You know how the last hour of the workday just drags on sometimes? That's what's happening here right now. I have a massage in an hour (hallelujah), but it makes no sense to leave here, go home and piddle around for a while before I go to my massage. And people who really know me might say, "hey, this is your BIG chance to go to Target WITHOUT Reed," but I would have to point out that our weather map is a mish-mash of green, yellow, and red.

With earlier reports of hail greater than five inches in diameter. That's what, softball sized?

Tonight is my night with Reed. Alex has a work outing - going to the German restaurant. He invited me, and I was happy to decline the invitation. I appreciate being included, but German food just isn't enough to make me give up a cozy rainy night at home. If we were talking about the sports bar next door (they have the best pizza in town), I'd be all over that, and I'd even take Reed. To the bar. Which, in my defense, is more of a restaurant than a bar, but it gets a bad rap. We sit in the restaurant side, but Reed discovered that the foosball game is in the bar, so that's where he wants to hang now. We keep bringing him back to the table, but he keeps leaving again. Nobody seems to care, so I just kind of go with the flow.

So the poor kid got hit in the side of his head with a frisbee yesterday. It was huge swollen when I picked him up - I couldn't believe that a frisbee could do that kind of damage, but there were several witnesses to the whole thing. I also learned yesterday that he knows how to milk injuries for all he can. He was laughing and giggling when I pulled into daycare, but when Sarah (one of the helpers) told me what happened, he started crying all over again. I asked him over and over what I could do to make him feel better, and all he would say is "I don't know." I honestly thought (hoped?) he'd ask for ice cream, but he didn't (nor did I suggest it, against my better judgement). He hasn't figured out that ice cream works miracles.