Cousin Arnold!

Okay, I don't have a real Cousin Arnold. My Sims do.

Since the objective of my game is essentially to achieve stuff, and Laura likes to stretch the limits of her game (How many neighbors can I trap in my kitchen? Will my grandmother pinch the cheeks of her step-son's half-sister's child's best friend? What if I spend all my money putting playground equipment on the roof?) we have to test the negative stuff (mid-life crisis, pranks, skipping school, copying homework, not doing homework, becoming enemies with everyone in town, traps that will potentially kill my Sim, ugly houses) and we accomplish this with Cousin Arnold.

Cousin Arnold wears an orange-and-grey-blotched undershirt with a simoleon necklace-bling and pants with drooping suspenders. He goes barefoot, befriends everyone, and sports a mullet and a mohawk. Cousin Arnold is Evil, Insane, Friendly, Mean-Spirited, and (sometimes) a Kelptomaniac. He lives in the gym when he has no friends. He doesn't often get the chance to take showers. . . .

Cousin Arnold also tests stuff that Laura and I think are vulgar, like retro-car rooms and ugly clothes. He's flunked everything there is to flunk and would probably be Best Friends with a similar character, Grandma Moush.

It's nice to know that the Cousin Arnolds of the world are safely contained in my computer.

Daisy is 3!

Yes, yes, thank you, I'm very proud. *clinks sparkling healthy organic fruit beverage* It's been a long journey. . . .And I must admit *coughs, embarrassed* that there were some times----some times that we just didn't know what we were doing.Some of the time we asked ourselves why we let Daisy ransack our lives.Was it because of her beautiful personality?Her charisma?

Her prestige?

Her ability to squeeze herself into small spaces?Maybe, making some of our past queries null and void, it was her extreme cleanliness.Then, we realized. . . .
She was really really cute and fluffy. We love you, Daisy

June 11,2011--and thanks to Laura for taking a creepy/adorable amount of pictures of Daisy.

I struggle with menial activities.....

Last night, it being half-past our accustomed dinner hour, my little sister and I decided to make our customary Sunday night dinner: grilled cheese sandwiches, popcorn, and smoothie.

The popcorn was easy enough (even though I wasn't expecting the loud noise from the popping machine and jumped backwards, therefore banging my back painfully into the oven door handle) and the butter-melting was not alarming at all. (Not like melting marshmallows.) The smoothie was very, very good.

But the grilled cheese...........

I can make fried chicken. I can make loads and loads of desserts. I can make French toast with stale biscuits at six in the morning, but I cannot make grilled cheese sandwiches.

First I toasted the bread without cheese and burned it. Then I covered the surface of the bread with thin cheese slices. Then the cheese burned. Then I put more cheese on top of the burned pieces. Then the bread broke in half. Then the bread burned more. Then you couldn't see the cheese.

Then I was sick of the sandwich and sent it to its doom via slapping it on a plate and thrusting it into my siblings' faces.

They ate them.

Barbie Says it All

My great-aunt was a first-grade-teacher. When she passed a away, we inherited a lot of her crafts because we were at the right ages.

This past week, we were organizing our 'party bin' into a 'party closet hanging thing', and we found an 80's Barbie Valentine, which says "You're fun to know!!!" (three exclamation marks not included but implied.) If anything from the 80s should be kept, it is the distinctly impersonal valentines. Even though what you really need is a valentine that says "Yay, free class, enjoy the candy." or "If you eat too much Fun Dip stay to that side of the room, away from me." or "I broke your lollipop. Whatever."

I distinctly remember a year when my little sister and I, having used up all the lollipops with non-attached feeling, gave all the "Hug me" and "Kiss me" lollipops to my four-year-old little brother. (This is why we stick with Dove chocolate now.) No wonder so many of his friends are girls.All that aside, though, who could resist extreme jazz hands, sparkly pants, and creepy braids?

Poisson d'Avril

It is the first of April. Not being a family for pranks and jokes (although my sister has been trying to convince me that I have a bug in my hair since eight) but feeling that we should do something, my siblings and I decided to do something French: drawing fish and taping them to people's backs. People being my aunt, with whom we are going to have frozen yogurt with at two.Oh no! I have mercury in me!

Help! I ate a plastic bag!

My name is Bob. Even if I tell you otherwise.

A Battle in Buy Mode

Before I turned on the computer......

Me: Hey, Peter and Laura, do you want to be on a blog post about your Sims?
Laura: Sure!
Peter: Okay, but you have to spell ten dinosaur names. This is a spelling test. Starting now. Spell 'Tyrannosaurus Rex.'
Me: *exasperated* Do YOU know how to spell that?
Peter: SPELL IT!!!
Me: T-y-r-a-n-n.......

---

Laura: You're obviously going to make this funnier than it is.
Me: *types*
Laura: Emma!
Me: *typing*
Laura: And you're probably going to make up lines.
Me: *sigh* No. Okay. So. Um, Peter.... tell me about the Pop Stove family.
Peter: First of all, their middle name is not "Pop" all the time.
Me: So their permanent last name is "Stove"?
Peter: Yes. Second of all, the mom and the dad are aliens.
Me: But their son is not.
Peter: He is not because, well, he landed on a car out of the spaceship.
Me: But he's Caucasian.
Peter: What does Caucasian mean?
Me: Fair-skinned. Wait...how does landing on a car mean that he doesn't have green skin?
Peter: Well, if an alien falls out of a spaceship and they don't really want to, they become a person. They keep their alien traits, though.
Me: And his parents let this happen?
Peter: No! They never knew they had a son!
Me: Oh-kay..... So they adopted a son when they bought their house. Do they like children? Even though theirs is human?
Peter: Yes, because he has a lot of fishing skill, and they like fish. And, they really like that they can finally have somebody that's a Couch Potato in their family.
Me: And that's a good thing?
Peter: Yo, like totally!
Me: Okay. Let's talk about where their son got adopted to in a few minutes. I want to ask Laura about her families. Which is your favorite?
Laura: The artist one I just made with the lady and the guy I made to be her husband.
Me: Yes.... and they are nocturnal?
Laura: Yes. The guy is a Ghosthunter, so he has to get up at all times of night, and the mom is an artist (that's her job) and she works at home. So she can sleep whenever she wants, and stay up as late as she wants. They're going to have kids soon.
Me: Twins? Triplets?
Laura: Singlets!
Me: Oh. What about your other families?
Laura: Oh, well, which one? Do you want to talk about the celebrity one?
Me: There's a celebrity one?
Laura: Yes. She's a five-star celebrity and lives in a cool house--
Me: The one with a dance floor, pool, hot tub, and lots of windows?
Laura: That's the one. She loves to paint and she loves music and she has a butler.
Me: *gasps* Bertram Plunkett?
Laura: No. But, maybe, actually. Um, she is not married (yet) and if there were pets on Sims 3 she would have pets.
Me: Any other families?
Laura: Uh, yes. Well, there's a family with a mom and a dad and the dad is a Police and the mom is an Investigator. Their kids include a child boy and a toddler girl. I think the boy's name is Walter.
Me: And they live in a very small apartment.
Laura: No, I moved them.
Me: Really?
Laura: Yes. Now their apartment is the whole floor.
Me: Ooh.
Laura: Their whole family is good at Logic.
Me: Cool. So, Peter, tell us about the family your guy was adopted into.
Peter: Huh?
Me: The 'naughty boys' household.
Peter: Oh, yeah! Well, the Naughty Boys were pretty naughty!
Laura: Tell them about the nice mom.
Peter: Later. And the baby was a fighter in crime.
Me: Didn't he sleep outside?
Peter: For just one night!
Me: I think that's illegal.
Peter: Let me tell you about a different family.
Me: *sighs* You may talk about the Ninjas later.
Peter: *sigh* Not the Ninjas!
Me: So, what?
Peter: The family that, you know, created the Smasher!
Laura: You mean the Chinese family? Then I get to talk about it too, because I made a character. I made the girl.
Me: Please. Let's move on either to elaboration on the Naughty Boys or your architecture techniques.
Peter: Well, the Naughty Boys *sigh* I don't really know where they live.
Me: *sigh* Let's move on to architecture. I know that both of you like excessive lighting!
Laura: I like lighting!
Peter: Well, I make graveyards a lot! I accidentally made one when I tried to make an outdoor sleeping place.
Laura: He had the graveyard statue.
Peter: Hey! I put Stonehenge in too! I think. But now I'm sure I made beds, too.
Laura: Yes, you did.
Peter: I also put in an outdoor grill.
Me: Do you like basements?
Laura and Peter: Yes!
Me: Do you ever make nine-story-tall houses?
Laura: Five and three, yes.
Peter: No. I can do only three stories.
Me: Do you 'Edit Town'?
Peter: I delete the school. And the Criminal career. I turned it into a nice park, aka accidentally a graveyard.
Me: I thought you did that to the school, too.
Peter: No.
Me: On the Ninjas.
Peter: No, both of them were parks.
Laura: *leaves*
Me: Go get her!
Peter: No. I'm leaving, too.
Me: *dejected*

I don't know these people. . . .

Let's cut to the chase. I've been saying my sibling's names wrong.

At eight o'clock, which is pretty late, I came downstairs and lay on the couch. Peter was already downstairs and he jumped on me. "PETER," I yelled, "GET OFF." Except that, instead of saying "Peter" I said "Peder".

Me: Peder.
My mother: No, Peter.
Peter: Yes. Peter.
Me: PEE-ter.
Peter: PeterPeterPeterPeterPeter!!!
Me: Pete-er.
My mother: Good.
Peter: Goodgoodgoodgood!!!
Me: Pete-er. Pete-er.
Peter: Or you could call me Pete.
Me: I refuse.
Me: (time has elapsed, during which I practice saying Pete-er.) What about Laura? (Except that I pronounced it Lorra.)
My mother: Emma! You can't pronounce Laura's name!
Me: I can so too pronounce it! Lorra!
My mother: No, it's Lahruh.
Peter: Lahruh!
Me: (long painful time has passed, with un-typeabale pronunciations) I'm going to go ask Lahruh.
My mother and Peter: Good!
Me: *runs upstairs* Say your name!
Laura: Lorra. . . .
Me: Uh-oh. . . . Say Peter.
Laura: Peder. . . .
Me: Why don't you come downstairs. . . .
Laura: Uh. . .okay.
Laura: (after briefing) I'VE BEEN SAYING MY NAME WRONG!?!?!?!?! And Peter's?
My mother: I think you learned it from Emma.
Me: But what about Peter?
My mother: You were at school, not teaching him.
Me: Bah.

People. This will take practice. (And we have to correct all of our friends, whom we taught to say their names wrong.)

Kitchen Crime. . . .

Allo Bloggees! Emma here, apologetic and lazy. I've broken out the ol' camera to bring to you live footage of the newest addition to a file we call "Daisy and Perry Victims." Please note the lovely light and authentically distressed wood (yup, I contributed). Let's take a closer look, shall we?
Isn't it gory? We presume that Daisy did the damage, as Perry was in a cage and the corpse was found in Laura's room. Of course, Daisy mustn't get all the limelight: I present to you Perry's food. Blandness, anyone? (This picture actually turned out really well. I flatter myself as much to say that it looks magazine-esque.)

Solstice and Perry

Every winter Solstice, my family gathers in the living room by the lit fireplace and eats cookies, receives an ornament, and writes poetry about the year gone by. It's nice, rather quaint tradition, and according to my mother it originated when I was little, because right before Christmas is when toddlers start to go a little bonkers. Solstice is a nice quiet holiday to calm down. My little brother wrote short three-lined poems with the last lines as questions, my little sister did an acrostic and writing couplets, my mother wrote an eerie winter poem, I wrote poems about the Amnesty Inc. pen that I kept breaking and our tree angel, and my dad wrote a narrative poem about how he gave $20 dollars to a needy man with the requirement that he spend it on his infant son, and then later saw him buying diapers. We each received an ornament and enjoyed s'mores.

Then, Wednesday morning, I called the cats for breakfast and Perry didn't come. I finally found him in his hut by the window, but he showed no interest in eating. He vomited several times and meowed whenever anyone tried to pick him up, so my parents took him to the vet. The vets thought he had swallowed thread or floss, so my dad drove him to a specialty vet an hour or so away. Then we went through our usual business, watching the telly, trying to write this blog post (it's been three days), and cleaning. (My room currently leaves much to be desired.) So they went into surgery, opened up his stomach, and lo and behold. . . PERRY HAS A HOLE IN HIS INTESTINAL WALL! It was something he was born with, but that did nothing to prevent my mother from removing all the tinsel and obsessively picking up fragments. All in good reason, of course. Perry is recuperating and is expected home today--we hope. If not, we go visit him with chicken baby food.

Happy Holidays!

The Great Telly et al

As you all may have heard, I have a new television. I find this very exciting (free cable for a month!). I have not watched television at my home in three whole years.

Us watching television on the first day:
Me, Laura, and Peter: *watch television*
Laura: Ah! This is different!!!
Me: (calmly) No, Laura, it's not.
Laura: But it's all weird!
Me: Laura, when was the last time you saw this show?
Laura: Uhhh....
Me: Precisely.
Laura: Hmph.
Me: Just watch it, Laura.
Laura: *watches silently*
Laura: Ha! Aha! Look! It's different!
Me: Psh! No it's . . . *looks closely* not...no! I mean, yes! It is different! Aw, it's all 3-Dy.
Laura: *nods smugly*

The story of how this came to be is rather funny. Laura and I were banished to the dining room to play Sims. Laura likes to make dysfunctional families. She started off with a mother, a father, and a baby named Virgina. Then they had another baby, a boy, named Maine for the state--but she forgot the e, so his name is Main. Bored with the game, Laura divorced the parents but then made them remain friends. The mother then married a ready-made character: Christopher. The mother's name is Christina. No confusion there, of course. The dad, a misspelled Ghram, continued to sleep in the master bedroom with his ex-wife and her new husband, who soon had a baby girl named "Saraphina". Laura then put the toddler Main and the infant Sophronia in the same room as the teenage Virgina so that she could wake up every hour or two to change diapers/feed/snuggle/play with them. Laura also wanted Virginia to have a boyfriend, but the highest person with whom she was very close was her old babysitter, the kleptomanic non-aging gold digger Davie. However, right after Ghram's marriage to Jamie (now all the adults sleep in the same room), a vain snobby doctor who required us to add another bathroom for her, I made Virginia break up with Davie. Directly afterward Laura aged up Saraphina and Main, so that they were now, respectably, toddler and child. Unfortunately, since one of Christopher's dreams had been to "ask the newspaper boy to hang out", he came to our party, too, which was at 9am, and stayed, playing with our dollhouse, until 12am. Such as it is.

Anyway, Laura and I were disposed of while Peter played on the computer. Which is. . . ? Right by the television. So, while my parents loudly removed our old television, received the new one, unpacked it, and hooked up the new one, Peter played games. He even once looked at my mom as asked her what she was doing. "Working on the television." "Oh." He then commenced to resume playing on the computer and did not look up again until Laura and I were dancing around gleefully. His only comment was, "Where's our old television?" Such is the magic of technology.

Off to buy gifts! (I haven't bought any yet. :-o)

Laura's Room and Its Sign

By orders, Laura has been (gradually) cleaning her room. Innocently, I came into her room, just to find an odd sign on her billboard.

Me: What is that?
Laura: I don't know, I found it in my room.
Me: *reads it* *laughs* Can I put it on my blog?
Laura: No.
Me: Please?
Laura: Fine. *goes over to billboard and commences to read it out loud*
Me: May I please look at it?
Laura: NO.
Me: Please?
Laura: Fine.


THE SIGN:

Laura

children (check mark)
mice (check mark)
oxen (check mark)
wolves (check mark)
geese (check mark)
mysteries (check mark)

A grocery list for disaster? I think so.

Teletubbies' Salvation

What show have we been watching in our spare time? Hmm, I have no ide-TELETUBBIES, due to Peter's recent reminiscences. When Laura was little, Teletubbies was literally her salvation. Laura was small and pliable, and the overlord sun-infant was always there to help her. Not that she was obsessed--thank goodness no--but an hour or so of Teletubbies always helps, yes? Unfortunately, we can only find A Teletubbie Christmas I & II and "Blue Sky" where they explore colors. ('And that's important, it's like their race,' says my mother. MOTHER, says me.)

Of course, I am the one searching for our Disney Princess computer games. Cinderella castle design and find-the-object-that-links-to-clothes-princess-game are TOTALLY FUN.

I have become weirdly fascinated with my blister. It irks me, but I don't want to do anything to it. Ugh.

Ta-ta and teletubbies! (BEST GAMES EVER!!!)

3!

Ah, the number three. I recall a PE class in which, after surviving torture, you had to write something that fit into a subject--the subject being "multiples of 3". I was very pleased. While the other team stubbornly put "3, 9, 12, 15, 18, etc.", I put "0.03, 0.003, 0.0003, etc." It was almost as fun as the logical hula-hoop game.

Or 3 as in: "3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993. . . ", that is to say, pi. March 14, 2015, 9:26:53!

3 as in the amount of murders in my most recent novel--the passengers being, respectively, a jewel thief, an alcoholic, an illegal weapons smuggler, and the murderers and murderees.

3 as in "The Sims 3", which I got the newest addition of and appalled the dude at the counter by knowing which day the next add-on comes out. (October 26!)

3 as in the number of muffins Perry has stalked, perhaps because he finds them "easy prey". He will pick one up in his teeth and carry it to the living room to devour and play with.

3 as in the amount of tall onions that Daisy has munched the leaves/stems/whatevers of. She has SO much better breath than Perry.

3 as in the amount of Trident Fruit Stripe Gum pieces that I have given to my siblings. It is 6 months old. (Ssh!)

Most importantly, though, it is the number of months I have posted on my blog! Yay! *throws confetti into air*

Je t'aime, l'été.

Because, in summer you rarely get a cold. A fever, mayhap. A cold, no.

Guess what I have? Yes. And I got it from Rebecca. Mrpphles, says me. When you have a cold, there are only three things you can do: read, edit your blog, and do crosswords. And sleep. That's four. However, it is a well-known fact that one cannot sleep when one's little sister's Sleeping Beauty alarm clock sings for forty-five minutes, starting at 6:30. I suppose the logic is that if you don't wake up after practically an hour of squeakiness, there's no hope and the mice might as well go back to doing whatever mice do. Laura's really too old for it, but it's the only thing that can wake her up. Of course, when an hour passes and you go ask your mom to make you hot chocolate, she will ask you why you didn't turn it off. Why? Because you forgot your little sister was at a sleepover and expected her to turn it off.

So, after having a mug of warm hot chocolate, I shall retire to listen to the mice interlude, read the amusing comments, and ask said mice to make my bed so I can lie in it and do crosswords.

Calendaro Ordero

I mapped out everything I want to do so that it will happen. Much easier than manipulating. And it works 99.9% of the time! So, today, for example, we are going to a store in the mall that carries parasols. Very exciting, yes?

The other good thing about my calendar is that I can color-code it. Usually I keep everything in my head. This has lead me to a theory of why I spout out random facts: all the other things that I remember shove them out. I don't mind it, though; I still remember everything. Take that, brain.

In other notes, yesterday my siblings and I had a great deal of fun doing electric stuff. We made a fan, doorbell, etc.

Sorry for all the shortness of late, but I've not been in my best moods.

Hodgepodge and MURDER MYSTERIES *shriek*

I do not remember what I did Saturday. This saddens me.

*mulls*

I went to the library and have since been reading. . . MURDER MYSTERIES!!! Just a tip: it's usually the guy or his wife. Or the guy pretending to be his wife. That was a weird story.

I also found shampoo with trivia on it! So happy! My family has just accepted it as "another of those weird things Emma does." Sigh. Oh well, still happy. :D

Am also wishing that I had an extra $48 lying around. Make that $70. . .no, $93. . . I might need a lot more. Must. . . close. . . tab. . . .

As I am feeling rather hyper and have thus zoomed through my hodgepodge subjects, I shall get a quote from Peter.

"Velociraptor means "swift thief."

There, y'all learned something. And now for Laura's quote:

"Paper towel."

Have fun with your new knowledge.

Bribes

As an older sister with a brother five years younger than me and a sister two years older than him (do the math, y'all, you know how old I am, 72, of course) I have found bribes to be essential in everyday life, especially since one is very, very, popular and the other has her ears pierced. My only claims to in-charge-ness/big sister rights are a) I'm taller than them and b) I'm older than them. Here are three few such scenarios:

Me: *plays on computer*
Peter: *whines* EMMA!! GET OFF!
Me: Make your cute face!
Peter: *makes cute face*
Me: Aww, he's so adorable!!!
Peter: *continues making cute face*
Me: You are the cutest wittle Petew in da whole wide world! How about I find a game for yooou and I'll play it for you in case it's hard!
Peter: *smiles and makes cute face*
Me: *celebrates internally*
(Note: Unfortunately, the game Peter chose is this: http://www.youdagames.com/Zoo-Escape-game-info-4497 Click "Play Online" and turn on the sound.

Me: *steals chocolate-chip cookie from top shelf of pantry*
Laura: *catches me* EMMA, what are you doing?
Me: *thinks fast, puts finger to lips, hands her a cookie*
Laura: *munches away happily*

Me: PETER!!!
Peter: No.
Me: I'll give you a gummy worm!
Peter: An orange one?
Me: Sure. . . .
Peter: Yippee!!!


Et cetera. Do with this what you will.

Cream Puffs, the evil time suckers of doom that taste yummalicious

See above for what I did yesterday. For six hours.

My mother has decreed that no one can go on the computer on weekends, to set a good example for my little brother, who is embarrassingly on the computer quite often. I hang my head in shame, etc.

My mom made Playdough Saturday, which we have adored to pieces. :) It is a nice distracting activity from TCOD.

We're going berry picking today, yay.

This is a rather roundabout post, with no real point. But I have lots of posts with points coming up, including rules from Laura's Master of Piercing's complimentary slip. Which reminds me: I may have forgotten stuff in that post, such as she can wear hoops immediately, get in the water, and got a lollipop after she got her ears pierced.

It's "Change the way you see yourself, not the way you look" week, and I wanted to tell y'all. http://operationbeautiful.com/

We got Perry a soft fluffy wand-toy which is now covered with cat spit. We also got SimCity Society, which we are very excited about. It's not the new Sims games, but still.

I am so glad I already went school shopping.

I'll be pointier tomorrow. From now on, Mondays will be Hodgepodge Day. And my favorite day.

I should really press "Publish Post."

Reaching. . .

Oh yeah, FOLLOW!!!

REACHING. . . .

Laura's UPDATED ears (yup, she did it)

Yesterday at four o'clock, Laura departed with *GASP* the intention of getting her ears pierced. (Yup, at the tattoo parlor, see here) and she did. She actually went through with it.

On his business card, Laura's piercer had "Super Wicked Awesome Master Piercer," which just shows that we did indeed get the right person to pierce her ears. It reminds me much of my cousins--the dealer from whom they bought the car had "The Master" on his business card, and thus provided a name for their car.

Instead of getting studs, she got a hoop. Not a big hoop, but it goes just-under her ear and back up again. As my mom keeps reminding her, she would have gotten the same mini-hoop if she had gotten her eyebrow or belly button pierced. She also got it pierced in a different way than my mom had. I'm not sure if this is widely used nowadays or what, so please voice in if you know. The guy used a hollow needle, so a tiny hole of her ear is in the compost as we speak.

Last night, we accomplished the difficult task of soaking her ear in salt water--five minutes per ear. The ordeal was awkward for her--seeing as leaning sideways isn't very comfortable--but great for Peter and me, who got to watch more television online. Television is evidently very good at distracting you from the eerie fact that salt water is dripping down your neck. We also got cream-cheese brownie pieces, which I fed to her.

She attests that getting her ears pierced hurt quite sharp for a second, and the first hurt less than the second. My little brother compares it to being clawed by a crawfish. And she can wear hoops immediately after getting the mini-hoops off at the end of September. And they make her look more grown-up, which is weird for me, because I am losing more of my big-sister rights.

So far, no infection or pain. . . I have the lovely joy of being asked to "smell her ears" because they have watermelon-scented antibacterial-soap.

As for a Perry update, last night he and Daisy stole a bag of compost left on the counter and took them upstairs to munch on--because it had bread in it. Sigh. And they ate it by my room, so that just proves what a lovely person I am. I bet all you lucky people can't say that, so. . . yeah. I'm awesome.

Earning Mah Keep (Being Good For A Better Cause): Morning Version

So, as you know, my sister and I (and my mom, which does help) love love LOVE the Sims 3. We have all the expansions. But there's a new one coming out this autumn (eep) and so Laura and are being SUPER GOOD. Thus, our activities include:

--Making our beds (Both): I think we're supposed to do this all the time. However, to kill dust mites, I leave it messy while I eat breakfast. Then I make it. But sometimes I forget. . . . :-/ Laura hasn't forgotten since she found a big black spider in her bed. }:)
--Limiting our computer usage (me): Oh well, my mom awards computer time if we're good. . . the blog helps.
--Folding the laundry (me): And shooing mah kittums away from the hair-free laundry.
--Putting away the laundry (me) Ditto.
--Putting away clean dishes (me): While I wait for my mom to make me breakfast (fried eggs and bacon, yummay) I get bored of staring at dinosaurs.
--Putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher (me): I get bored waiting for my mom to make me breakfast. . . still. . . people are SUPPOSED to eat breakfast at SEVEN, not EIGHT FORTY-FIVE.
--Making breakfast for everyone(me): I think we all know who's earning this.
--Setting the table (me): I should be getting this game early, yes?

It's 9:51 am. . . off to be good again. . . .