I could not pry G out of the house today for love or money. Except for a brief expedition to McDonald's to get pancakes for breakfast (because there was not one single item of breakfast food to be had in the kitchen) and a slightly longer trip to the grocery store (because there was also no lunch, dinner or snack food, or indeed anything other than wilted celery, two heels of bread, and a quarter bag of old Doritos), we stayed home.
I hate staying home.
I don't mind it if I'm by myself, but on weekends, I need to get out. I love G madly, but after forty-eight hours of nonstop, uninterrupted, one-on-one togetherness, it starts to feel like we're in our own little production of Waiting for Godot: "Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful!" Going out saves my sanity, even if it also usually costs me money. Plus, I actually do better at giving G focused attention if we're not at home -- at home I'm always getting distracted, mainly by housework, but also by books and telephone calls and the computer. Tomorrow I swear we're going somewhere, even if it's just to the park.
I did discover something wonderful at the grocery store today: a new DVD rental machine. You choose from a selection of new releases, swipe your ATM card, and your DVD pops out of a slot on the front. I do have a Netflix account and use it, but it doesn't work for those spontaneous let's-get-a-movie moments, and I haven't set foot in a video store for ages. (Is it even called the video store anymore? G is always scolding me for referring to movies as "videos" -- "They're DVDs, Mom!") It's so nice when technology comes up with something that's exactly what I need.
In other news, G told me yesterday that she wants to start taking ballet again. She's been away from it for several months, and I didn't expect her ever to go back. In fact, I'm a little surprised that she wants to go back now, although I know why: it's because she wants to learn pointe. She mentioned not long ago that Miss Michelle had said she could get pointe shoes when she was 10, so it must have been percolating in her mind since then. If it were up to me, I'd want her to try a different type of dance -- she doesn't have the right body type for ballet, and it was always a struggle for her -- but I'm willing to let her take another shot at it. I guess I'll e-mail the studio on Monday and see if they still have a slot open in her former class.
In other other news, Catherine has claimed P's pillows as her personal sleeping spot. I'm in bed right now, and she's all curled up there with her paw over her little nose. P would shit a brick if he were here -- he was very particular about his pillows and would never stand for a cat sleeping on them. Heck, I wasn't even allowed to use them. He had the tags labeled with his initials so they wouldn't get mixed up with mine, and if I happened to fall asleep on one of them, he'd wake me up to switch. Catherine doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks. Her cat-logic goes like this: They're soft, they're near Mom and I want them, ergo they're mine. You can't argue with that, can you? No, I didn't think so.