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Oct. 3rd, 2011 09:58 pmLast night, I decided that it was high time for Hotspur to stop taking a bottle to bed (it's a tooth decay concern - I am more than willing to give her water), with the result that I didn't sleep all that well. Hotspur woke up cheery this morning, because she is two, and one of the many advantages of being two is that you bounce back really really well. Also, if you feel sleepy during the day, you get your blankie from your cubby, lie down, maybe say "night night" a couple times if people seem slow on the uptake, and the nice ladies who sing you songs and take you to the park just move you out of the path of traffic, and when you wake up, it's time for snack.
Two: Nice work if you can get it.
I did not have such a good day. I made stupid EA mistakes - I forgot to check my boss's flights, with the result that he spent an unnecessary hour and a half at the airport. Obviously, this is not a tragedy, but I feel dumb about it. If I had had this day ten years ago, I would have stomped off to LJ and explained to the world at large that if you want me to check your flights, you should bloody well ask me, and anyway, I'm not my boss's mother. These days, these things make me want to whack my head against a cubical wall a few times while reminding myself of the contents of my job description.
In celebration of the existence of my paycheck, last week I got myself a copy of Around My French Table, by Dorie Greenspan. There are recipes in there that are actually healthy, not in the "if modified to not kill you, it'll probably still taste good" sense that I'm used to, but in the "safe for cardiac patients without revision" sense. Not many of those, but still. Having tried one, I am now of the opinion that Dorie Greenspan employs *far* too light a hand with seasonings. Further experimentation is required.
Two: Nice work if you can get it.
I did not have such a good day. I made stupid EA mistakes - I forgot to check my boss's flights, with the result that he spent an unnecessary hour and a half at the airport. Obviously, this is not a tragedy, but I feel dumb about it. If I had had this day ten years ago, I would have stomped off to LJ and explained to the world at large that if you want me to check your flights, you should bloody well ask me, and anyway, I'm not my boss's mother. These days, these things make me want to whack my head against a cubical wall a few times while reminding myself of the contents of my job description.
In celebration of the existence of my paycheck, last week I got myself a copy of Around My French Table, by Dorie Greenspan. There are recipes in there that are actually healthy, not in the "if modified to not kill you, it'll probably still taste good" sense that I'm used to, but in the "safe for cardiac patients without revision" sense. Not many of those, but still. Having tried one, I am now of the opinion that Dorie Greenspan employs *far* too light a hand with seasonings. Further experimentation is required.
