Afraid of a disaster Miss Clavel ran fast and faster.
Well, Miss Clavel is a little late around here. We just had somebody quit, our eleventh separation in just over a year (over a third of all employees).
While we're talking about disasters, I came in today to find that my supervisor had e-mailed around the link to my UDK article yesterday, and then there was a follow-up e-mail from the president of the company. Why won't these people allow me to have something in my life they don't ruin with their involvement?
And since we're on the subject of disasters, any day now I'll have news of a bunk bed disaster at my house, since my freaking children don't understand how to sleep in a bed without trying to make it fall down on you. Last night I was reading books to them in their room for over and hour, and I had to stop at least ten times to tell them to either stop playing on the ladder, stop leaning over the edge, stop throwing things down from the top, or stop standing up on the top bunk. And, after the tenth time, Crazy Jane stood on the ladder's top rung and used both hands to brush her hair away from her face.
Two nights ago I had to go in their and tell them to stop misbehaving when they were supposed to be asleep and Crazy Jane told me that the way I say "stop" hurts her feelings. So yesterday I called her from work to apologize for hurting her feelings and she blew me off. A girl in the making, that one is.
When Persephone is not home and I put them to bed, they allow me to close their door and they fall asleep, but when she is home Articulate Joe insists that their door remain open and Persephone bring him toys and books. So we started telling them that Persephone goes to the store after we all say our prayers. Then she goes and reads in our bedroom and I put the kids to bed and they let me close the door. I should probably feel bad for lying to my children, but isn't it really their fault for believing the unbelievable crap I tell them?