Things tick along as usual, trending on the better side of the norm. Jane and I do both have lingering though I think finally waning colds (she: ever-replenishing fountain of snot; me: the nightly descent of The Cough, which starts out tickly and gentle and ramps up to a croupy honking bark until it eventually gives up again) but our spirits are unbroken. Behold:
I have also finally discovered and embraced the value of Benedryl as a sleep aid. Have you heard the GOOD NEWS about Benedryl? Of course you have, obviously. Everyone has, but I bet you are not enjoying its slowly descending drowsy embrace right this minute as I am. It works like a charm and it is great and I love it forever and ever, hallelujah.
Additionally I have at last begun whittling away at my non-Jane work on a daily rather than an utterly inadequate and procrastination-filled twice-weekly schedule. This puts a spring in my step and does a lot for my ability to sleep through the night instead of waking suddenly at three in the morning with the cold hand of HORRIBLE DREAD around my heart. Steve too appreciates these advances in my sleep régime, because apparently it is not so delightful when your peaceful slumbers are rent by your beloved's thrashing limbs and pathetic mutterings of "oh dear, oh dear, I can't, I can't, oh dear."
So we are all pretty cheerful at the moment, despite the snot.
Tonight I made these ricotta gnocchi for dinner, with tomato sauce. It was a little logistically complicated to make them for the first time (I think I will be able to do it more efficiently next time--there was a lot of doing this step over here and then realizing I wanted to do the next part over there) but not the slightest bit difficult otherwise, and they were excellent.
Jane called them "dumplings" and ate them very neatly with her fork, until she had had enough, and then she fed the last two on her plate to me. Sadly she is not always so obliging in her table manners. In particular she loves to peel apart the layers of the tortilla on her breakfast quesadilla and drop the shattery outer flakes with great deliberation on the floor.
On the other hand, she also loves to hug and kiss the trees. Have I mentioned this? We will go out for a walk and as we approach a tree she will dash ahead and fling her arms around the trunk, then plant a nice fat smackaroo on the bark. "Hug," she says with satisfaction and a last little reassuring pat for the tree. On balance, I think we'll keep her.