8

When you're 8 and you know it, clap your hands.

Son#1 is 8.

It's far closer to 10 than 7 was, and it feels odd to have a kid that's 8 years old.

I know I said this last year as well, but still.

This will probably feel odd for the rest of my life.

His Lordship got another pair of Playmobil Aliens/Spacemen, and a wallet.  

When you're 8, you need a wallet.

The husband is hanging curtains in the guest apartment as I write.

I'm cleaning the rest of our house, before moving on to the guest quarters (falala).

 Luckily the Friend-From-Slovenia is only coming at 14h00.

Another 4 hours to whip the house into shape.

Meanwhile, my dad was running a fever last night.

He seemed a bit confused last night, asking where I was.

I think it's his potassium-levels that are too low.

We'll know today, hopefully.

We worry.

We continue to worry.

But.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shenanigans.

xxx

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