Writer's Block

I have almost too much to say. 

I am trying to poke a small hole in my memory so I can allow just a slow trickle of information,

but I do fear we are toying with an explosion here. 

I have not been able to blog, and the reasons are three: 

1) my husband came home from work for the first time since I started blogging;

2) my children had mysterious viruses,

3) we went to visit a dear friend, during which time we went to Sea World (shudder).

Now, which one of those do you want to dissect?  Cause…I’m leaning towards Sea World, 

hereafter known as Sea Inferno. 

Yes.  Let us pause for one moment, just in case you are reading this blog in your car as you are parking in the Sea Inferno lot:

Abort mission.  

Eat the $17 you just paid to park and run like the wind.  

Skedaddle -

Spurn Shamu.  

The Splash Zone is a lie.  

You don’t even get splashed.  

Evil Evil Whale.  Go.  Flee.  Live.

We will come back to that.

I could probably sum up the other two writer's blocks (Husband and Sick Kids) muy rapido.

Like, I could just say, “Guess what…no blogging when husband is home from work.”

And, no, not because husband is all, “Don’t blog, woman.”  

No…not like that.  Husband doesn't use WORDS.  

Husband uses UNDERWEAR.

He throws around underwear. 

Yep. 

I mean, NOPE…not like THAT. 

I meant - like this:

I meant husband doesn't put his underwear in the dirty clothes…

he literally just steps out of them when he is finished with them…and he must think, “Oh…where does this go,” and he sees a tissue dispenser near the sink, and he thinks, "There." 

And he also throws socks all around...sometimes even over a chair- any chair – and you are like, “Are these clean or dirty?” and he asks you to throw them at him, and you are happy to throw anything at him, 

and  you throw the socks, and he proceeds to SMELL them, so he can come to a decision about their status.  

And t-shirts are done similarly – we find them on floors and over chairs, and we are instructed to smell under the arms as an assessment.  

All this sniffing of socks, shirts, and…no, not underwear (I draw the line) is very time-consuming.  My house is a laundry obstacle course, with feats of nasal ability.

I am very busy when Husband is home.

In addition to sprinkling unmentionables about the house, Husband cooks great big elaborate meals that would be perfect for visiting dignitaries. 

He uses lots of pots, pans, patience, towels, and ingredients.  It is quite fantastic, but it can wipe out an entire day.  Seriously – it is a day-long thang. 

He rises from his bed and bellows, "Today, we will EAT."

Overachievers.

This day-of-eating has many parts:  there is the “anything your heart desires” development of the feast; followed by the shopping for the ingredients; leading to the preparing of the meal; resulting in the actual feasting, and ending with the pièce de résistance: the three-hour cleanup. 

All of this is carried out amid unutterable mêlée, and it is deemed “Family Time,”

Oops...not my family...

After which, Husband says little things such as, “Let’s drive to New Mexico,”

and he means…like…after you are done with the dishes.

Nope.  No blogging in the middle of THAT.

Now…reason numero dos for not blogging:  Sick Kids…Mysterious Viruses…

Well, I mean, does Sick Kids...Mysterious Viruses even need splainin? 

They stick their filthy fingers up their nose so they can extract boogers for snacks. 

There.  Explained.

So….

What are we left with...

The Place with the Whale.

We shall look now at the third cause of blogless days and nightmares at night:

Sea World…oops…I mean Sea Inferno.

Actually, I will discuss it tomorrow.  I thought I could do it today, but...

I am just not ready to reflect just yet.  Still licking wounds…I mean, burns.

I will say just this: 

Black Asphalt.

BLACK…people-cooking….

asphalt.