ellenmillion

Got the first wave of Sketch Fest payments off... and was promptly flooded with a half dozen more, which I will do after lunch. I finally finished the laundry I started on Sunday (Saturday? Guh.) and put another load in the wash. It's in the dryer now, and Guppy has devoured the leftover jumbalia (spell-check suggests umbilical. Erm. No. Try: jumbalaya.), a dozen crackers (gahgoos!), a cookie (cookie!) and a cup of water. Then we changed an 'Ew!' and she asked to nurse (now?) and she wasn't quite ready for a nap, but I made her try, and after a few minutes of crying, I suspect she's passed out on her face in a pile of blankets with her butt up in the air. Parents, how do you keep your toddler's feet warm when they sleep? Guppy's favorite sleeping position seems to be face-down in her blankets, arms tucked under her. Her core is toasty warm in the morning, as are her hands, but her feet are often a little chilly. She wears footy pajamas, of course, and has access to lots of blankets she could pull over herself - but she doesn't.

I've squeezed in writing this week, I've already crossed off 2 of the 5 stories I had outstanding for my goal! One is for RTH, out for approvals now, and one is a super short Jenny/Bjorn thing that is more like a excerpt or teaser than a story, but I'm not going to be too picky with myself. It was as much to get out of my writing funk as anything; I'll print it below, for fun.

And then I'm going to cross more things off my to-mail list, if I can. And if not, watch an episode of Dr. Who.

ETA: Or, the baby will wake up, and we will spend the next hour crying unless being cuddled on a shoulder. Definitely got up on the wrong side of the crib!

The Spell

"Don't do it," Jenny said.

Bjorn shook blonde hair back from his eyes - he needed a haircut! - and let his expression ask, 'what?'

Jenny shrugged out of her parka, already getting too warm for the early spring weather, and tried to wriggle her feet out of her wet boots. She pointed at the little brazier that was filled with something green and brown, and the scattered magic tools. "I don't... trust it." She could taste the magic in her mouth, and smell the singed, caramel-sweet trace of it in the room already.

Bjorn's face managed to look contrite and tragic and helpless and stubborn at once. "I don't know what else to try," he said mournfully. "I feel the bear in me, straining to get out already. Jenny, I don't want to spend another summer that way. I can't bear it." He didn't hear the pun until it left his lips, but it didn't leave so much as a ripple of humor on his face. "I can make this work," he said. "I have to make this work."

Jenny stepped into a puddle of melting snow as she escaped her boots, and ignored the clammy-cold feeling as it seeped through a sock. "Don't do it," she repeated desperately, but her mouth sealed itself against telling Bjorn about the birch lady and the warning that she'd shared; the stink of magic only intensified as she struggled against the spell.