The ironing board used to be in the basement, but it moved upstairs when we had company come in July. It stayed up there because The Boy irons every day and sometimes, if I don’t have meetings, I am just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It made sense to leave it where he gets ready in the morning.
The other day, I had to iron. I was upstairs and properly supervised the entire time. When I was done, I told Obi it was time to get to work. He ran down to the main floor to claim his chair before I got there. I turned toward the stairs and rammed right into one of the big wooden support poles in the reading nook. I hit my left arm. Hard. I stumbled toward the stairs and then stopped to bend over, holding my numb/throbbing arm and cussing.
Obi came back upstairs. I can’t be left unsupervised for even a minute.
Yesterday, Oliver and I got into a fight at lunch time. He thought he should be allowed to sit on my keyboard and swipe at food as it went toward my mouth. I disagreed. We’d made up by dinner time but he made a show of not coveting the chicken noodle soup that we’d crock potted all day long.
He was by my TV tray, marking the legs of it with chin rubs. Obi was upset. It’s HIS TV tray. Whenever Oliver leaves a room, Obi walks around re-claiming things. The walls, the coffee table, The Boy…
Anyway, Oliver was sitting on the floor, looking at me, when Obi walked by and accidentally stepped on the grey kitten’s tail. Oliver cried. I was chiding him for being so dramatic because it probably didn’t hurt at all when Obi looked over his shoulder, stepped back, and stomped on Oliver’s tail.
I called Obi a brat.
I picked up my poor put down upon grey kitten and kissed him on the ears.
I gave them both chicken.