That’s what the meteorologists are calling today’s weather. Is that a science word or are they all trying to be the Brontë sisters? Good lord!

But, you know, they’re right. The sun rose at 7:25, I think. Somewhere. It’s dark and miserable out there. It’s also dark and miserable in my brain.

My legs think I’m kidding. Lily does, too.

And Gizzie threw up, poor baby. He will do that periodically. We haven’t figured out why. It usually means we need to give him some anti-nausea medication, but other than that, he appears to be okay. They (the vets) say he just has a sensitive stomach.

My middle child was like that. Sensitive stomach, projectile vomiting, and CRANKY!! She and Gizzie share the same birthday. Diana was always Daddy’s Girl. Gizzie is Daddy’s Little Pal. I think it isn’t exactly a coincidence. When Diana was a baby, she banged her bottle on the side of the crib to get our attention. Gizzie bangs his dishes on the floor. Methinks my little boy is her spirit animal.

It’s Hogmanay Eve. Watch me.

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