I have been trying hard not to pass my ridiculous irrational snake phobia on to Emma. Sunday morning I saw one next to the house and just shrieked a teeny tiny bit. So much so that I think she hardly noticed, which was good. Feeling proud of my braveness, I patted myself on the back for doing such a good job of showing Emma that snakes are nothing to be afraid of. Later in the afternoon, I ventured into the shed to get some flower pots. I was nervous because I had seen a snake in there before, so I stupidly banged on the side before I went in to scare away any slithery intruders. Emma followed me in and messed around with the gardening tools while I looked through the pots. I picked up a stack of them and flipped them over to pull them apart. A freaking snake fell out and landed ON MY FEET! I screamed enough to make myself hoarse and, in my haste to exit the shed, I knocked over all the rakes and shovels. Still screaming, I stumbled over them and they all crashed to the ground. By this point Emma was crying frantically so I grabbed her and carried her out of the shed by her arm. The rest of the day she refused to stand on the ground by herself, whimpering about a big scary snake. So much for her not being afraid of snakes. She did play outside much of the day Monday, and the incident seems to be forgotten, thankfully. I, however, will never again venture into the shed.

Steve is in the middle of three weeks off work, and the housework is seriously suffering. I normally try to do lots of cleaning and laundry when Emma is napping, but now we are using her naptime for more of our intense Scrabble matches.

We have to go pay an unpaid ticket for which Steve is about to be arrested. More later...