I'm in somewhat of a dark mood these days. Maybe because it's rained every single day since we returned to England and the temperature feels more like November than August. Brrr. I'm over it already. May also be that I'm in the homestretch of The Hunger Games trilogy. Two books down and one to go. I find myself itching to learn archery, but I'm sure to pull a tightly wound shoulder muscle with the first tug of the bow.
Summer has turned into a longer break than intended for me, mainly because we've been on holiday and now that we're home, I'm still in the constant presence of my prison guards, er, my children, until school starts next week. One of them has decided that the cat that bit her thumb in America has hidden in our suitcase and is waiting for the right moment to pounce again. When she's alone and her resistance is low. My son helpfully pointed out that the suitcase theory is ludicrous, then continued to describe a scenario where the evil cat with a chip on its shoulder swam the breadth of the Atlantic Ocean, dragged its damp Calico body from the water, and found its way, a determined glint in its green eye, to our quiet, unsuspecting cul-de-sac. No more Scooby Doo for that kid. The younger one refuses to be alone in any room in our house and now requires a guardian (who can only be named Mommy) by her bedside in the evening. This too shall pass...I hope. Darn cat. I intend to be back in the swing of things soon.
For now, I am trapped in the arena called my home, cursing the Capitol for sending its cat muttation our way and constantly checking my dwindling supplies (i.e., things to keep my kids occupied). Where, oh where, is my mockingjay??
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