You've got to hand it to the Bloc people. Hard workers. I received my 6th phonecall of the campaign from them last night at 8:35, just to make sure I'd voted. I don't think any other candidate in this riding even bothered to campaign. (Maybe we can get Bruce Cockburn to run next time.) Duceppe by a landslide. Sigh.
On the up side, I'm pleased as punch to note Ed Broadbent will be on hand to help restore the concept of right and honorable to Parliament.
My legs have been really itchy these last few days. Mosquitoes, I thought. Sand ticks, J-F says. From the playground. Whatever it is, I know now that these bumps don't remotely resemble mosquito bites, and I'm afraid I've contracted some rare and horrible disease that's begun to cause stomach upset and disturbed sleep (which logically I know to be an effect of stress). It's probably sand ticks.
The itch comes and goes in waves, and when it comes it's almost unbearable. (But it's not nearly as bad shingles.) Yesterday I was wearing pantyhose, mostly cuz it looked nicer (and it was important to look nice) than my bare splotchy red, insect-bitten legs, and I really didn't want to, cuz pantyhose are generally uncomfortable and I thought it would make the itching worse. But they were silky smooth and their hug so soothing, I'm almost tempted to don some today, even though we're going to the park and the post office, to which in cool conditions such as today I would ordinarily wear jeans.
I had a job interview yesterday. Hence the pantyhose. I haven't interviewed, nor worn pantyhose, for a very long time. I think I may in fact be ready for steady employment. Probably.
Helena will benefit by spending time with people her own age while guided by trained professionals, who have some idea how to capture a toddler's attention and encourage her development, all while not going stircrazy.
(As part of the job process, I wrote a test, on which I did not score perfect. Aurgh. For this I feel as if I deserve to be dipped in a vat of acid. (Maybe that would help the itching.) It's going to take me a while to recover from that stark dose of reality. Imagine — me, not perfect!)
J-F stayed with Helena for the afternoon. He looked utterly exhausted when I returned home. I'm grateful for moments like these, when he appreciates the patience and resourcefulness required to tame the hurricane that is our daughter. Every day.
While I was away, the scamp (Helena) got into my Harry Potter Lego, safely stored on a shelf that was until yesterday beyond her reach. Choking hazards everywhere.
Triangle. Helena says "triangle." And "camera." (OK, she actually says "tingle" and "camma" but we know what she means.)
Helena has just learned that even more effective than whining or repeating "Mama" to get my attention, she can simply walk up to me and grab my hand, pulling me in the direction she needs me to go. It's hard to ignore something like that for "just a second while I finish brushing my teeth/washing this glass/sending this email." Mildly annoying. Infinitely endearing.