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It’s a bit disconcerting, not to mention annoying, to enter your room at the end of the day to find your trashbins knocked over and a grey tabby at the head of your bed.

Note to self: Start latching the door firmly every time we leave the room, eh?

The highlight of today’s post-holiday experience involved being blinded, briefly, several times. Yes, we went and had family pictures taken: the kids and I, Rob and Bryant, and of course Wendi with all of her kids.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t such an amazing knack for having my eyes closed when the shutter clicks. Five tries, it took us. I can’t really complain, though, ‘cause the kids all had more pictures to get taken than I did. The really amusing bit, though, was Bryant’s solo shoot. Here’s this six-month-old baby who’s already been alternately cajoled and blinded for several minutes, and now he’s not even being held and people want him to look up into the camera and smile? So unfair, when all he wants to do is explore the prop sled he was plunked down upon. Mind you, it didn’t help that all six other people in the studio were trying to get his attention and a smile; no wonder he didn’t know what to do in all of that racket. Luckily, he’s the most cheerful baby I’ve ever seen.

So, at some point in the not-too-distant future I’ll have a print of me and my kids looking only somewhat dorky. I’m pitching in for one other print as well, since I’m quite certain that Sis will want a copy…

There are two good things about this particular holiday. The other one is the opportunity to consume large quantities of delicious foodstuffs, such as turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, and pumpkin pie. Mmmm, pie. And rolls. And turkey. And stuffing. And… well, you get the idea.

The first one, of course, is spending an evening with one’s closest family, for whom I am intensely thankful. I’m also thankful for my life, my health, my job, and the handful of truly wonderful people I’ve managed to surround myself with.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

I scheduled myself a three-day weekend, figuring I’d catch up on sleep among other things.

Friday morning I slept in a bit, and I assure you I reveled in the luxury. The rest of the day was busy yet fun, including meals at the Hot Cake House and NoHo’s.

Saturday morning I woke up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, at 8am. You know how it goes, sometimes, when you wake up and you know that you are absolutely up-and-at-‘em, not to sleep again until siesta time at the earliest? Yeah, that’s how Saturday felt. I cleaned house, then met up with Wendi & the kids for the previously-journaled dinner and movie fun.

Yesterday morning I woke up, bolt upright in bed no chance of going back to sleep time to get cracking… at 7am. I repeat: I woke up, fully, at seven o’clock in the morning, on a Sunday for which I had no concrete plans until evening. This could count as an injustice, but it gets worse.

Last night I went to bed at a fairly decent hour, knowing that my first day back at work after a three-day weekend is always “entertaining.” I tossed and turned for an hour. I got up again and watched an episode of anime to see if that would help. I went back to bed. At about 1:30am some jerkface down the street decided to honk his horn for two solid minutes. After that, I stopped looking at the clock. I was in full-on, stare-at-the-ceiling insomnia mode.

So today, I was an hour late to work, and I’m running on maybe two whole hours of sleep. Mondays suck enough without throwing sleep deprivation into the mix, dammit…