I know it’s been a while, but somehow, summing up the last few days of my life is remarkably similar to summing up the last month.


Invited over for dinner with the parents on Thursday.

I had been thinking this was rather sweet of them, since there wasn’t anything like Glee that week to unite us as a family.

Anyway. Long story = short: they were babysitting for The Boy and The Boy’s Sequel*.

There was a lots of cuteness and lots of crying. The Boy wept like a tempest over the fact that we paused “Poke-In-Oh”** for dinner.

While the kids cried, Dad excitedly announced in an exercise in randomness that he was going to the zoo.

“Are you going for ice cream afterwards?”

He answered “No” in a way that suggested ‘Dont’ be silly.’ (Yet I could see the glimmer of an idea shine in his eyes.)

I returned to The Commune at ten at night with baby spit-up all over my blouse and a bit of a headache.


On Friday, got to see The Oatmeal. That was fun.

But also, this was the day Dad went on his field trip to The Zoo.

Two fun (and slightly related) facts:

1.) My sister, Bri, is a zookeeper at said zoo. (And apparently a damned-good one; she was Employee of the Month).

2.) Dad and his colleagues did not actually take any students on this field trip.

While A Day at the Zoo sounds like a lost Marx Brothers film, I was told there were no mutes, outlandish Italian accents, or witty one-liners amongst their party.

And no ice cream.


Met with Mum for lunch on Saturday.

“So! Did I tell you that I finished the fourth book?!”

She meant A Feast for Crows, which she’s arrived at rather rapidly following her enthusiastic response to Sean Bean HBO’s Game of Thrones.

She actually had told me that already. “Yes. You did.”

“Yes. Cersei is still a bitch.” (Fact.)

Mum sipped at her apple cider. The rain was beating down on the plastic roof because we were at a pub and we tried to sneak in my fifteen-year-old cousin but pretty soon the jig was up and they sat us on the patio.

“Oh,” she drawled as if adding a footnote to Cersei’s personality issues, “And your dad got bit by a cobra.”

“Um, what?” My natural reaction was shock, obviously.

But seriously: a cobra?


Called Dad on Sunday to verify the cobra story.

Turns out: not a cobra, but a boa constrictor. Or, as Dad would have it: “Just a boa constrictor.”

Maybe it was like a Marx Brother’s film after all.


*The Boy’s Sequel is two months old and looks so much like Orson Welles it’s a little unnerving.

**Walt Disney’s Pinocchio