Highland games

note: blog images broke and were removed, sorry

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The highland games used to be an event filled with masses of people in costume and kilt; vendors stuffed under rows of enormous tents, and food booths with everything from bangers to Korean BBQ. But then some charismatic event planner got old and died, and the festival became a limp scrap of an event. This year, it was ousted from the usual park because of construction, and was locked up in a pavilion surrounded by homeless people asleep or dead under every tree. I've had better attendance at my toddler storytime. It's a travesty - one I have no intention of correcting, because Event Coordinator is top on my list of jobs that I never never ever want. Right under Wedding Planner (kind of the same thing, but with more screaming), Emergency Vet (also with screaming, but this time mine), and CPA (see previous).

Anyway, it was still exciting, because Zenny got her head stuck in the cast iron fence.

RSCDS dancing to handful of indigents 

Boys, confused about who was losing Pokemon, but certain it was not themselves.

Red ear of fence-wrenchingness. I win for catching her just before she popped her entire melon between the rungs.

Waiting for very sad fish and chips.

This morning I finally cracked into a new 10-pound range on the scale, and got to pose awkwardly in the mirror to document it.

And then my jokes about positive manifestation backfired AGAIN. I've been thinking kind of a lot about a home and  furniture lately, and then this happened:

Power of the seeeecret. Again. 

Someone moved, and sent their burly nephews over to jam the tiny house full of giant chairs. Be more specific, I have said and said and said.

Send me a new house.