I am not worthy

I went back to work today after five days off. But was I sad? Did I drag my feet? Did I mope, did I moan, did I sulk, did I sigh? Did I throw myself down on the covers and cry? (What children's book am I quoting? Two points to those who get it right. )

No, I did not. I did not even try.

Instead, I veritably skipped back to my cube farm of employment. Because I knew that on my desk, I had a box. And inside that box was this, for Iyyar:

And this, for Barak:


Courtesy of Sarah.

Pictures are also courtesy of Sarah; the blankets are currently in a dark room being slept under. Pictures of the rubber duckies will have to wait till Friday--they're still on my desk.

I have no idea what I did to deserve this. But I am not complaining.

And now I'm humming a certain song from The Sound of Music. Sing it with me, please:

Somewhere in my youth, or childhood/ I must have done something good.