I'm supposed to be asleep. My mother-in-law took Quake to the store with her so Cha Cha and I could go down for a nap. Cha Cha...not so much into the nap.
Tomorrow Monkey Man and I will be married for 6 years. He's currently packed into a high tech metal tube hurtling itself around the globe and won't even be on the ground again until tomorrow has come and gone. Next year we'll be able to aruge over whether we're married 6 or 7 years.
My mother-in-law came to town Friday evening so Monkey Man and I could get drunk on grain alcohol and eat obscene amounts of raw fish to celebrate. It's a party! I told him during dinner that I still wanted to be a writer (something I've claimed and then abandoned too many times to count). Do you think that means anything? Anything other than I'm obnoxiously long-winded when I'm drunk? As oppossed to when I'm not drunk, and I'm just almost obnoxiously long-winded. Shut up, it's my fantasy.
Cha Cha, the sweet baby, the wonderful, happy baby, decided last night that he doesn't want to take a bottle anymore. So my mother-in-law, she who can "handle any baby, had three of my own, helped raise a few more, was a labor and delivery nurse for over 20 years", was completely worn out by the time we got back last night. I feel bad. But only because I feel just the tiniest bit gleeful at her trauma. Oh, my world has become small and petty, but I'm getting pleasure where I can.
It's a really good thing she's here though. Otherwise I'd be ordering pizza delivery and picking up a generic cake tomorrow morning for Quake's birthday party. And then being glad I had enough paper towels for the pizza since my dishes are all dirty.