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He has his totems, and I have mine.



Yes, we're working on the whole "What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine" thing.
As soon as I came back with my pens, I drew this.



divalea: (Default)
Fox has to have everything seen here, PLUS a towel, to go swimming. Welcome to the world of mini-Monk.

divalea: (Default)
Today had no spiders to redeem it. Damn you, Charlotte.

divalea: (Default)
Nothing is easy about kids, some kids are less easy than others, and some kids could retire the not-easy cup. My son, for instance.



divalea: (lawn chairs and popcorn)
Back again for summertime reading, it's Near-Life Experience!
This act is Near-Life Experience 2KX (2010). Some of you  may have been reading long enough to have enjoyed Near-Life Experience at Modern Tales and Near-Life ExperienceD, drawn mainly at a neighborhood pool in 2005.

Today's strip: Bad Day Bacon
















All about Morgan's Wonderland. Get out your hankies.

Alton Brown's Meatloaf Recipe. Now Diva-tested, and I say this is not that greasy, scary thing a lot of us ate (and I made and ate, it was like cow-based punishment). It's delicious!

(Links open in new windows/tabs)
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It's been a long day. Fox was full of business, and was having wardrobe issues. By the time we'd dropped Summer at her job, been to the bank, Home Depot and arrived at Walmart, he'd had three incidents of jeans failure. Epic, embarrassing, button-related jeans failure.
I bought the damn jeans for Mark the day after the fire, and they never fit him. If the fit had a name, it would be "humiliating below the waist gut pooch emphasis." Why these bastard things were still lurking about and got on Fox's hinder, I don't know. I'm throwing them away to make sure they don't come back.
We struck the men's department and got him two pair of jeans, he wore one pair out of the store. Neither of us could cope with the Fail Jeans a minute longer.

The rest of the day's a blur. I remember it was exhausting, but got much better once we were back at home base. Except for the shower. Never mind.

Now, dinner is long past. There's the good smell of baking banana bread, and the churring of the ice cream maker. Fox is sleeping, Summer's on her Mac due to an intractable laptop disk read error.

The kitchen is more tidy than the usual empty sinks and wiped counters; while Fox had control of my computer, I put up more wall-barnacle shelves and have oils and spices and plastic wraps and bags and parchment in them. (No more stuff under sinks and on packed lazy susans!) I put sliding drawers I bought for the freezer (but were too big) in the pantry.

I hope my downstairs neighbor who plays the sax every evening wasn't too bothered by the can that crashed to the floor while I was organizing the shelves, cracking the cover of my ice cream maker. Luckily, it didn't also crack my foot.
(I like the sax, by the way. It reminds me of my office in Alameda, where someone on an old theatre (converted into a gospel church) would play trombone most evenings.)

Now for a little more work, then bed. Fox wakes with the sun.

P.S. Banana bread was poured into large muffin cups, and baked about five minutes too long. Tasty, but dry. Dratitude. I've made a note for next time to only bake for 15 minutes.

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