Chaos In A Bottle

Sometimes I think the hardest part of blogging is coming up with a title for the post. I’m just sayin’.

So, yeah, I’m actually writing fairly steadily now. Not sure what to think about that. It might mean I’m developing some discipline. It might mean I have a brain tumor. It might be a sign of the apocalypse. We’ll see, I suppose. Or not.

R. turned 10 this week, and while watching my baby girl grow up and reach double digits is amazing, it just underscores how time is not just flying by, but at mach 3. Seriously. I know I just heard the midwife tell me one more push and she’d be here, you know? You’d think I’d learned that with B., but nooooo…

She wanted a camera and a ukulele for her birthday, which she got. She and B. can already play the ukulele. That brings the instruments between them to – well, let’s count. Violin, tin whistle, recorder, guitar, mandolin and now ukulele. 6. They both did a headline benefit concert with the Flowing Tide Ceili Band last Saturday, which was very cool. It was R.’s first “real” gig. B. has been playing paying gigs for years. Fair bit of coin was raised for the homeless meals program at the Jewish Christian Outreach Center, which is the organization that hired FTCB. Much awesomeness all around. Lovely venue, too.

Archer got to go play with the sheep the other day, and I have to say, he did really, really well. He’s matured so much, unlike his owner, and is starting to think before he does something, watching what the shepherd is doing, working in balance with her. No, the shepherd is not me. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing with sheep. I can do neat things with their wool, but not while it’s on their backs. That would just be weird.

Does anyone else on twitter worry that when someone you tweet to doesn’t respond, you’ve been blocked or are considered a pain in the butt? No? Guess it’s just me, then. Figures.

Actual conversation in the car the other day:

B: So, I’m so going to end up married to a military guy.

Me: How so?

B: Uniforms are just hot.

Me: Is that XXXXX in the uniform there?

B: Mmm-hmmm

Me: OMG. You have a type.

B: No, I don’t!

Me: Yes, you do! He could be XXX’s brother, and you have a type!

B: Well, so do you.

Me: I know. Tall, handsome, and carrying a weapon. Have you looked at your father? Why do you think I drag him to the range as often as humanly possible?

B: I try not to.

And that is why I won’t be getting any mother of the year awards.

R and I, on one of the days that she decided it was cool to hug her mother.