Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Maybe the easter bunny will bring someone a nice new pair of earplugs...

Aaannnnnnnnd we're back!

For those of you who may be checking in on the She laughs too easily & cries too hard Feline Space Program, i regret to inform you that our little catstronaut, when his mission was explained to him, seemed wholly uninterested, uncooperative and even did his wiggle of non-compliance. Even when I tried to bribe him with the promise that the moon was made of cheese, which was the delicious yellow stuff in his food, he was unmoved. So I guess it looks like another year will go by without cats on the moon. For shame.

You know what has absolutely nothing to do with cats on the moon but is proving to be causing just about as much trouble though?


You see back in December, when I was at Daddy and Dahling's house I insisted that since I had gone up there for both year end holidays if they wanted a family Easter they were coming down to me. This, at the time, seemed like a phenomenal idea because I wouldn't have to go anywhere and I could force another holiday on Indie Jake, having proven irrefutably (at least in my mind) that holidays are awesome when I insisted that we put up a Christmas tree. (By the way, the Christmas tree is standing, still fully decorated in our unused upstairs ex-office. Every time I go up to look for something its like a festive power up.)

The problem with my plan is turning out to be that Dahling is a bit of a holiday control freak and the division of labor is a nightmare. As a result she is essentially bringing the whole easter meal down from Jersey/Delaware. I managed to convince her I should get the non-cured meat here, but other than that I'm pretty sure the only thing I am in charge of is greens. It literally took us 4 conversations to decide who would make the easter bread…hint, its not me.

Indie Jake seems to take great fun in my frustration over my mother's inability to make a firm decision about task delegation. That may or may not have something to do with my own complete and utter wishy-washiness. "Yes," I say to him, "the girl who took 2 hours to decide where we were going for dinner last night is frustrated at someone else's indecision." He'd better get his chuckles in now though, because in my family holiday's aren't fun till the screaming starts.

…I doubt he'll be laughing when dodging projectile kielbasa.

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