It's that time again...

     Last night I went to bed rather late. I was tired. (I'm re-writing a pattern. Why? Because I liked the pattern, but it's an adult size, and I need it to fit a kid. And to add insult to injury, it calls for fingering weight yarn, and I want to use worsted. So, really, I'm writing a pattern. Just nod your head and pass me that wine bottle and nobody will get hurt.)

   So it was late. I was frustrated, I had just found out that I cannot count to ten, a fact I've lived my entire life not realizing (but yarn does not lie. Oh No. It does not.).

I found myself in the kitchen. (This is nothing new. I'm like a  homing pigeon.)
I couldn't remember why I went to the kitchen, so I browsed around a bit. Out of sheer habit, I started to make a cup of coffee. It was 3am. I had no intention of pulling an all-nighter, so I didn't need coffee.

While putting away all the coffee paraphernalia, I spilled sugar on the counter.

Now brace yourselves, because this is highly unusual for me:
     I left it there.

I did. I walked away. I was so tired I was stumbling, and I hadn't reached that place in the pattern that I wanted to (failure...), and I couldn't think or see...so I just went to bed.

This morning, I came downstairs to find the kids hunting for something. The pillows on the couch were overturned, a laundry basket had been rifled (grrrr), and they were both attacking the bookcases with gusto.

Fearing multi-legged critters that would facilitate the hasty hiring of a U-Haul, I screamed, "WHAT!!! WHAT IS IT??!!!! SHOULD WE CALL SOMEONE????!!!!!!!!"

Thing Two looked at me like I have six heads and said, all calm-like,
 "Henry's back. We're trying to find where he hid."



Oh, Game ON, my little ones.