Did you know that gruntled is a word? I spend plenty of time being disgruntled, so I'm familiar with that term...but prefixes aren't always removable the way we think they should be. Reverberate, for example. Does sound ever just verberate, or is it always doing it again? Gruntled, though, is exactly what it seems. It's an intransitive verb, meaning, "to grunt; to grunt repeatedly,"...but it's also an adjective meaning "in good humor" or "pleased." One could push it a bit farther if one wanted to assume that gruntling results in becoming gruntled, but I'll keep it at least PG-rated. Wordplay, indeed. (Thanks to Merriam-Webster for the dictionary fun.)
I need a dog whisperer...if only just to whisper to him that he's a huge pain in my ass. He's cute, and sweet, bless his heart, but if he eats one more inedible thing while we're all at work and school, it's into the crate with him. Today's casualty? A basket full of "nature" that Andrew has been collecting since he could talk...all spilled into the living room floor. I still haven't found the handle to the basket. Guess I should stop looking.
I have a weekend dilemma ahead of me, and the desire to be in two places at once. JMU's football season opener is this weekend, and we have tickets, but we're also supposed to be at the lake. It's tradition to be at the lake for Labor Day weekend, and there's a whole goody bag of reasons we should go...the 4th annual golf cart parade among them. Obligation, the last bit of summer, and a day off on Monday are all reasons to go as well. But I just don't know. It's an emotional decision, not a logical one, and I struggle with those.
I intended for this to be longer, but there's a somewhat puny kid lying in my lap watching Pirates of the Carribean and insisting he needs to hold my arm and snuggle. Duty calls.