My little prairie's about to get the weather spanking we all knew would come, in the end. But like I said, I'm ready for winter.
This morning I hopped out of the sack, stripped off the regular cotton sheets and threw on the brand new, freshly laundered flannel ones in preparation for All the Winter. One thing I can say about making a bed with flannel sheets: Girl, you betta get it right the first time!
I've got Peabody signed up to stay an extra hour or two at school today, and I'm going to spend four glorious laborious hours finally cleaning my now well-and-truly filthy house. While I'm cleaning, I'm going to lay a fire in the fireplace and enjoy watching the snow stack up outside all the windows. By tonight, we'll be all clean and cozy, and ready to climb into our beds, snuggle into our flannel sheets. And possibly literally never get out again. Not because we don't want to - because we CAIN'T!
I'm thrifty and I KNOW it.
After the discovery yesterday that my favorite outfit from the past week was a completely thrifted outfit, I was inspired to head out thrifting again and guess what? I found more amazing name brand things IN FANTASTIC CONDITION for oh, pretty much nothing. (I can't wait to show you some of it in upcoming WIWW posts!)
And Peabody found this. The minute we walked through the front door, he spotted The Clock (Although Peabody does not actually say clock; he says something unprintable. But since I knew he wasn't likely to be getting this worked up over a rooster, I surmised that he was referring to a time-piece), and his eyes lit up as if he'd caught his first heart-stopping glimpse of a shining, precious ruby amidst a tumble of forgettable stones on a riverbed. For once, he wasn't all scream-y and cry-ee about it. (If you scream and cry, Mama does not buy.) He was just ... earnest. Like he had connected with The Clock[sic] on a spiritual level. He remained calm and steadfast about wanting The Clock[sic] for about 45 minutes while I shopped.
So when I finished combing and scouring and trying on, we went up to the cash register, behind which The Clock[sic] sat shining brightly on the windowsill, and we earnestly asked the clerk if Dat Clock[sic] (don't worry, we were sure to point so there was no confusion] was for sale, and she said yes with a smile, and we made happy haste to claim it for our own and take it home with us.
The child woke us up TWICE in the night asking, Mama, where's my cloooooock[sic]?
What's your Thursday lookin' like?