This post's title is after the second paragraph. Don't worry, you'll get there in a few seconds.

Okay--I may have gone a little overboard on the snark and venom yesterday. (My apologies to whatever poor overworked peon had to read it and, ultimately, attempt to placate me. But seriously, if you could memo the engineers and ask them to look for alternative employment--I and the rest of the sewing populace would be grateful.) So here's the deal: for one day only--I don't think I can sustain it any longer than that--I will be all sweetness and light. I will be full of gratitude and cheer, and whatever the other stuff is that the Relief Society teachers always say we should have. (It's been a while since I sat in on one of those lessons. Allyson, can you remind me what the third thing is? Thanks!) I will be positivity personified.



In that spirit, I bring you today's post:



Stuff about which I can say nice things



Doctors--specifically the one who saw my son at 8 a.m. today, and who didn't chide me for being an over-anxious hover-mom. Even when the "worryingly high temperature" my child was running turned out to be 98.9. And who doesn't mind that I named this same child after him, sort of.

Penicillin. Wonder Drug, Soother of Achy Ear-Drums, Bright-Pink Panacea in a Bottle. I nominate its discoverer (Dr. Alexander Fleming--I checked it on Google) for my personal Hall of Adoration. Also-ran-sort-of-thing I can say something nice about: the fact that my children, unlike me, are not allergic to it.

A Washing machine that is on its last, second-hand legs, but which at least moistens my clothing 90% of the time. And the other 10% of the time it makes nice thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk,etc. noises, so it at least sounds like something in the house is working. (Because, you know, I go around this house working, silently, all day. Go ahead, point out the obvious inaccuracies in that statement. I can't--I promised to be sweetness and light.)

Window-washing fluid--the cheap, homemade stuff. (1 tbsp rubbing alcohol and 2 cups water--10 cents or so per bottle. You can even write Windex on the bottle with magic marker if it'll make you feel more affluent.) Because no amount of explanation is going to convince the--how can I say this sweetly and lightly?--endearingly dedicated pooch that the cat next dog is not on the menu.

Windows, which keep the cat next door off the menu.

Floors that are impervious to puddles of dog drool produced by a large pooch dreaming of recipes with cat-next-door as a key ingredient.

Air-conditioning,

Because I live in the beautiful Desert Southwest. And it's going to be 116 by Saturday.



The fact that I only made my sweetness-and-light promise for today, because by Saturday I'll have a doozy of a rant coming on.

Clotheslines, with which to take advantage of the infinite blessings of living in the beautiful Desert Southwest in the summer, where it'll be 116 by Saturday.

Thermometers, to tell us just exactly how hot it is; because "hot enough to melt the tan off your be-hind" isn't specific enough for the 6 o'clock news. (But don't I wish it were.)

Beds, specifically ones that are made semi-regularly, because in a home infested/inhabited by children they are rare and precious things. Extremely rare and precious.



(Oooh, perilously close to sarcasm there. I'd better step away from that edge, because it's a long way down, if you know what I mean. And I suspect that you do.)



Blog platforms which auto-save, so when I totally inadvertently hit a wrong key while attempting to shift a paragraph and instead delete THE ENTIRE THING mid-way through another semi-coherent post it's there after I pull my quivering, blubbering self off the floor and seek a sensible, non-sledge-hammer-related solution.

English teachers who taught me that the above is a run-on sentence and should never be allowed in well-thought-out writing.

English teachers who followed up their admonishment with the statement, "But it's going to happen sometimes--just don't be excessive about it."

The fact that I know I can ignore the second part of that statement now and no one can do a darned thing about it.