Pinkeye. Ew.

I am working from home today because I have a stack of giant final papers to grade, and I can't go to the office. Because I have pinkeye. Really bad pinkeye. Like, had to work for 10 minutes with lots of warm water to open my eyes this morning pinkeye. Really gross pinkeye. All of us have it, actually, but I have it the worst (but only because Harry snot eyes is on the mend. And Jack actually doesn't have it. Yet). I hope I am better tomorrow because I have to give a final at 7:45 am, rheumy eyes or not. Just when I think I couldn't get more glamorous-- BAM! I reach a new level of sophisticated style. I mean what is more chic than magenta eyes that match the waistband of my saggy-ass yoga pants? (A rhetorical question because, really, NOTHING, except maybe the way my matching hot pink bra shows through this clearance-table Old Navy t-shirt I'm also wearing. Ben. A lucky, lucky man).

Speaking of sartorial perfection, we did not get dressed last Sunday, when a blizzard and arctic temps kept us indoors all day. Fighting over train tracks and baking stuff and then dunking that stuff in milk.


Clearly, it was an exhausting day

Harry started writing his name on the condensation on our window panes, which is totally a childhood ritual, and I didn't even nag at him about making fingerprints because I have always loved to write my name on windows and might still do it occasionally. backwards. Because I am awesome.

We braved the cold to go outside and sled on the icy snow. We also uncovered our poor snowman's frozen face and chiseled off and righted our toppled Santa. Then we had another childhood ritual-- cocoa with marshmallows.

Well, Harry did. Jack crossed his fat hands and waited for us to bring him one or more of the foods he is currently eating exclusively: pumpkin pancakes, mango, oranges, oyster crackers, and strawberry yogurt.

I didn't scratch my eyes the whole time I wrote that.