, Auntie!" (possibly because I know more than one verse to "You are my Sunshine." I'm not sure).

She looked at my feet at one point and said, "You have socks like Mom!" Not quite, but close, because Auntie made Mom's socks.

Other niephew™ news:

Mini J is starting to talk. Mom is "Mom" and Grandma is "Mommom". I think that's hysterical.

Junior J can be cranky. I didn't know. I thought he was the mellowest little boy that ever lived. Nope, I was wrong. He freaking hates his car seat, and the whole world knew it, when it was time to go home. When that little guy is angry, he's not afraid to tell us.

Junior B is two months old, now. She only weighs 11 lbs, 4 oz, two pounds up from her birth weight. She's tiny, by Misstea standards. But, all that new weight is in her cheeks and chin. I've never seen such a skinny baby with such a double chin. It's hysterical. She's pretty gassy, though. So, she's small, but she definitely belongs to us.

One other small note: Dad and I stopped at the Timmy's drive-thru this morning.

Drive-thru speaker: Welcome to Tim Hortons. May I interest you in a breakfast sandwich?

Me: No, you may not.

Drive thru speaker: ....

Me: I'll have a large coffee with milk.

Got the coffee, and Dad and I had an excellent discussion of how kids these days don't know the proper use of "may" and "can."

Gawd, I love my family. Especially the breakfast my brother made for me. It was excellent.

Stalled

right before the finish line.

This is Jr. J's sweater, supposedly for his first Christmas. Like he cares. If I don't get it finished soon, he won't fit into it (I made the 6-9 month size, and he's barely three months old!).

All the knitting is done. I blocked it on New Year's Eve. So, why haven't I sewn the damn thing up? Well, because I've never actually grafted ribbing before. Damn, I'll have to practise what I preach, and work on the swatches that I make everyone else work on when I teach.

Wish me luck.

The Ancestral Pile

We don't do Christmas presents in our family. It simplifies things remarkably. I'm enough of a Scrooge to have extended that policy to my entire network of friends as well.

Sometimes, though, if there's an event, or the perfect gift, we break the rule.

This falls into the "perfect gift" category:

Aerial photos of the farm. Taken in late July, just as the canola is starting to bloom. The first photo is the view from the east, and the second is the view from the north.

I am blown away. I don't think I had ever told my mother that I'd hoped to have a copy of all the aerial photos taken throughout the years in a progression.

I suspect she's digging for the older photos right now.

And... the holiday obligations are over.

I spent the afternoon with my grandparents.

Seeing how much joy they got from sitting around and yakking with me for a couple hours makes me think that it is something I should do more often. Really, it wasn't really that much time out of my life, to drive an hour down the road and make two old fogies insanely happy. It's the rest of the family that drives me crazy. I actually like my grandparents.

And did we ever talk. We talked about the gang problem in the inner city, violence in Africa, how I'm doing at work, the differences in accounting designations, knitting, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and acoustics, how Anglican services are strange but nice (they are soooo not Anglican, and neither am I), how Christmas was nice because they had holopchi and borscht, not turkey and dressing. We talked about their children (one of whom is my mother), plans for their funerals, genealogy. We talked about just about everything.

They spent a great deal of time talking about how interesting it was that my brothers are such engaged fathers. They were baffled by seeing a father jump up and take his two-year-old daughter to the bathroom when she yelled "PEE!" at the top of her lungs (it would be terrible to get the Dora panties dirty, doncha know).

I told my grandparents that I expected no less of my brothers.

Oi! Christmas!

Me: You know, I have a problem with Christmas. It's meaning has been completely perverted. If you give a gift, in the true sense of the word, it's freely given. No obligation.

Dad: You're right. You know, I was doing...(a job, on a thing that I don't understand) and I was talking to this nice young fellow (whose expertise is also a thing that I don't understand) and he gave me this doohickey.... and then he asked me to make some other doohickey (by the way, my dad is a blacksmith, and a damn fine one) and I told him that was a fair exchange. The fellow said no. I gave you a gift. I want to pay you for the doohickeys.

Me: Dad. You just received a gift. You don't value yourself enough. You are a good man. You are deserving of gifts.

Dad: Oh, well, I just like to work hard...

Me: Dad. Shut Up. You deserve a gift.

Dad: Oh.

Yes. Dad. You deserve gifts. You are a good man. You are the best man in my life. Don't sell yourself short. Please.

Later:

Me: And guess what? Jesus was probably black!

Dad: Yeah, and honestly, being born in a stable was a blessing! That was divine intervention. It was quiet, without the drink and the gambling, and nice clean straw is better than whatever passed for a bed in the day.
............................

Aaaw Dad. I agree that Jesus was a pretty cool guy. No argument on the hygiene either. That's a pretty sweet perspective. Makes me want to believe.

It's a girl!

Every time one of my brothers has a child, I think to myself that my heart cannot possibly have room for more love. I think that it must be totally full, because I am so very lucky to have many good friends and a family that I adore.

I am delighted, every time, to be proved wrong. There is always room for love.

My third niece joined the world at 1:20 AM, weighing 9 lbs, 4 oz, and measuring 20 inches (incidentally, she's the smallest of the lot. The Misstea family are big people. In fact, all my nieces and my nephew (I love how that sounds!) have outweighed me at birth. I can only imagine how beautifully tall and strong they will be. Also, I love ellipses).

She too, has a name that I had considered giving a daughter, if I chose to reproduce (I really should keep my good ideas to myself).

For the first time in a long while, I can't wait for Christmas, so I can meet her!

Thanksgiving

Well, I just got home from the ancestral pile. Jr. J is marvelous. Sleeps a lot. His skin is sooo soft. He smells really, really good. Like baby powder and poop (a winning combination, I know). At 10 days old, it looks like he's got his grandad's hairline and ears. I'm tempted to go out and have unprotected sex with a random guy just.... no. Let's nip that thought in the bud right now. I'm pretty sure my parts don't work and that's a stupid move.

As usual, there was lots of talking, and lots of laughter. The highlights were as follows:

Me, to Mini B: It's totally cool if you want to take off your clothes, but please keep your hand out of your butt. That's gross.

Mini B's Mom: Misstea, you need to talk to her father.

.................................

Big J, interrupting my story: Wait a minute, tell me more about this handyman.

Me: Well, he's this little Romanian guy with kids about our age. He calls me "nice young lady" and insisted I come to meet his wife and drink some wine...

Big J: I don't want to hear that! I thought you had a boyfriend!

Me: So you don't want to hear about my interior decorator, then?

..................................

Aunt M: Your Uncle A needs a pair of socks.

Me: Umn... my brothers don't have Misstea socks.

Sister-in-law: Look! There's a hole in the toe of my sock! (not mine - I looked).

Cousin O (Aunt M's grandson): I want to learn how to knit!

Me: And did you ever start that lawn mowing business we discussed earlier in the summer?

Cousin O: Well...

.............................

Grandma: So, Misstea, tell me what's going on.

Me: What do you want to know?

Grandma: Everything. Tell me what you think.

Me: Umn, well the house is good, and work is good, and I'm taking classes, and the G7 finance ministers are meeting this weekend to work out a deal....

Grandma: I knew you would know. You're my smartest girl.

Me (to myself): well, at least she's not telling me I'm a failure because there's no one to look after me when I am old. And making me cry.

Grandma continues: So I'm going in for a gall bladder operation on Thursday...

Me (to myself): I need a smoke and a drink.

..................................

Dad: For the first time in my life, I sent a cheque for $100 off to the Liberal Party. I just really like Cousin R. Whenever I hear him speak, he sounds real.

Me: Dad, Cousin R is the wrong flavour!

Dad: Well, after taxes, it only costs me $36.

Me: Well, at least you have an opinion. And you care.

...................................

Mom and I were sitting around in the kitchen, eating olives and reading our respective newspapers. She had been querying me about her car. Was it useful to me? Did I get done what I needed to get done? Is the cupboard stocked for the winter? I laughed, and told her that I had shopped myself out, as I had, just a couple of days previously, found myself wandering down the kitchen aisle considering buying silicon muffin tins (isn't that an oxymoron!) just because I had sooo much food and thought I wanted to bake more.

She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Those were the best pies I've had in a long time."

Well, that's a hint, if I've ever heard one.

...................................

Dropping me off at the bus depot:

Mom: And your father is buying your ticket.

Me: No, that's OK.

Mom: We spend money on your brothers, and it's only fair. Don't argue.

So, I get out of the car, with my dad, and we walk into the bus depot. He's telling me all about how the government just sends him a cheque for $1,000 every month, and he doesn't even need the money.

Me: Um, Dad, do you realize that it's your money? You paid into that for years. It was enforced savings.

Dad: Yes, but I haven't touched that account in months.

Me: But it's your money. You deserve it. You don't need to work so hard, if there's money coming in.

Dad: crickets chirping

Me: So anyway, I'll call you when I get home...

.............................

My father's CPP is only $1,000 a month!?!?! He's a lucky one, who was able to save, had a spouse with a job. He's a man who has busted his ass, honoured his obligations, never spent a dime he didn't have to (I have had two family vacations with my dad. One when I was six, and the other when I was 34!) He neglected his family for all those years.... and he's paying out on the higher end, I know it. And it's only $1,000!!!

.......................................

Oi. Love my family. Love them, love them, love them. I truly do. Espescially when Mini J was happy to see me at 8:30 AM (she remembered me from yesterday). But around the 24 hour mark, I want to be at home, with my cats, and my books, and my knitting, and wine. Oh, dear sweet wine. I'm very thankful for you, right now.