Quiet mornings

It's Sunday morning here at the Butler home. Still quiet.

Oops, spoke to soon, I hear Boybat stirring in his room. I wish I could wake up like that kid, full of energy in the morning. From 0 to 100 mph.

I got the errands done yesterday. Fortunately, there weren't that many, because I hate errands, unless it involves pedicures–does that make it an errand if I enjoy it? Crap, forgot to pick up the dry cleaning. It'll wait, the longer it stays at the dry cleaner, the longer it stays clean, since I seem to bring ALL the dry cleaning in at once. Joe makes a pile of them in the laundry room, so about every three months I  say something like "have you seen my damned green sweater set?" The reply is always "its downstairs in the dry cleaning pile" and I inevitably tell him "It's not doing me any good down there, is it?" It's a ritual now, we've been doing the same cycle for almost 12 years. If it stopped, that means something has gone terribly, horribly wrong. Armageddon wrong.

Yesterday afternoon I decided to take the floss for this new project off the bobbins (that's them in the picture) and get it on floss project cards (not nearly pretty as the bobbins, so no picture). That way, I don't have to find out what color number goes with the pattern symbol. With the color key on a separate piece paper–which is never where I thought I left it–and all the color changes I'm doing in this pattern, it was taking more time to find the next color to use than it was to actually stitch the color.

Gotta go, Boybat just opened his door.