This month the furlough gods decided to throw us out on Fridays instead of Wednesdays, just to keep the public confused. This means that I can now watch the boy get his teeth knocked out in his Tae Kwon Do classes.
Due to financial woes, the classes are being held in the local homeschool:
To help the kids get back into the studio, a fundraiser is in the works. A poker tournament. I believe the last time I played poker, it degraded into a penny-throwing match. I will not be doing that thing.
Before class, the man had a good snog with Oprah the dog. Afterwards, Oprah ran away to roll in a maggoty corpse. She spent the rest of the morning under the yurt on her rope of shame.
Gavin tried to kick his buddy's face in.
I hid behind the bookcase.
Not pictured: the hour spent chasing the kids through the rain after class and hiding under a tarp while they howled, "I'm the Water God, follow me!" from the top of the play structure. Finally came in, sopping and grumpy, to drag the man out of the poker-organization meeting.
Came home to learn that my mother has been too sick to eat since Wednesday. Talked to her, knitting out my worries on the boy's sweater. Finished it while my mother was in Emergency yesterday afternoon. She's back at home, two IV bags fuller, but still unable to eat or stand. My auntie is being a good sister and dumping Gatorade into her, despite the whining from her husband on the phone, having been forced to watch his own children.
So today I am upset about my mother's mortality, and waiting to see if I need to fly over and beat the doctors into fixing her. But at least the Durrow sweater is done.
And it's really kind of fantastic. The boy kind of likes it, too, despite the fact that I cut off the loose ends, which he had been using as dangly lures to drag the cats around by.
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