Laura Stone (stoney321) wrote,
Laura Stone

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In which there are stiff upper lips and quiet wailing

New York. This weekend there will be a convergence as predicted in the stars: chaos, orgies, and Broadway. Off-Broadway, but prophecies leave a little wiggle room, right? And I can go! Technically. The three-year old has had nightmares for two weeks now about being left in dark rooms, about mommy and daddy dying, of people going away, and started wetting the bed, too afraid to get up in the dark for fear. And for the past month, either my husband or I have gone away on the weekends. Steady readers know Mr. Stoney travels every week, which hurts little Em's heart, to boot.


No NY for me. Have to be a good mommy and not a super fun fangirl. Such is life.

On a happier note, it is sunshiney, low wind, and am waiting for Emily to wake up so we can go on a big walk (hopefully) take a picture of the herons at the lake, then yard work, which pleases me.

And I realized I failed to mention that I was shat upon by a parrot yesterday. Three times. (Saw friend, has parrot - she didn't get the memo that older, single women should have CATS, not birds - "Calypso" apparently loved me so much that she could just "really relax" with me. And granted, the bird was beautiful - rainbow colors, head rubbing on my neck which tickled - then a curious warmth on my back. She replied, "oopsie!" wiped me, then left me alone. With the bird. Who shat on me. Two more times. And I don't know what to do. And I'm holding my fingers out and saying, "step up! Step up!" to get her off my shoulder and OMFG quit SHITTING on me, but she won't move, she just rubs her beak on my ear, rubs her feathered head on my neck and SHITS AGAIN. "Come on, Emily! Time to go home!" So no errands for me yesterday because I had to take a Karen Silkwood shower.)

Maybe the bird was getting back at me for putting her on the Barbie horse and making her "take a ride" for the amusement of my daughter. But laws, it was funny.
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