Tage really needs more fiber in his diet. He gets constipated about once a week, on average, and it’s no fun for any of us (least of all for him, I’ve no doubt). Just now it’s getting close to midnight and we’d all like to go to bed, but Tage won’t–or can’t, I suppose–settle down and go to sleep until he gets his “business” done.

Last night a delivery man (I’ve no idea who, actually) called Olof and said he had a package to deliver for Lydia and would bring it by at seven o’clock this morning. I don’t normally get out of bed until seven-thirty, but this morning I rose bright and early at six-thirty, just to make sure I didn’t miss the delivery. After waiting around for two hours (and getting Lydia up and off to school in the meantime), I finally gave up and went back to bed for a couple of hours.

Later in the day Olof and I theorized that perhaps the delivery man had meant seven in the evening instead of seven in the morning, so we waited some more, again to no avail. Finally, just before eight, Olof called him (he had a cell number) and he said that he had been sick today and that his replacement hadn’t known about the scheduled delivery. They rescheduled for seven tomorrow morning.

That’s all well and good, and honestly, I can’t hold it against the guy that he was sick, but it would have been nice to have saved myself the trouble of getting up so early this morning. It’s adding insult to injury to make me have to do it all again tomorrow.