That's the eye of tropical storm Earnesto, headed straight for my house. (For those of you overseas and/or not aquainted with American geography, Charleston - where I am - is the lowest city in the picture, at the bottom center of the screen.) In all seriousness, since it's just a tropical storm and my house is rented, this is earning more of an eye roll and a head shake than any acutal worry. Especially since this one seems to be dumping rain and isn't windy. (I once rode out a tropical storm in Virginia that was maybe 1 mph below hurricane status. I watched the windows bend for an hour and then spent the night sleeping in the bathroom - the only room without windows. I will not be riding out any windy storms, ever again. I will be evacuating. Don't you worry.)
In truly amazing news, more mind-boggling than any tropical storm, the husbeast has suddenly realized that the more slack other people pick up with the baby, etc, the more relaxed I get. (Gasp.) He got up this morning and completely unpacked - the ten tons of baby stuff, and everything. He even put the leftover jars of baby food we didn't use back in the cupboard, and put away the last of a load of baby laundry I did before we left and had left in the laundry basket. I have hugged him and thanked him several times. I intend to do it several more. (We're all about rewarding good behavior around here.)
He is now out in the teeth of the storm, getting a hair cut and stopping at the garage to pick up some parts he ordered last week. That's my husbeast. (In his family we call this 'being a dog in the woods' - madly running from tree to tree, sniffing frantically. Figuratively speaking.)
The baby is coming down from her week-long sugar rush and is down for a nap. At grandma and grandpa's she learned the lesson that if she screamed long enough, she'd get pulled from her crib (not their fault - I was the one doing it, in sympathy for the other people in the house. There's only so long people can handle baby screaming, and when you get up toward an hour, it's time to give up, at least in public). Now she's home and she doesn't know it yet, but she might as well consider the next week or two like reprogramming in a prison camp. Heh heh heh. Get out the sodium pentothol, Dr. Strangelove.
Now I'm going to go knit, while the electricity is still on. We've got a camp lantern, but it's not bright enough for lace. I figure if I do my two rounds of the day (maybe more?) on the doily, then if the power goes off I can knit like a zombie on the Blue Shimmer for the rest of the day. In the dark, if I have to.
I just love the coast in the summer time. (Please note heavy sarcasam.)