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In the past, I have encountered the odd parent who stops just short of the driveway to the parking lot to drop off their precious darling. Occasionally they stop in the entrance to the driveway, but with some deep breathing exercises, I’ve learned to hold off road rage long enough for their precious darling to get out and parent to move on.

I was not so fortunate today. There was a car blocking the entrance to the parking lot, which not only blocked me from getting in, but also blocked someone from getting out. The exiting car was able to squeeze through (once the car that was stopping on the opposite side of the road, gave up and let his precious darling out before moving on). This parked car did not have a child inside, nor were any children visible to the naked eye (save the one who risked exiting on the opposite side).

Parent proceeded to sit for well over a minute, possibly playing on his phone. I know because I timed it. After 1 minute, I pipped the horn. I smiled and waited. He did not move. I pipped again, a little longer this time. I smiled and waited. By now the seconds were ticking down to 2 minutes and cars were starting to pile up behind me. May I add that there were 2 1/2 car lengths between him and the stop sign. Or, he could easily enter the parking lot and, I don’t know, maybe park!

After the 2 minute mark, my deep breathing exercises sounded more like the angry puffing of an enraged bull. Probably because I was enraged, incensed, turning green like the Hulk. I hit the horn and counted to 3. I shrugged my shoulders in a “what on earth do you think you’re doing, moron” kind of way. He didn’t move.

I hit the horn again, this time not bothering to count. He had the audacity to hit his horn back for an extended toot before giving me the finger.

I saw red. Blood red.

And I blasted my horn with the full essence of my being. It was no longer a friendly pip or an angry toot. It was a full-on, non-stop blaring, bone-shattering siren of mass destruction. Every fibre of my being willed this idiot to cede his territory and move.

Exasperated, arms flailing in the air before he hit his horn again, he moved. “Finally!” I shouted triumphant yet through clenched teeth. My jaw was now locked. My armpits overflowing. I parked the car, heaved a heavy sigh and smiled at Youngest Son.

He was not impressed.

I felt vindicated.

Dear Diary – I cried like I had just lost my best friend. Like from my toes. And maybe I did!

Hubby shocked me before I left my folks last week, by agreeing to go see a cat who needed a home. Birchall was a 2 year old black cat with an affectionate nature. Purr-fect for us! I have been begging and angling for a cat for over 20 years. I contacted the agency and my application was accepted. But I could not secure a visit until Monday during the day and they don’t hold pets. I would have to trust that if this was “the One”, he would still be there.

I was so excited I could hardly sleep.

But then I got an email. Sorry – Birchall was adopted. I sobbed. Youngest Son heard me and cowered in the basement until Hubby got home. Hubby felt bad for me.

But…not enough apparently. It’s been a week. Hubby is reneging (again) on getting a cat. He wants me to “compromise” and get guinea pigs. I love GPs but I really want a cat! They’re not the same.

I’m very sad.

So, dear diary, because you love me, please pray with me that the right CAT will be available at the right time. I’m trusting that one day soon it will be. Afterall, Hubby decided no more babies. I don’t think it’s fair that he gets to decide this too! 😉

Dear Diary – I had big plans for this week. This last week before Hubby is on vacation until the New Year, and I anticipate will try to sway to “watch” this with him or “play” that, while the unwrapped gifts lay scattered, the dust piles up, and the ambitious baking list remains unchecked. But we all know what happens when you make plans.

On Monday, I planned to sew. I have an order for some gifts and I have to deliver them by Sunday. Around lunchtime, I had plans to meet someone for lunch and a visit. Something we both really needed. Something we haven’t done much of with anyone since Covid came to town. It was all marvellously good.

Until I came home, after dealing with a parental turd unit and I read my texts. Eldest Son was coming for a funeral on Tuesday, but a friend had invited him and girlfriend for dinner Monday evening. Were there any beds available? “No”, said no parent ever. So I commenced cleaning…the bathroom, my bedroom, the office, the living room and the other floors. It would be far from perfect but certainly not in its usual disastrous estate. [If Eldest Son is reading this, don’t EVER hesitate. I’ll take you any time!!]

I had a lovely time at lunch. The house looked great. I was in bed when they arrived.

In the morning, I found out Eldest Son was sick. I think it’s the flu. I did make him test for Covid. Instead of a funeral, Eldest Son passed out on the couch, and his girlfriend spent a very boring day watching him sleep. I worked on my laptop while they both napped. And I slipped upstairs to sew while they watched a movie.

It was not going well. I decided to wrap gifts and watch the movie with them. They had asked me to afterall, and I can sew when they’re gone. I have the rest of the week!

It was when I was gathering gifts that I noticed the blue plastic bag. The one that was supposed to be in the freezer because it was full of beef. Frozen beef. Which was no longer frozen!

With the arrival of Christmas, extra cookies and things have made the freezer full. Which means every time I need a loaf of bread or a package of chicken, I have to unpack and shuffle. I’ve forgotten food before and been forced to throw it out or binge cook, depending on the temperature, so I’m really careful to get it all back in.

Except it still happens. Thus, my afternoon was spent cooking a double batch of cabbage soup and a double batch of beef stew. I peeled a dozen potatoes and half a dozen carrots. I chopped onions and cabbage. I fried meat. I seasoned. At one point I had 2 pots, 1 frying pan, and 1 crockpot on the go.

I washed dishes. So. Many. Dishes.

And I ignored the voice in my head asking me just where I thought it was going to go when it was all done.

And none of it would be cooked by dinnertime. And I have 5 adults to feed.

My ankles swelled. My knee groaned. “Wednesday”, I told myself, “you can stay home all day and get stuff done”.

But dear diary, you know what happens when you make plans.

On Wednesday, my friend called in a panic: could I drive her to an appointment in the middle of the day. How could I say no? I decided to sew until it was time to go. I ran out of thread. It had to be cotton. I don’t have navy cotton thread.

I dropped my friend early at her appointment half an hour from home, and I proceeded to hit an unfamiliar highway and headed for the city. My quest: Fabricland for thread. I crawled through construction zones, I missed my turn, but I made it. I was an intrepid sojourner, and by Rudolph’s cherry red nose, I was going to get something done this week!

I bought thread.

I also bought white cotton for bunny bags, pink and yellow VW camper fabric, and a roll of gray gnome beard trim!

My friend got to her appointment… and the xray place… and the convenience store…and the grocery store…and Tim Hortons. And before the sun set, I got to go home!

I texted Eldest Son. He’s still alive!

“Thursday”, I thought, “Thursday”.

Dear Diary – Three Canadian teams made in the LegoMasters finale! Way to represent!

Dear Diary – Yesterday morning, after a (thankfully uneventful) trip to the school, as I headed to the front door, I heard a strange “swish-swish” sound. Here was a white van driving slowly down our street with the wipers going, trying to clear a fully frosted front window. Very unsuccessfully I might add. By the time the driver had passed several driveways, which is a terrifying thought since she could see nothing, she got out and scraped it. Just enough for a small square window to squint out.

Amused, I walked down our driveway to retrieve our recycle bin, which had been tossed on the side of the road. No need for an innocent recycle bin to suffer injury. As she got in to drive away, the smell of marijuana wafted over me.

That might explain a lot.

Dear Diary – It’s Thursday, noon.

I have accomplished no baking. There’s half a cup of margarine sitting in a pot on the stove.

One person will get wrapped gifts.

It’s snushing (rain, snow, freezing rain) sideways and Hubby doesn’t want me to leave the house. It’s rehearsal tonight.

Food is drying on the pile of dishes. The wrinkles in the clean laundry aren’t “falling out”.

Hubby is upstairs on a conference call. I have sewing to do!

And I just want to nap.

Last year I accomplished a lot while hanging with my gnomies.

Where are you little guys?

Christmas is almost here! And I have an ear worm stuck in my head by that same title, mocking me endlessly!

“Friday,” I tell myself. There’s still Friday”.

Christmas is almost here

Arrogant Worms