The Summer Begins…

Haven’t written in a while.  I guess there’s not much going on.  We are about to close out Week Three of the Great Shower Tile Project. The end is in sight, but only if I squint really hard.  At this point we are waiting on six pieces of accent tile, that the tiler ran out of, leaving a 4″x2″ space.  He says we can still shower in it while we wait for them to come back, but is that really a good idea?  Doesn’t matter anyway, because it turned out that even though the shower door guy told me to call him when they were finished and he would “come right out to measure,” he can’t come until Friday afternoon.  We were also missing some pieces to the plumbing fixtures, not crucial ones, but necessary nonetheless.  The plumber said “maybe” he’d be back Friday with them.  Maybe…

The kids are finished with school, though J has to go back Friday for a “moving up ceremony.”  After that, he and T3 can devote themselves, as much as I will allow them, completely to Wii.

Today T3 actually went on a hunger strike, taking to his bed when I asked him to stop playing and come down for lunch. He is particularly fond of creating “Miis” and has populated a large city full of them. His break today turned out to be a lot longer than it would have been had he just come down and eaten.

Manfrengensen says not to worry about the Wii addiction.  It will run its course.  And I have faith that it will.  Letting it go is better than battling all day about the number of hours they play.  Besides, it’s raining.  What else are they going to do?  Nice days, we’ll be in the park.  Today, they are working those thumbs.

Ee has her own addiction, a bit of a substance abuse problem.  And that substance is powdered sugar donuts.

Don’t worry, I’ve got stuff planned.  Swim lessons, camps, piano lessons, trips to the beach, parks, museums.  I know what I’m doing.

On a completely different note, Manfrengensen let me read a few pages of the novel he started in November, and damned if it wasn’t really good.  I’m not the kind of person who would think his writing is amazing just because he’s my husband. That’s not how I roll.  I’m actually a little jealous of how good his manuscript is.  My own is like “chick lit,” which isn’t what I want it to be, but it is what it is in terms of the story and voice. I can’t just abandon it just because it’s not Michael-Chabon-esque, no matter how much I wish it was.  His book…it’s got that thing, that voice (of a man?), just good stuff.