Klowns in my Koffee

A houseful of people with drippy noses and worse attitudes is just about as fun as it sounds. Mr. T stayed up all night working on a new website. Typically, I wake up in the middle of the night and retrieve him from the sagging end of the couch when he is doggedly pursuing some project beyond common sense but last night's Nyquil cocktail prevented timely waking.

When he stays up all night and accomplishes little, any further brush with humanity resembles poking an addled bear with a pointy stick. Some semblance of good humor was restored after figuring out that actually reading the directions might be faster and more effective than repeatedly stating at intervals more and more loudly that one had read the directions.

This is a small portion of the fallout from my illness. The confusing thing to me is that T typically washes the dishes when I cook. For the couple of days when I was cooking little and eating less, he didn't wash the dishes at all, but merely piled them up in colorful stacks like crop circles awaiting a visit from the planet "Do-your-chore-without-being asked."

Alas, that visit never came and now dried-on oatmeal is the tie that binds us together.

I gave up and ordered a pizza.

Bless you, Papa John!

Our Daisy troop attended Brownie Baking Day yesterday. Despite the possible confusion over the name, this is an event where Daisies (the children, not the flowers) and Brownies (the children, not the food item or the mythical sprites) bake brownies (the food item).

The sponsoring troop also had the girls color placemats for Meals on Wheels while the brownies were baking.

Note the picture of Kollege Kid as guest helper since I wanted to avoid contaminating any more small children with my cold.