Now that I'm over the fear of how my next pregnancy might or might not go - I'm not pregnant!! :(
But perhaps that's just as well for the moment, as I had an "adventure" with Kittyboy today. We went to my grandparents' house to plant a tree and do other yardwork, and myself plus three other adults were not enough to keep him in line. He was running about the yard as I was digging up lilies of the valley, my mom and grandparents went back in the house, and I didn't see him still out, so I assumed he had followed them back inside. I came in with an armful of plants, said, "He's in here, right?" and three heads slowly shook NO. Ran back outside, was scanning the empty yard when I saw his little red Bob The Tomato t-shirt happily trotting along a ditch two yards away. I ran, I yelled, I hugged, I scolded, and the neighbor catty-corner ACROSS the street said that Kittyboy had been inspecting a large and colorful cardboard box by the neighbor's trash can.
Aren't we glad I'm not growing another one right at this exact moment. I need to get GPS installed on this one first!
Oh, AND... driving in the Chicago suburbs. I don't mind driving in the city - the city makes sense. I avoid the expressways like the plague, but Foster, Pulaski, Cicero etc do not change their orientation and names depending on their mood and time-of-the-month as suburb roads do, at least not when I've driven on them. The system of roads which links the Chicago suburbs is afflicted with serious PMS. I have come to the conclusion that the punishment of Hades is comparable to being lost in the suburbs, on a cell phone with someone who says, "So if you're on 53 North, are you going east right now or west? Because you want to be going west..." It's fifty-blippin'-three NORTH - I darn well ought to be going NORTH, and if I'm not, it's NOT MY FAULT, because IT'S YOUR ROAD!! I don't think I have ever been so close to swearing in my life, short of the time when (in a total ditz moment) I turned the wrong way on I-55 - north back into the city, instead of south to Springfield - and actually did yell my first, and God willing, my LAST, obsenity at the top of my lungs when I realized what I'd done. And then thanked God that Kittyboy was only a year old and not yet a parrot (which he is now).
Happy Mother's Day!