Of Babes and Toes and Floor Pie

The month of writing dangerously is over and I have stomped it. MUDLARKS is well on its way to the middle of it's finishedness. I have taken today off to get some chores done...you know...like mucking out the midden, scouring the garde-robes, blacking the guns and the shoes, and scouring all the dishes in the scullery, devising new tortures for the prisoners...that sort of thing.

We made a journey to the land of dented guardrails and vultures and ubiquitous stars to see the wee bairns--the heirs of our heirs. We did consume several tons of comestibles, not least being a large bird of the turkey variety. I wonder what ostrich would taste like?

The bairns are a total blast. Their energy and mischief are unbounded. A and I made some more pictures and should make a book together because she has inherited her mother's talent. N also shines in that area. W has a brilliant smile and a ready hug. And my dear B is a blast to tickle. I only regret not being able to play with them more this time, mainly because of The Toe.


I, the Queen of Grace, did kick the couch on my way down to put on my running shoes and go running with the Daughter of Racing, which resulted in breaking my toe. It blew up like a giant tick and looked about the same color. I couldn't even wear a shoe on it yesterday to church. Today it was almost as bad. I'm hoping it won't take long or I'll look like the Goodyear blimp fell to earth.

We played many games and made some particularly handsome gingerbread abodes and I broke my long-standing vow never to go to Walmart and never on Black Friday. But it was to hang with the Eldest and get Christmas presents. What can I say? I did not, however, wear my Walmart uniform (mukluks, a propeller beanie, and a mu-mu).


The trip home was interesting (part of it. The other part is West Texas, dull as dishwater and good for writing or sleeping through) mainly because we road on the cusp of an ice storm. In the warmest part of the day, the precipitation had iced the plants with hoar frost while leaving the ground still brown. Had we left any later, we'd have had to slow down and worry about skidding.

We did, however, learn about floor pie. It's a new thing. You take three kinds of otherwise delicious pie(pumpkin, apple, and mincemeat). Seal them on a plate in a zip lock bag. Place them on your dashboard and proceed to drive. Somewhere outside of Caldwell, we slammed on the brakes and voilà, floor pie. You get what you get. And if you step on the bag, it's shoe floor pie. Huh. And if you catch it mid-air, it's shoe fly pie.

So because of The Toe, the poor dog didn't get in his daily sprint today, so he's been especially...um...enthusiastically seeking a mate (although he has lost his cahones and shouldn't have nearly that kind of drive). Mostly he's in love with my black jacket. We left the poor dog home and he has been beside himself with joy to see us and reassure himself that we still love him.

Welp. The Man has come home, patted the dog, kissed the wife, and checked the preparedness level of the food. I suppose I shall crack the whip over the table slave so we can eat sometime this century.