The evil regime survives another meal.

Scene: my mother's glamorous gourmet birthday dinner of take-and-bake pizza and chocolate cake.

Cast: Both parental units (Mom is mormor1, but I just can't make myself type it that way mostly), self, timprov, missista

Mom, to Dad: She fed me nothing all day long, on my birthday, and that's why I'm starving.
Me: I fed her crusts of stale bread.*
Mom: She locks timprov in his room so he can't help me.
Me: This is true. I'm terrified of what would happen if they colluded. It might mean the end of my evil regime.
timprov: Which is why we don't do it.
Me: It's a good evil regime. It got all you people pizza and chocolate cake.
Mom: I just want you to confess in livejournal that you were the one who glurped paint on the ceiling again in the music room.
Me: Duly noted.
Mom: Good. Then I will go cover your shame.

Which she did. It is well covered. Hardly anybody will know there was a glurp there at all, or in the library either. Well -- hardly anybody except my entire social circle, now that it's on lj.

We have the last coat in the music room to do tomorrow, and miscellaneous household things. "Miscellaneous household things" includes "shelving all the books." Also buying some of the new bookshelves and assembling them. Also washing some of the windows, steam-cleaning the carpeting, and laundering the kitchen curtains. Not all tomorrow. But -- there is stuff, is what I'm saying.

I am deeply pleased with the blueness of all three rooms.

*This is perfectly true. We each had sandwich leftovers from last night, and we ate them for lunch.

(no subject)

Forgot to mention: word count on the novel is not suffering in any way this week, because each afternoon my mom has been shooing me into the office to write while she continues painting.

Were I into the "lolcats" thing, I would make an icon that said, "Is my mom. U can't has her." Lucky for us all I'm not, eh?