Not for the squeamish

We haven’t spotted any meal moths lately. John declared that we had them licked, but not wanting to bring down the retribution of the moth-gods on our heads, I pointed out that he shouldn’t count his larvae until they’ve hatched. But in reverse, I guess.

I realized on Tuesday that my last period started 40 days prior. (BTW, I started my period on Wednesday.) To head off hyperventilation, I got out my handy-dandy calendar and started doing some counting. Apparently the month before my cycle was about 37 or 38 days (February being short and all). So even though I am still having two weeks of light bleeding, the time in between is getting longer. I know that the IUD I have is supposed to make me lose less blood, but I thought my period would be shorter and lighter. No one said anything about having a 6-week-long cycle. Now, a 6-MONTH-long cycle--that I could live with.

I had this whole long post written up about three near-misses with lice this year, but who wants to read about lice. Suffice it to say, Hannah actually did get treated and all her clothes, bedding, and toys boiled, but we don’t think she really had lice, just dandruff and/or allergies. Of course, all that happened when I was trying to devote large chunks of uninterrupted time to writing my paper, so it just added to my sense of being doomed, paper-wise.

The poinsettia is dead. It fell victim to the zeal of an amateur gardener. But now that frees up its pot for some other victims...I mean, plants.