Wondering what to do with myself today, I re-discovered the Catholic Crossword in the Miscellany (our diocesan newspaper).   In normal times, doing the crossword would be a warning sign that I have gone to extremes in my goofing-off.  But these are not normal times:

    I spy it.  I congratulate myself on discovering a mind-enriching way to spend my mandatory rest.  I complete it.  In one sitting, because, you know, that’s my job: sitting around.   I feel immense satisfaction at my intellectual powers, and my laudatory efforts at preserving them.   And then of course I come and blog about it.  (Hello world! Jennifer did a crossword puzzle!!)

    If the orthopedist has any doubts about the desperation* around this house, I’ll just point him to my blog. 


    Far more exciting news reported in the Miscellany: NFP now has its own insurance codes.  (Those numbers they circle on your bill at the doctor’s office, telling the insurance company what services and diagnoses you received.)  One for NFP as a means of preventing pregnancy, one for NFP used to achieve pregnancy.   Here’s the article from the St. Louis Review,  similar to the one the Miscellany picked up from CNS.

*I don’t mean desperate in the sense of depressed or distressed or especially miserable.  Desperate in the sense of, "SuperHusband would rather not fetch carry-out today.  Again.  No matter how much the kids love it.  Would somebody please get our cook back to work??"