I found a handy new way to corral Miss T while N and I get ready in the morning – the large garden tub in our master bath. I plopped her down in there with a few toys and a plastic toothbrush tube (which she adores more than any toy she owns. WHY?). Turns out it is better than a playpen! (Tangent: Pack ‘n play or playard if I am going to use today’s terms and not the word from the 1980s. What is the difference? I have been wondering this. Does “playpen” sound too confining? Like prison? No matter what you call it, it is still a tiny baby jail.) She played and screeched gleefully in there for a good while. Works for me! She’s within arms’ reach, but can’t get into trouble. Perfect.
Speaking of trouble, once she was out of the tub she made a beeline to the ficus tree in the corner of my bedroom. For some reason Miss T finds it to be of the utmost interest. It has a bunch of largish black “river rocks” (purchased from Hobby Lobby, not dredged out of a river) in the base. And she loves to play with those rocks. She digs her fingers in, flings them around, and sometimes just holds them in her chubby little hands. This morning, though, she got a little too eager while pulling up using the tree’s base for support.  And pulled it over. She wasn’t hurt, but rocks went everywhere and she narrowly escaped being trapped underneath the tree itself. It freaked her out a little and I would hope that maybe this will be a lesson and she’ll leave the tree alone from now on, but somehow I suspect that won’t be the case. She is nothing if not persistent.
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I had the world’s nastiest oatmeal for breakfast this morning. Store-brand instant oatmeal with blueberries.  Well, “blueberries” anyway.  Tiny dehydrated pellets with a mild blueberry flavor. BLEAH.
*****
I had another really weird dream last night. I was at the tattoo place (to get my wrist tattoo! As I will be doing TOMORROW!! WOOT!!) and it was this tiny little scuzzy hole-in-the-wall. Think the bar in From Dusk Till Dawn. SERIOUSLY. (Fortunately, it did not appear to be populated by vampires. That movie sucks by the way.) It was supposed to be the best place in town, highly recommended, so even though it was way disgusting we chose to stay. So we’re sitting there, waiting and waiting, since apparently we came at the peak time, and finally we get called in. The tattoo guy in the back room turns out to be the owner of a fancy restaurant here in town. I said to him, is there anything you DON’T do? And then I woke up. Bizarre, no? I would like to point out (for my husband more than anyone else, as he seems to question my adult judgement most of the time) that I would NOT in fact get a tattoo anywhere even remotely questionable. If the place I have carefully chosen turns out to be seedy then I’ll hold off. I don’t want a tattoo bad enough to risk dying of sepsis. Am not a total idiot.
On that note, I’m going to wrap this up. I’m leaving shortly and have a few things to finish before I go. Have a good weekend, everyone!