12:30 on a Tuesday afternoon: my almost-three-year-old daughter roams the house tossing empty plastic Easter eggs in her wake, and for some reason she is not wearing any pants.
We've started watching Battlestar Galactica. I watched the original series as a kid, and adored it in all its cheesy glory. Since we are HUGE Firefly fans (Piper came thisclose to being named Inara), BSG pushes all the right buttons for us. It's so, so good. I think I can say that you might like it even if you're "not a sci-fi kind of person." It's not really about that; the focus is on the huge upheaval of a civilization re-making itself as a species fights for survival. Of course, there are some kick-ass space battles in there too.
We got a new neighbor across the street. The truck mysteriously appeared in the driveway Sunday morning, and I spent the next several days running to the windows at the front of the house whenever I heard a noise outside. I got a little obsessed, if you want to know the truth. I was anxious to see who was going to move in; the former occupants were nice, if occasionally a bit crazy. I was sad to see them go, but I understood their reasons. They just couldn't take the neighborhood any more. We were fervently hoping somebody more like us would take their place, instead of another troop like we have next door, where the kids pretty much run wild (and LOUD) at all hours, there's a revolving parade of shady-looking dudes passing through, rap music blares at all hours, and the mother never seems to be around. We crossed our fingers and we watched. My husband managed only one glimpse of somebody going into the house, in two days of avid watching, and I didn't see anybody. Cars and moving trucks would appear and disappear like magic, with no apparent people piloting them. Last night I was getting ready to take our trash to the curb when my husband came into the kitchen and said, "Hey, she's out there, if you hurry and grab the trash you can meet her." I threw on some flip-flops, grabbed our two-wheeled trash container and our recycling bin, and dashed for the front yard. My haste was rewarded, and I talked to our new neighbor for a couple of minutes. She's about our age, I think, and said she works in the school system, which is a promising start. I'm hoping that we can be friends, because I would really like a neighbor-friend. I'm sick of all the closed doors and half-hearted waves in our neighborhood.
On a lighter note, I will leave you with this photo of our cat Ellie, who has some sort of allergy issue and has to wear the Cone of Shame so she will stop pulling her hair out:
She is not pleased.