I really want to gush about my birthday party-- it was truly fab, thanks to my lovely friends-- but I got to work Monday to find (to my dismay) I'd accidentally signed myself up for the "oh, shit!" phone for Monday night through Friday morning. Ugh. Part of the problem with that is the wireless connection to work is not always reliable, so I've made it a habit to unhook my own computer from the internet to keep the work computer up and running in case some customer calls in the throes of a brown-trouser moment. This means my time on my own computer is somewhat limited.
This will be interesting.
Himself and Daniel got more beadboard up Tuesday evening. At this rate, we may get the dining room ceiling finished before Halloween. That's a bigger accomplishment than you may imagine. I have of late informed Himself that one Big Project he'll have on his plate next year is painting the poopie brown trim under the edge of the roofline to pretty much any other color. Okay, well, not just any color. Not a color that says we make our own tortillas here. Just something, well, nicer and less, er, poopie-esque. Maybe a nice dark green. Nothing fluorescent. Nothing easter-eggy. Just something else.
I suspect Chuy made the rounds at the party, swanning from lap to lap, wrinkling at visitors and being fed treats by all. Chuy's wrinkles tell people he's had nothing but pebbles and pinecones to eat, and people long to feed him. At the end of Saturday, we realized the dapper little gent's trim waistline had gone walkabout and in its place was a thick little barrel of a boy. Even Praline's tummy got all poochy-outie. Hmmm.