20151215.0755

Today is my brother's birthday, an occasion I have tended to mark (witness here, here, here, and here). I have yet to call him to wish him a happy birthday, but I think he is not yet awake; being the accomplished musician he is, his evenings and nights are often spent at gigs, and because he works later than I do, he sleeps later than I usually do (although I did sleep in again this morning, to my annoyance). At some more appropriate time today, I will call him; I did send a card, which I think might arrive in a timely fashion. If it does not...it will arrive soon. I sent it on time, at least.

Ms. 8 is sitting on my lap, watching me write. She is braced against one of my arms, which does not necessarily help my typing. Having her with me does much to make me feel better, however; there is a great comfort in being seen as a source of comfort, and I know no other way to read an enacted desire to climb into my lap and snuggle against my too-flabby chest and belly than as a confirmation that I am a source of comfort for my little girl. So I can put up with not typing as well as I otherwise might. The hindrance is a wholly acceptable price to pay for knowing that my little girl loves me.

The Mrs. is making ready to head to work, to put in a full day working at a pharmacy counter. I am not certain how to regard the job she has had almost since joining me at Sherwood Cottage. It does give her work to do and a means of contributing financially to the household, both of which she has noted to me are desirable for her. It also represents an oddity; she is a trained scholar, holding multiple advanced degrees--none of which are in pharmaceutical work. There is something...uncomfortable about her being...relegated to such a position, and even if the money her work brings in is decidedly welcome, the...discomfort rankles.

Meanwhile, I finished a freelance piece yesterday, cranking out 7,500 words around doing the other things that needed doing. I played with Ms. 8, taking her outside for a bit and engaging her with blocks during the day. (I also absorbed a ferocious headbutt from her, one that stunned her; I hope she will not be quick to repeat the experience.) I also did some other writing off and on throughout the day, not while Ms. 8 needed my direct attention but where I could keep an eye on her as she played her little toddler games. The combination made for quite a good day, one I would not mind having repeated often. I like being able to get a lot of things done, and presumably done well; I expect that the freelance piece will be accepted, and Ms. 8 seems to have enjoyed most of the day.