My shoes are always full of toys. You know, that sounds like the beginning of a fantastical story about eternal Christmas, doesn’t it? The thought certainly puts a positive spin on Pickles’ rather annoying habit of filling my rubber boots aka my outdoor slippers with cars and otherwise sharp and pointy pieces of metal, wood, and plastic.
The weather has grown cold and lighting the wood stove is still fun, the way it can only be before it is so cold that your hands turn to dust while you are trying to make kindling. We didn’t even light the woodstove before we went to sleep last night. I need to appreciate this while it lasts. I am.
Pickles fell asleep on the floor last night trying to suck toothpaste out of the tube (don’t worry, it was empty). We were so happy to have her out of her bed that we left her there, bundled up beneath a blanket, for several hours. Could this be the beginning of the end of the night terrors that have been the weaning process? Oh dear cod please say it is so.
I am so excited about going to the World Fantasy Convention next week that I think about almost nothing else. Maybe I’ll fall into a time warp beforehand and manage to finish The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, and Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch beforehand. Oh and, you know, fifteen other books by authors who are going to be there who I’d like to know more about before I commence to fanish drooling. When I can’t think another book-ish thought I start thinking about things like allowed luggage weight and what my couchsurfing host will be like. (Dude, she has been to Privet Drive. PRIVET DRIVE. *People who don’t like Harry Potter can just leave this parenthetical right now.* Us getting along is pretty much a given. PRIVET DRIVE.)
Pickles has invented a word. “Balla.” It means banana and belly button. Yesterday she went from calling books “boo” to saying “book.” My work here is done.