My wife makes and sells bead jewelry as a side job. She weaves tiny seed beads and string into intricate necklaces or bracelets that are quite stunning, in my highly biased opinion. I’d show you her website but, uh, we kind of let the domain registration slip. Long story.
Anyway, she is heading off to her first craft show of the year, hammering down I-85 toward Atlanta as I type this. Which leaves me alone here in the Landfill of Love…well, alone except for Nublet.
That’s right. I, Mister 41-year-old pizza-guzzling slob, have to take care of my two-year-old daughter by myself.
For five days.
I’ll be chronicling it here because, well, somebody’s going to have to have the information, right? Just think of this part of the blog as your cockpit voice recorder right after the copilot says, “Hey, did you hear that noise?”