Raw sex in River City!

Actually nothing that exciting. A friend of mine (if you’re reading this, troche Hi, medicine Crackhead!) had a high school teacher who would utter the above when it appeared the class was no longer paying attention.
I was I was with it enough to get knitting pictures and actually upload them so as to show off my knitting prowess and make this the pseudo knitting blog I intended. As it is, my main accomplishment for the evening has been to bathe both girls. Claire smells very sweet. So does Anna, but she’s tucked cozily away in bed where I can’t smell her. Claire, as usual, is sleeping on my lap with one eye half open.
Am getting back into the swing of working, although it’s frustrating having moved and not having all the equipment I’m accustomed to in its customary places. I’m in a new space for the first time in over six years, and am firmly out of my comfort zone.

Yesterday, I actually had the following discussion:
Don’t get your fishy wet.
If you get your fishy wet, it can’t go to church.
Get the fishy out of the sink!
Quit washing the fishy – it’s getting all wet!
Here – put some makeup on your fishy.
Yes, it’s a very pretty fishy.

(The fishy in question was a small stuffed toy that Peanut wanted to take to church with her. We were leaving in 10 minutes, and I didn’t feel like either battling over leaving the fish at home or dragging a sopping wet fish to church. The makeup was a closed tube of lipgloss that I knew Peanut couldn’t open.)

And if we needed more proof that we’ve got a proper Pittsburgh child, yesterday during lunch we were serenaded with, “Yeay Steelers, Here You Go! Jesus loves me! Yeay Steelers loves me!”

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