I spent most of Saturday working to cross an item of my Mighty List (more on that here), so Rockford* took charge of planning the menu and going to the grocery this week. He generally makes a very rough plan, and this week was no exception. Here’s his plan:
We’re having friends over for a birthday dinner on Wednesday, and the birthday girl requested something along the lines of a stroganoff or goulash. That will probably replace the fajitas.
*Best husband ever.
Have I ever told you about my sister-in-law’s bowling skillz? Well let me tell you: She has ’em. She bowled for Michigan State’s bowling team. I believe she’s bowled very, very close to a 300. Her dad has ten 300s and is 
in their local bowling hall of fame. Her family gave my brother a bowling ball and bowling shoes for Christmas one of the first years he and Carrie were together.
So it’s not terribly surprising that my brother and sister-in-law are in a bowling league. What is surprising is that they don’t already have a totally awesome name for their team. A quick Googling tells us that the world of bowling team names is rife with puns. Which means, of course, that I was thrilled when my brother asked me to help him come up with a new team name and a T-shirt design for his bowling team.
Sadly, he didn’t know what I was talking about when I suggested “The Nice Marmots,” and there are already a few great T-shirts with the “Little Lebowski Urban Achievers” theme. But here’s what I came up with:
A. The Bowlers.
Simple, elegant and would require the wearing of a hat to every match.B. Catan: Anchors and Crankers.
These kids loved “Settlers of Catan.” The game has a bunch of “Catan: This and That” variations, so I looked up some bowling terms and added them. So that’s what that’s all about.C. Strike-o-saurus! This one makes me laugh. It’s currently my desktop.
My brother can’t decide which one he likes best, so I’m bringing it to you, Internet. Please find the poll over in the sidebar and vote!
Our futon had a run-in with a vomiting toddler* last night, so this morning I had to put the freshly laundered cover back on it. This isn’t the easiest thing to do solo, but it isn’t insurmountable. I’d finished wrestling it about, and I was about 2 inches away from having it fully zipped. And the zipper pull? Rather than stopping at the end of the zipper mechanism? It shot straight off. And I couldn’t figure out how to put it back on, so I guess we’ll just have to leave the cover on forever.
This means that, toddlers? The futon is now a no-puking zone. Thank you.
Also this morning: I told Poppy she’d need to wear long sleeves, because it’s kind of chilly this morning.
“I’m through with this!” she said.
“Through with what?” I asked.
“Through with you telling me what to wear.”
Apparently she turned 14 last night.
*Not Pete! It was the little girl who stays with us during the day. She stayed home for two days, trying to avoid the sick, but apparently it didn’t work.
