Either he's growing exceptionally fast, or....

His father is a nidiot. And we all know it can’t be that, right?  Well, maybe on this occasion.  As the person generally responsible for laundry in our house, I took reception of his besmirched woolen sweater with a  degree of confidence. Into the machine on a “delicates” cycle it went, along with four other sweaters I had put aside for just this occasion. The four other sweaters came out perfectly: clean, fresh and smelling of all things healthy. Ottawacker Jr.’s sweater, however, not so much. It shrank significantly – and no matter of pulling and stretching and laying flat could help. I told him this morning. He took it with good grace – even if it was his current favourite sweater.
 
Anyway, other than that, things went well today. I’m starting to get into the swing of things now: a couple of nights’ good/decent sleep and I feel relatively normal. Give me a month and I might be functioning as a human being again. Up around 8, shower, breakfast, attack the daily chores, while the gentle voice of Mrs. Ottawacker held her meetings in the office/bedroom.
 
Spent a lot of time on the photos – not sure why, as I can’t afford to get them printed up just yet – and am making good headway in the 2015 one. Lunch with Mrs. Ottawacker – and we decided to invite Mitch over for his birthday tomorrow. (His birthday was a month ago, but he has been away and we have all been sick. But now, heads above the parapet time…)
 
In the evening, Ottawacker Jr. received a visit from his harem. Girls go around in groups over here – and three of them called round just post-dinner to see if he wanted to go out and “play”. And thus were we abandoned. He was back around 7.30, though, and we were able to have a Jami call with our friends out in Victoria to wish one of them, aka McGuffin of this parish, a happy birthday. He’s 43. I remember 43. Fondly.