Lazy weekend.

Bliss. Sun, moglets, sun, loads of good food, sun, and Himself. Good combo, let me tell you.

We let the moggies out sans leads for the first time on Thursday (sporting their new collars and tags, and freshly dosed with flea drops), just for about an hour to see how they handled it. Both of them tore headlong into the flowerbeds in search of new smells and the occasional bug to eat. On Friday I left the back doors of the conservatory flung open to let the seriously amazing weather in and the felines out. This turned into me sitting in the conservatory for longer than I'd care to admit, book discarded to one side because watching them chase bees, butterflies and each other was more amusing.

Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny, so I hied myself down to the conservatory (as I woke up around half six and thought Himself might rather sleep a LITTLE longer...) for a bowl of muesli, a cup of peppermint tea, some reading and yet more book neglecting as I watched the lunatics continue the insanity in and amongst my forget-me-nots. Himself made his way downstairs around nine o'clock for his brekkie and some moglet-watching, and then tore apart the pre-existing cat door at the side of the conservatory to allow the furry ones constant access to the outdoors. I went out into the alley outside the door, Himself caught Kit and Sophie, and we spent a minute shoving them back and forth through the door until they got the hang of it. This of course meant that Kit darted straight back out the cat door and into the neighbour's overgrown jungle of hydrangeas the first chance she got, but I guess I'm just going to have to get used to them running around the neighbourhood unsupervised. *sniffle* My babies are growing up.

Himself and I headed out to have a picnic lunch in the local park, but shortly after eating lunch it turned out to be just a leetle too breezy for yours truly and we headed back home. Where did we end up, you ask? On the picnic blanket, spread out in our own (sheltered) sun trap of a garden. He sprawled out with his shirt off to read the paper, I had my fairly neglected book, and the mogs took turns divebombing us for bouts of attention. I ate six pickles. That's of no real import other than the fact that I'm fairly impressed with my pickle eating capabilities. It was a lovely, relaxing way to spend the afternoon.

We did leave the house again, went to see "Sucker Punch" as we'd both been keen to see it from the trailers that had been running for a month or so. Unfortunately, neither one of us was wildly impressed, but it was worth a go. We came home, made falafel and homemade hummus/houmous/however you like it spelled, watched some rubbish telly and went to bed. Perfect.

In other news, I'm slightly amused at the reaction my recent turn to veganism has yielded from the family. I mean, yeah, veganism is a severe change for me, but it's the questions like "have you done any research into whether this is healthy for the baby?" that do my head in. Not in an angry way, mind you, I'm just a little dumbfounded by the thought that anybody could think I'd undertake a dietary change like this without having done the research as to whether it's going to harm the human I'm currently growing. Honestly, peeps, I'm fine. As a matter of fact, I'm being very cautious as to how far I take the whole soy-substitute thing and for the moment am only having a minimal amount of soya milk on my muesli in the mornings. Also, I feel incredible. I mean, no more nausea kind of incredible. And I haven't had a migraine since I cut dairy out of my diet. So, it's all good here, and thanks for your concern/advice.

Now I just have to get used to the fact that when Kit finally deigns to return to the foot of the bed for the night, she leaves half a ton of dirt behind. *sigh* I foresee a lot of laundry in the near future.