Miles sat at my desk for a spell last evening, copying files from his ailing hard drive to my computer. I'm rather particular about my new chair. I gave him a thorough drilling before I even let his backside touch the pretty purple-ness of my chair. He didn't really pass muster, but he's bigger than I am; my threats don't really give him pause.

While securing caffeinated beverages earlier, he obtained a bag of jellybeans.

[YUCK! IF YOU'RE GOING TO EAT CANDY, MAKE IT CHOCOLATE FOR PETE'S SAKE!]

While sitting in my chair, he commented that he should open his treat.

I reacted violently, sending spittle into the air as I passionately snarled that he would not eat jellybeans while sitting in my pretty purple chair. He chuckled and grabbed the candy.

This new office gives him a false sense of authority. I'll let him play with that thought a few more days before I set the Earth back at the right tilt.

I stalked off angrily, seeking stray French fries from his discarded fast food dinner. I was routing through the empty bag, essence of Burger King assaulting my nose, flustered that I was unable to find even one stray scrap of taboo food, when I heard a sound.

It wasn't a natural sound. It might compare it to sleet against a windshield...or *grimace* jellybeans against a glass desk. Jason's vociferous display of mirth followed moments later. My head remained partway emerged in the food-less Burger King bag (how dare he finish his dinner!), having been suspended in the horror of realization. I yanked myself out of my trance to rush to the aid of my chair!

I entered my office to see Jason laughing so hard that he fought for breath. Miles was similarly plagued...but with the accompaniment of that ultimately male smile that says,

"Muahahahahahahahahaha! I made a mess! I feel manly!"

The floor surrounding my desk was decorated with a rainbow of lifesaver jellybeans. My desk held a small army of the candies, as did...*GASP* my chair!

Quite perturbed, as anyone with an unhealthy relationship with their pretty purple chair would be, I told him to crawl around on the floor until every jelly-filled ball was gathered, eaten, or otherwise eliminated from my space. He looked at me with those doe eyes, glistening with his contrived tears, as if to say,

"My mess? You want me to pick up MY MESS? But...it's mine! I made it! I feel manly with my mess! You big bully!"

Let me get this straight, oh husband, mine....

• I say, "No eating in my pretty purple chair."


• You attempt to eat in my pretty purple chair.


• You make A MESS in my pretty purple chair.

Now, while you were busy engineering your selfish display of displeasure, did you ever stop to think how the chair was feeling?

I guess it's like leaving your children with a babysitter the first time...

Miles and I felt the need to visit our computers at the office both Saturday and Sunday. They look so lonely every evening as we leave. This is hard, leaving our babies. How do you know an office to be a good computer care provider? How do you get rid of that fear that they will come to see the office as their owner instead of you? How do you live with the fact that the office will witness so many precious computer moments that you will miss?

I have decided that the collective answer is that you don't. *sigh* Our computers—my darling Michelangelo, Miles' dear Morgan—will always love us, they will always know our roles in their lives.

This is a transition. Transitions are hard...oft harder on the guardian than the ward. We shall survive this...

We are walking to get our mail after work, and Miles makes a smart remark about the clicking sound that my boot heels make against the pavement. I declare with indignation, "You're making fun of my boots! I love my boots!"

This amuses him. He tells me that I say "boots" all Southern-like. I deny it. Of course I deny it. It's not true. I am firm on this. He offers apologetically, "Well, maybe it's Minnesotan then." Yeah it's a toss-up. *snort*

So, thoroughly entertained, I suggest that perhaps it's Canadian. He nods, "Perhaps."

Unfortunately, I didn't get any accurate "before" shots. Here is a picture taken after the room was painted and such. See that pile of rubbish? That's a desk in hiding! A little water, some TLC, and Jason with a snide remark about Laura taking pictures, and it WILL grow!

Desk horticulture is an exact science. Look!—It even holds stuff! Ours came with a complimentary Miles; look for specially marked packages for your very own Miles!