How is it that Friday the thirteenth’s keep sneaking up on me? It’s got some sort of stealth calendar moves going on because invariably on the night before, or even the day of I’ll make a connection that it’s both a Friday and the thirteenth of the month. This discovery is typically followed by some comment I make out loud, even if no one is in hearing range on the subject.
I don’t like or dislike Friday the thirteenth. If it weren’t for there being a cultural emphasis on that particular day it could be Wednesday the twenty-seventh or Saturday the nineteenth and it would happen every so often and we’d notice it and think, “would you look at that, I didn’t know we had a Monday the thirtieth this month.”
I know why I never know about it in advance. When I look at my calendar, I’m looking for one thing—the thing I opened up the calendar to find. It’s a lot like going to the grocery store to buy Tabasco sauce, looking all over until you find it on the aisle and then a friend asking you if they had the special barbecue sauce that day. Heck, I wouldn’t know because I was focused in on the Tabasco sauce and all else in my field of vision was categorized in my brain as, “not Tabasco sauce”.
Anyway, it was a nice Friday the thirteenth last week. I look forward to being surprised the next time Friday the thirteenth rolls around.
The Big Boy Update: Did I mention the eggs? I can’t remember so if I wrote about this yesterday, I’ll try to make it more interesting today. My son was initially allergic to egg whites. The bad, hive-type allergic followed by eczema outbreaks three-days after ingesting the eggs. Then he wasn’t allergic to them anymore, thanks to a more-developed immune system. And then my son decided he loved scrambled eggs. Just loved them. Ate six one day I think. Now? He hates them. Doesn’t want anything to do with them. I’m thinking this is a phase, he does this with lots of foods.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter fell, cutting her lip with her teeth last week. Her lip is doing its best to heal in a decidedly difficult area. Tonight she had a hard time with dinner because it was stinging (vinegar salad dressing) or too hot (butter chicken Indian dad made) or yucky (non-specified reason). She ate leftover Mexican from the night before while my husband and I ate the remainder of the Indian, glad to have an additional share.
Rock Tumbler Tales: I’m directly below the porch in the basement and I can vaguely hear the rock tumbler working. It’s very quiet upstairs, with the only way I know it’s still working is if I look out the window beside it. Two days down. Will we have only mud when we open it up to check in a few days? Did we select real rocks or did we add in blobs of well-packed mud? I’ll let you know soon. Keep your expectations low, I know mine are.
Uncle Bob had a rock tumbler when he was a child. We tumbled rocks and it was great fun. I don't remember it taking this long though. Sounds like you are having fun!
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