As I'm sitting here, waiting for the cranberry-orange bread to finish baking, I'm neglecting the dishes, listening to jazz, ignoring the nagging need for sleep, I'm beginning to wonder if that tomorrow morning's 5K at 8am is such a good idea. For one, I'm getting another cold. Yes, ANOTHER virus, as I've gone an entire 3 days without some form of illness. I usually contract these bugs from my children, who are neither daycare kids or school kids, but instead are, I've decided, small, human petri dishes.
I've begun running. Did I mention that? Some mothers choose to start running to chase after their children. I've begun running so as to run FROM my children. SeaBass' whining hits a fever-pitch w/in 30 seconds of self-made dilemma, and Beatrice won't stop eating the cat food. These people are from my loins. I've fed them of my own body, yet somehow the cat's food tastes better, and whining is a more poignant form of communication than, say, talking quietly.
Whine, whine. More later. I should clean the cooked bread batter off of the stove before it looks good enough to eat.
