You know the sitcom/movie cliche of baby monitors picking up conversations from other homes? It's real. I awoke to the sounds of a conversation in the bedroom with me, and that sort of thing always wakes me up. It wasn't the alarm clock -- that plays a John Williams orchestration CD. Our two-channel receiver unit locked into some other machine starting around 7:oo this morning. I called in Your Sister, who was diapering the deputy (my new album title), and we decided the state trooper next door had his walkie on. We couldn't tell if his family heard any sounds from our nursery, and it's unlikely our bedroom receiver was broadcasting. It's not engineered to, but, still, we will now shut that off when we repair to the boudoir. The baby
s across the hall. We should hear him without it.
I bought a drain repair kit during my lunch break, but I didn't use it at home. I instead took the broken plug rod from Your Sister's sink and cobbled together a fix using an X-Acto knife and the plastic ball seal from the first repair try. After 15 minutes of whittling, the ball seal allowed the old rod to control the plug, and the sink is now fixed. I'll keep the new repair kit in case my work falls apart.
Your Nephew spent the day with Your Parents and did not go to bed quietly. He seemed to have a fit of colic -- more likely indigestion -- and eventually crashed into sleep for ten hours. He has his four-month check-up today. It's been that much time since you and I hovered over Your Sister as she spat out a deductible. That weekend is both a haze and perfectly preserved in my head. Also? World Cup.
We're replacing the living room carpet within the next few weeks. We've had enough of a dirty carpet peppered with carpet-cleaning blobs.
Picture of the Day
A choice image rerun.