I spent the afternoon with my brother, who thought it would be a good idea to try to take me to a bar to relax. No, Jeremiah. 'No' translated as 'my wife will make me sleep on the sofa and my daughter will blank me and I hate that but I wish I could say yes'. Anyway, alcoholism aside, we spent the day together and it was nice. Jeremy may have made fun of me because I like walking through Regents Park, but I think that is because he believes walking without a purpose to be a waste of time... We had a nice lunch and he took me to see a terrifying movie I will never be able to bleach from my brain, but he enjoyed it even though it made me feel very sleepy because it was about nightmares or something. And then he came home and got my children all hyper, because they adore their Uncle Jeremy. Even Lauren, who doesn't adore many people. She has an Uncle Jeremy squeak which might be the most darling thing ever, but I am biased and think most everything they do is incredibly adorable anyway.
Then Jeremy and I stopped by my office and we were joined by a Thomas who sat in my very stunned lap for ten minutes before actually crawling up on my desk and curling up into a ball. (I should state here that I do, in fact, mean Thomas Littleton and not my son, Tommy, in which case this all would make a lot more sense.) I don't really know what happened there, but he said he was fine. He just...wanted an appropriate curling surface, I suppose. Jeremy decorated him with confetti from my three-hole-puncher, why, I do not know. Thomas said it made him feel festive. While curled up on office furniture.
He's still here, and I'm unsure what to do with him, beyond hanging paperclips off of his jacket. I don't want to leave him here. He looks quite peaceful but what if he rolls off and hurts himself!