What do you get when. . .

Your husband can't sleep, and instead flops around like a beached whale, snores like a foghorn, and wakes the baby up at six o'clock on a holiday?

Answer: shafted.

I figured I was awake anyway, due to sleeping next to the beached foghorn, so I might as well get up with her. Besides, I'll need the sleep-in time much more tomorrow, after the Friday-night game, and letting Piet sleep in today means I should be able to bargain for right of first sleep-in tomorrow.

She's quietly dozing on my lap. Why couldn't she have quietly dozed in her crib?

Good Friday

( Non-Christians feel free to skip )

Ow. . .

Next time I mention making fondue, someone remind me to beg, borrow or steal a better cheese grater first? Mine is designed for topping spaghetti, not for grating one kilogram of gruyère. My hands hurt.