Knitting Like A Sailor

Monday, October 31, 2005

Mad as a March Hare

I worry about my kids. Their mother is kind of a nutter. I know from experience, she's been driving me nuts for years. Seriously. I have proof. 4 pictures of my kids in their halloween costumes. Did I take them before dark? Of course not, it was too early to get them in costumes. Did I take the pictures inside? Duh, no, I want action shots. There's no action inside! Why are these pictures so dark? Hmmmm.....guess the grandparents will get pictures from the day after, with the kids redressed in their costumes.

Today in biology I learned that the contractions of the heart muscle are not controlled by the nervous system. Because the heart has it's own stimulation apparatus, it will continue to beat as long as it has oxygen, even after brain death, even when removed from the chest cavity. This explains SO much. I wonder how long I've been brain dead. My guess would be for about 6 weeks, which coincides with the entry into my life of Stoichiometry, and the mass exodus of the joy in my life. I've barely knit, spun or done anything but study stoichiometry. I spent the weekend holed up in the bedroom with the laptop, all my chemistry books, manuals, idiot guides, calculator, a box of 48 pencils and a pencil sharpener. The small children kept asking Loverboy when mommy was coming home from school. He finally brought them back to prove I was actually in the house, and all I could do was yell at them because they scattered my homework climbing over it to give me a hug.

I apologized, Liam accepted it with his usual huh? and kept on going, but Gwen was really hurt and upset, so we had a mommy/gwenny girls only sleep over (at 1pm) in my room, with popcorn, a chick flick (3 year old speed - Aristocats) and popcorn, while I sat slightly behind her and tried very hard to type and turn pages as quietly as possible. I wasn't quite quiet enough, but she was mollified with some paper and a pencil so she could do her homework too. Which was way bester than Timofy's homeworks. I asked her if mine was better than Timothy's too, and was told no, that my homeworks was not bestest AT ALL, MOMMA. My homeworks was NAUGHTY.
What's one to do with naughty homeworks? Put it in the corner, naturally, and snuggle a little girl while we watch silly cartoon cats dance around. That taught it a lesson! And Mom learned one too.
I might be brain dead, but at least my heart isn't, so I think there's hope.