So far
Jason won our 2010 Cribbage Tournament. He is equally smug and giddy, with a side of Halfhearted Guilt thrown in for appearance’ sake about the fact that he has won the last five years. “Don’t you even want to try to win?” he asks, joking, as I silently recount all of his hands whenever we play with slitted, suspicious eyes. I’d say 2011 is my year, but obviously that line of optimism expired long ago.
We have not yet had much opportunity to incorporate FUN! into our year yet (besides New Year’s Day, which we spent bowling and playing cards and eating a Bucket of Tots with Jason’s parents and some friends after having to scrap our original plans due to the weather – that’s right: A Bucket of Tots) because both of our Workplaces are made up of people who like to give us more work because we “can be counted on to get the job done.” That is all fine and dandy and full of back-handed accolades, but it essentially boils down to this: some people we work with are procrastinators. Therefore, we are being punished by getting their work. It is sad that Jason is positively thrilled about only working 9.5 hours a day (when it’s usually 11-12), and I am elated about leaving at 5:00 (after working through lunch, as per the new normal. In fact, I just got interrupted mid-soup-spoonful by someone wanting something). It is crazy-busy for both of us, but we’re doing the best we can right now and not acting on our first impulse, which is to swear and punch people (me) and dramatically quit our jobs (also me). Instead, I am angrily scratching giant, highlighted Xs on all the calendar workdays this year that make me want to quit (tally so far: one).
The pets are helping by being FUN! and extra adorable. Shorty and Jason have been practicing this circus act where Jason leans over and Shorty jumps onto his back. Every once in awhile, I’ll be commanded to “Come here!” and enter the room to see my husband standing upright with our dog standing calmly and smugly on top of his shoulders, all, “What up?” Before I know it, we will have a trapeze in our living room. Or a cannon.
Abby has been enjoying the extra food we give her in an attempt to fatten her up (galloping toward me like a lunatic when I announce it’s time for “Second Breakfast!”) and has increased her desire for hunting water in the wild by no longer waiting for me to exit the shower before licking the walls. The first time this happened, I was caught completely unaware, and when, in my pre-contact blurriness I saw a large gray-ish creature under the shower curtain, I (logically, no?) assumed a giant raccoon had somehow gotten into the bathtub. (With that explanation, you will agree that my reaction was totally appropriate.)
Sunny is, well, Sunny. 95% demented and uncontrollable and 5% extra snuggly and cute. She has finally discovered the top of the dryer, where she sits in a blissful, toasty stupor when we do laundry, but the rest of the time she is loudly demanding food by meowing relentlessly. In fact, she meows, moves to another area, meows again, and then moves to yet another area to meow. Only the meows all sound different. It’s the feline equivalent of throwing your voice in an attempt to convince us multiple cats are begging for food. Part of me wonders if there is something wrong with her, because she will steal Abby’s food, Shorty’s food, and even sit on a hot stove burner to score our dinner leftovers if we don’t take preventive measures.
