The fifth time some kid posed his way into my class and greeted my lesson plan with the words, "but Miss! It's FRIDAY!" I snapped. The rant started with, "I know what day it is every day..." and concluded with, "I don't need your reminders of what frigging day of the week it happens to be."

He laughed. But he did work...of a sort.

Three more weeks!

Quiet week for the most part. The basement-that-will-soon-be-home (or Cave II) is starting to look like a place where one could take one's baby. The bedroom and kitchenette should be painted by the end of the weekend, and the kitchenette will have cupboards, a sink & a fridge by the end of the day. It's really amazing what can be done with a place when it's not filled floor-to-ceiling with the flotsam of middle age.

I think that this move has been a really good spiritual housekeeping for my parents, as it's forced them to clean out things that they haven't looked at in decades. And the best part is, once we leave my dad can have his basement teevee room! I have yet to discover why Italian men want to burrow to the lowest level of the house and watch teevee therein, but it's a powerful urge.

We're going over there today to "help out." I'm hoping this help involves lots of time for me to mark & also to watch last week's West Wing episode (which my mom taped on my behalf). (ed. note: there was no episode last week. Sob.) Being pregnant means never having to say, 'I'm sorry, I can't help you schlep that around.'

We've had a quiet week where FCN is concerned. She's finally backed off the punishing heat, so I can sleep under a comforter now (yay! snuggling!) Sometime in the last few days, she had a security system installed, and we can hear it go off periodically for no apparent reason. It's kind of fun guessing what might have set it off. If it's attuned to high levels of paranoia, it could be going off every ten minutes.

This week's pre-natal class was focussed on scary birth situations. It was all "what will happen if..." stuff. Unfortunately, the scariest thing was the completely normal birthing video, which made me seriously consider not having the Sprout after all. I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do with my great big Sprout-holding uterus; maybe some kind aliens will take it off my hands.

It was the noises she made. And the really stupid, obvious things the birth partner said to comfort her. But I suppose that there's never been an intelligent or witty thing said during a natural birth, Oscar Wilde having given up his chances to attend his own children's arrival. You'd think that someone so interested in flouting Victorian morality might've stayed for the mess & squish of his progeny's arrival...but then I guess he just wouldn't be Oscar.

We made a list of things the Boy is allowed to say during labour:

• You're doing great
• I love you very much
• Boy this labour's hard
• Pass me that thing
• Break's over, guys

Last note: we did the snack this week. Bringing food for people always brings out the domestic goddess in me, if by goddess you mean one of the Furies. (You will eat that pear slice or be faced with my bloody wrath!!!) The winged psycho in me was tickled pick to see that most of our stuff was eaten. Yay!

Yesterday we went to the Free Friday Film to see The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. Ugh. What an appalling piece of shit. I'll stick out movies till the bitter end, but this one joins A Clockwork Orange and Shakes the Clown in the tiny ranks of Movies I Have Walked Out Of. I realize that I'm now about to be bombarded by the scorn of my peers, to which I say: cram it. The movie was the ultimate statement in misanthropy. It was about maggots screwing in shit. It was about murderous apes wearing nice clothing & eating gourmet food. It was garbage.