I've spent the last hour poring through past entries in pursuit of a few specific ones that don't turn up readily on searches. And I started to realize just how mad it is for me to make them so coded. I mean, even I struggle to understand their "real" message, and I'm the one that wrote them. Indeed, were it not for the dates attached to them -- I'm a real stickler for chronological specificity -- I'd frequently be in the dark. My favorite discovery so far is this entry from last year, which is like an allegory abstracted to the fifth power. Thank goodness for the irony imparted by the time stamp, which cuts through the layers like the taste of lemon in a bowl of snow.
Skylar had her birthday party today. Eight extremely well-behaved girls and a few adults who were kind enough to help out made it our best children's fête ever. And the cake was delicious too:I ate a bit too much of it, I'm afraid, but am hoping that I have cushioned the inevitable blood sugar crash with enough peanut butter-slathered celery sticks to prevent me from passing out or having a tantrum. I'm hoping.