Right behind me, there is a battle for a blue, six-legged plastic horse which Geoff and I call Fafnir although I think the thing is actually from a set of Avatar toys. There is rage and despair and it is very loud. I'm grateful that I have coffee and the internet, because it assists in ignoring. I have learned through vast, three-year experience that solving this sort of fight between the twins is impossible. It's a Gordian knot, like the story Nat was asking about a couple of days ago, which he knows about because of Phineas and Ferb.
I was pointing out how the ancient Chinese sculpture was similar to the stuff in The Last Airbender, because we are trying Historical Education Through Heavy Exposure to Cartoons. It sort of works if your kids watch things with lots and lots of historical references.
Still, that's probably bad.
We had our friend Stephen the architect over yesterday to talk over the plans for the house, and in consequence I dreamed of different types of windows and things all night, in between dreaming that my children were being destructive at a museum. Oh wait! That actually happened! Memory, not dream. I have to see if I can book a.... a.... meeting? thing? Design meeting with an Ikea person so I can cost out the kitchen and find out how many tens of thousands it will be. Those numbers make me feel faint. It's mildly funny to me that I will head up to Ikea in my completely thrift-store clothes and cheap glasses and sit around designing something this expensive.
This reminds me that I also have to contact the March of Dimes. Since we're making an accessible bedroom and bathroom for Dad, we can possibly get funding for part of it.
I hope Dad survives 1. the building process, and 2. living with us. He's in pretty good physical shape for someone who's going to be 84 in a couple of months, but he's also very frail and tiny and I know he has osteoporosis as well as the Parkinson's and probably effects of malnutrition during Mum's last year. So every time we talk to him, or Geoff goes and picks him up to come for dinner, there's a tense back-of-the-mind feeling until we find out that he's still alive and okay. It's the Oh-God-What-If-Dad-Tried-To-Repair-The-Roof-On-His-Own feeling.
His brother cut his own hand off while working on the roof. True story. He was alone, my aunt was out, and he was working on the roof with a circular saw. Cut his hand off by accident, and then climbed down, found the hand, stuck it in the freezer, and called 911.
The paramedics were very impressed.
I come from a very tough family, I guess.