Ya gotta love Sundays. I actually got to sleep in this morning ’til 7, if you can believe it. It was nice to wake up to a light bedroom; usually when I wake up in the morning my bedroom is still completely dark. Anyway, Fred woke me up by crawling into bed with me — we sleep in separate bedrooms — and we lay in bed and talked and, uh, did other things.
So, here’s the pumpkin the spud painted for Halloween:
It’s sitting at the top of our front steps, next to a pot of mostly-dead morning glories. Pretty cute, isn’t it? I think the blood dripping off the teeth is a pretty good touch. My daughter, the artiste.
And while I’m sharing pictures, here’s one of Spanky on my desk this afternoon, peeking out from behind my computer. My desk is a total shitheap, because I’m Robyn and I’m a slob.
Fred went shopping at Best Buy yesterday and purchased a new vacuum cleaner (Hoover WindTunnel), and an under-the-cupboard can opener. He then went to Office Depot and bought a new chair for his desk (Italian leather, horribly expensive, and very nice), and then he went to another store, and bought some new shirts, pants, and Joe Boxer shorts. How’s that for fair? I spend all day at the soccer fields, and he gets to do all kinds of shopping. Hmph.
When I arrived home from the second soccer game yesterday, I was in a horrid mood, which Fred tried to assuage by offering to give me money to buy clothes for myself. I just love that man, have I mentioned that?
After Fred and I were showered and dressed this morning, and after Fred had made the usual Sunday breakfast of pancakes for the spud, we sat and watched the "RE/Max Showcase of Homes" show on TV. Boy, were we drooling over some of them! Why are we looking at homes, for crying out loud; we’ve only been in this house for less than two years!
I spent the rest of the day lazing around, reading, napping, and watching the remake of Psycho. I’ve never seen the original, so I don’t have that to compare it to. I liked it, but it was weird the way everyone sounded like characters from a 1960 movie but there were ’90s touches (like Julianne Moore’s walkman). Vince Vaughn was a perfectly creepy Norman.—–]]>