"O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head." *

So tired.
So very very tired.
Aren’t you supposed to be full of energy in your second trimester?
I am at twenty-one weeks and all I want to do – still – is sleep.

H returned from his trip Friday evening, safe and sound.
It’s good to have him back.
Someone else to yell at, er, care for the children.

I called off work Saturday – something I have not done in the almost three years I have worked there. I have taken vacation days, yes, but not just called and said, “Um, not coming in today.” Which is sort of a big deal as they have no back-up plan for if the Saturday librarian calls off. Panic ensues. I was so tired, I just didn’t care.

Then the in-law infestation yesterday. Which would have been perfectly fine except: 1) the entire event was timed around the Steelers game, about which I personally could not care less; and 2) do people not know when the hell to LEAVE? Hint: if your host has three small children and it’s already an hour past their usual bedtime (of which you are well aware), take your drunken self HOME. Pronto.

I know, I am an ungrateful wretch.
An exhausted, drooping, grumpy, ungrateful wretch.

Who had NO time at all to finish a book, or even read much at all, this past month. How did that happen?


***************

*Thomas Hood, Miss Kilmansegg - Her Dream

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." *

My sweet Terzo is two today.
Happy birthday, love.

I went birthday-present-shopping for him today.
While today is his actual birthday, we will be postponing his party till tomorrow evening when H finally returns.
But he will receive this, which I am fairly certain he will love:



And an Elmo book and this, because he does like his Brown Bear book:


And a Teletubbies DVD because he really digs his Teletubbies books and has never actually seen the TV show, and a cool shirt I found on sale.
A fine birthday haul.

While I was out and about, look what I picked up:


And this! I didn’t even know she had a new book coming out!


Then I came home and ate half a pineapple, leaving my mouth a sore, swollen mess, followed by a chicken sandwich and a Coke.
All of which will stay down.
It is to be hoped.
Because this puking thing is getting waaaaaay old.
I have dropped ten pounds.
Pregnancy as weight loss strategy.
Not obvious, but certainly effective.

In other exciting news, I am now reading y’all via GoogleReader, and I love it.
Why did I not do this ages ago?
Oh, because Bloglines bites, and won’t let me sign into my own account.
I forgot.

It takes a little of the excitement out of checking blogs, but on the other hand, it saves a fair amount of time, both in knowing who has new stuff for me to read, and commenting (since I am already signed in).

****************

* Elizabeth Stone

"Eighth time's the charm!" *

I am not much of a television watcher.

Sometimes if H brings home a movie he wants to see, I’ll watch with him. Sometimes he’ll be interested in a (usually long-cancelled) television series, and bring home a DVD of a season or so.
Sometimes during hockey season I’ll sit and watch a period or two of a game.

But generally I would say that, left to my own devices, I would rather read or quilt or noodle around on the computer.

I haven’t watched a show regularly since I freaked out on H for not taping an episode of ‘Ally McBeal.’ The freaking-out over little things was yet another symptom of my depression and OCD; the Zoloft tones that down, and Ally McBeal got stupid and I never really got sucked into a show again, and certainly never screamed at my husband that I hated him just because he forgot to tape something for me. (After all, aren’t there plenty of valid reasons for hating your spouse?)

But even though I am used to being home by myself, this week I am lonely.
There’s a different feel to H’s absence this week.
Maybe it’s because I am not subconsciously, even in sleep, listening for the car door slam, the beep of the alarm, the key in the lock.
Maybe it’s because I know Punto isn’t barking at H arriving home, but some unseen, possibly menacing something outside.

For whatever reason, this week, after the boys go to bed, I have been switching on the television and finding something to watch.

Last night I watched the first half hour of a program about a family that adopted 23 special-needs children. Then I flicked around and watched bits of a President Bush speech, and some real estate show on TLC, and some baseball. There were numerous repeated commercials for a show called “Lincoln Place,” and a funny preview for Peter Krause’s new series, “Dirty Sexy Money.” I eventually settled on a movie on The Disney Channel called “The Prince and Me.” It starred Julia Stiles as an American premed student who unwittingly falls in love with the Prince of Denmark who has come to her college masquerading as an exchange student. Despite her numerous and very large teeth, I find Stiles engaging and adorable. The prince, played by Luke Mably, grew on me eventually. The romance was gentle and sweet, and built up gradually to some minor sexual situations and a predictable if not terribly typical happy ending.

Tonight, I was unfortunate enough to turn the TV on at 755. Everything that looked any good was just ending. I watched bits and pieces of programs – “Family Guy,” some more baseball, the news, until I came across the last half hour of a show called “Bones.”

Those of you who have read this blog for a while probably are aware of my admiration of Quincy. I wanted to be Quincy when I grew up. This perhaps abnormal and morbid interest in medical detection and the accompanying biological gore translates now into reading anything I can get my hands on about forensic pathology and anthropology, and crime scene analysis. This show should have hit my sweet spot, but it was too scattered. There was too much action and not enough explanation. I suppose I really prefer documentaries.

“House” was on next. I’ve never watched this before, and I really don’t get Hugh Laurie’s sex appeal, but some of you love this show, so I figured, what the hell.

Forgive me, Blackbird, but I really hated it.
He’s an egomaniacal asshole who can’t be bothered to actually think about something, and the plot leapt all over the place. There was no thought, no detection, no debate – and judging from the past show synopses I found on fox.com, this is typical. House seems to stumble his way through a myriad of mistaken diagnoses until he happens to hit upon the accurate diagnosis, by which time you are so thoroughly sick of him you wish he would drop dead along with the patient he invariably almost kills.
His isn’t the deserved arrogance of Daniel Craig, the brilliant if irascible heart surgeon on my beloved “St Elsewhere,” or the passion of a young Doug Ross whose brashness is driven by concern for his patient’s wellbeing; House is lazy, annoying, careless, and thoroughly unlikeable.

I remember now why I don’t watch TV.

And in case I really needed a reminder, I watched the first couple minutes of the local ten o’clock news.
Yawn.

“A beloved family pet falls down a well in Kittaning, details after these messages...”

Or not.

**************

* Dr Gregory House