Psychic magnetism can go DIAF

I was trying to convince a stiffly smiling girl in a ponytail to take a jar of cat poop from me. It had a little plastic spoon in it, like an ice cream sample. Yes, it's fresh. Yes, I was told to come here with the poop. Sure, go call and ask them. Oh good, I'm glad I pre-paid. I had an existential moment, standing there looking at the poop with the little pink spoon in it. What is happening? How did I arrive here?

I haven't had any bolts of precognitive woo in a while. Most of them, when they happened, were so long-term that they haven't even had time to elapse so I'll know if I'm full of shit or not. I had that one when I was 17, looking at the feet splayed beside me and realizing they were attached to my husband in the manner of someone realizing they will have to assemble a dresser with instructions in the wrong language, and that turned out to be a thing that happened. But it hasn't done me a damn bit of good in predicting any of the things that actually took a hammer to my peace of mind over the years, so I don't hold my imaginary psychic abilities in high regard. "Don't believe everything you think," I always yell at my kids and people on the Internet.

Then driving home yesterday, the thought suddenly arrived, in all-caps like the voice of Death in a Pratchett novel, I'LL HAVE TO CALL GAVIN HOME FROM HIS GRANDMA'S HOUSE BECAUSE SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED TO ASTRID. I clenched up with dread when we pulled into the driveway, but there was no dead cat run down in the road. Well, that's good, then. I got my shopping and trotted Zenny up to the front door and the cat came flopping out of the bushes with both her hind legs busted, like a really unhappy trout.

Three hours later, I was handing over my debit card and taking home my broken cat with $430 of diagnostic exams and no diagnosis. "She wasn't poisoned, she's not diseased, there is no infection, and X-rays are going to be another $300, so come back if she looks like she's going to die and we'll get those done. She probably got clipped by a car or kicked by a neighbor." GREAT. Whenever I feel pissy about the cost of medical care, I console myself by asking, "Would I want to bring the cat to Jiffy Lube and see if they can figure out how to spay her? Would that root canal look any better if it was my bank teller with the drill?" You pay for expertise and peace of mind. Even if they give you a plastic spoon and tell you to shovel up some poop in a jar as homework.

So the boy was called home from his grandmother's house because something happened to his cat. And the grandmother followed, because these are times in which you want your mom to come fix everything. The cat is doped up and convalescing, but she's not dying. Am side-eyeing my neighbors to see which one looks like a cat kicker.

Next time I get a bolt of intuition, I am going to shut everyone in the house and hide under blankets. Unless it's about the house going up in a blanket fire.

Edited to add: while I was driving home from the poop delivery, my phone buzzed with the first rejection for my book. HUZZAH.

People I'd Like to Kick in the Shin

Peter Jackson. PETER JACKSON. I am going to look up your middle name just so I can scream it at you in my mom voice. 

It was a bit of a grim week. I saw a violent animal death on the road to work and cried enough to give myself sinus irritation for the next 3 days, went shopping through the desolate remains of week-before-Easter shelves while disproportionately irritable parents slapped and cussed at their children on all sides, and my mother took the boys for spring break so I feel like I've misplaced something very important. 

Then we watched the last Hobbit movie. I don't need to leave a movie review for you here. You know. Around the world, hobbit lovers turned and fixed their searing gaze on Peter Jackson. And he combusted in the beam of that blazing wrath, probably, so we don't have to worry about seeing trailers for "Madeline: the Battle of the Bad Hat" or "Hatchet: Army of Mooses, part 1".

What we discovered after watching this thing is that there are very few Hobbit 3 gifs on the internet, because it is hard to make gifs after you've thrown your laptop out the window. So we made the most important one. 

SCROLLING THROUGH FACEBOOK FEED DURING ELECTIONS

(Other options: "MONDAYS" and "opening the library two minutes late on a Saturday".)

Happy Monday!

Zenny's 3rd birthday

There was a party, and it was good, and I am so glad it is over.

I made deviled eggs with the whites dyed green - just the same as last year. "I don't eat green eggs," the cousins said, as if green eggs are actually a thing that people are faced with so often that they can develop aversions. I made pizza rolls. "I don't actually eat pizza very much," said the cousins. There was a fruit platter. "I only like bananas." And a strawberry ice cream cake. "I'd like it if it was just cake and no strawberries." And just like last year, they ate everything anyway, because these are kids who think that being picky eaters makes you interesting, and that not getting fat means not letting anyone see you eat the entire plate of appetizers. I let the older cousin palm pizza rolls and chew them silently with his back to me for an hour before reminding him that it's a party and he's allowed to eat the whole plate if he wants to. He then stood bent over the platter and stuffed his mouth with them until they were gone. I got myself a drink.

This kid is 3

Another

Words!

I know I have been posting a lot of pictures and not a lot about other things, so here is the run-down.


I SUBMITTED THE THINGS. The manuscript and illustrations have been sent off to agents, and I am avoiding my phone because every time it buzzes - or does not buzz - I start fretting. Have been drawing girls with birds, instead. And now I can't find my phone, so I hope nobody needs me to do anything.

Meanwhile, the boy came in 2nd place for his robotics programming competition. In the country. Which is great, but it's just one place short of the world finals in Kentucky (wtf, Kentucky? When did you become the world destination for robotics? Update those "robot uprising and overthrow" point of origin maps, folks). But just to drag it out further, he's the understudy if the first place nerd can't make the flight. So now we have to find some 13 year old and push him/her down some stairs. WORK WORK WORK.

The small girl is potty trained. Mostly. Except if it's cold, and her footie pajamas zip from the ankle so she'd have to get naked to use the toilet, and I can't blame her for that one, so we are still in pull-ups at night. Well, she is. I'm ok.

On the needles: more socks. I know.

On the radio: after that last fit of shmoopiness, I have stopped listening to the radio. We are listening to the Amber Spyglass, by Phillip Pullman, instead.

On the netflix: An Honorable Woman. Which is a good show that is hard to watch while knitting, because they switch from English to Arabic frequently and sneak around doing silent things, so by the time I hear a gunshot and look up from my sock, my favorite character is dead.


Next: more girls with birds, and a St. Patrick's Day birthday party!

The worst bird

Get your goose poop boots on, it's walkies time.

A girl and her bird

Fierce warrior action happening around here.

Oranges!

Sketch for my book project. It has a lot of oranges in it. But not nice ones, mostly just round blobs. I ate this one. (The orange, I mean.)

This was my previous attempt:

So shiny. Eh.

Tonight I put down my night knitting and drew it. It was dark. Gavin was watching the new avengers movie next to me, and if you only listen to it, you can hear joss whedon burning his "just follow the formula, it's a franchise" producers with every one-liner.

Probably should have been using that time finding my last needle so I could finish the sock. 

more flying breadcrumbs