Tonight I was 11 years old again.
As a child of the 80s it shouldn't be a surprise that I did my time as a Knight Rider groupie. I was 9 years old when "The Hoff" was cool and a black T-top convertible was THE car to pine for. From it's debut in 1982 to it's sign-off in 1986(yes I had to look those dates up) I watched faithfully. For my best friend and I, Knight Rider was the grade-school, and then junior high, equivalent to water cooler fodder.
Tonight the latest attempt to revive a little 80s flair took to the air. I watched. How could I not? I watched and I found myself glued - again. I'm not reviewing the made-for-TV-movie-pilot-in-disguise. I didn't watch it with an eye towards it's own merits. I watched it as the catalyst to take a trip down memory lane.
For a few hours tonight I was 11 again and it was 1984. The chill of a winter wind and rain storm meant nothing to my feet thanks to my beloved wigwam socks. My copy of Thriller was idle in my boom box - who can listen to the one-gloved wonder when "my" show is on, especially when, for a few hours anyway, he wasn't some freaky, bleached out middle-aged guy? My big poof 80s hair was doing it's big poof thing.
The moment it went off, 2008 came trickling back. Of course, I did manage to use my non-80s-esque Internet access to email the aforementioned best friend a little water cooler talk. While we're sipping our virtual beverages let me ask you - do you think KITT is any good at disipline? Can I get my mommy-car outfitted with that voice module?
Seriously though, now all I need is for Scarecrow and Mrs. King to make a comeback.
Showing posts with label frivilous stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frivilous stuff. Show all posts
2.17.2008
1.31.2008
Madness of the TV deprived
Irregardless of which side I'm on (writers), this whole strike-so-no-new-programming-just-oodles-of-reality-tv is putting a real damper on my mission to completely veg out on the couch after a long day. While I'm finding myself oddly addicted to programming I had never in a million years imagined I'd enjoy (Project Runway), I also found the clicker finger stalling out somewhere in the 24-hour news network range of channels the last two nights.
Yes, this means I watched the debates.
Now, don't get me wrong. Deep down I'm a political junky. In fact, in other places on the web I even wax poetic on all sorts of political/news/social issue topics over at The Soccer Mom Vote . But debates? Really? It's rare that I sit still long enough to absorb anything relevant from them. I've never found them to be anything more than some verbose posturing by giant egos who have spent hours and hours of prep time being coached by the little people that live behind the scenes. Nothing new is ever said. A good debate, in my view, is a regurgitation of some decent sound bytes. (Lockbox? Read my lips? It's the economy stupid? Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy? Am I ringing any bells?)
Except that was all in the past. That was not in the era of the WGA strike. The lack of alternative programming means I've developed a new appreciation for the debates. No, I'm being serious. These things are the best reality TV show going.
Of course, if we're talking issues and reasons to vote for a person, I still can't tell you much more than sound bytes from any of the 6 people I saw on a dais the last two days. BUT, I can tell you lots of other things I learned from watching them fight it out amongst their respective parties.
For example:
- Did you know Ron Paul has ears like Ross Perot? Not only that, but he also has that same "eccentric little guy" thing in common with Mr. Independent.
- I'm not the only one that thinks Mike Huckabee bears at least a slight resemblance to Richard Nixon. (Go ahead. Google their names together and find more like me. It's down right spooky.)
- To be a (near) front runner in your party's race, you need to perfect the "Holier than thou but I'm still sincere" smirk. McCain, Romney, Clinton and Obama all have it. Don't believe me? Watch any of them when their opponent speaks. It's all Miss America smile while the eyes say "Oh give me a break."
- If you're in distant, distant third but refuse to give up, it's really cool to whine to the moderators "You know, I didn't come here to referee. I want questions too." Do that a few times. It amuses people like me sitting on the couch at home. I was waiting for Simon Cowell to roll one of the CNN folks out of the way so he could lay down some snark on Gov. Huckabee. Now that might have been fun.
- I heard that the senior (and I do mean senior) Senator from Massachusetts has compared Senator Obama to his late brother JFK. This came flying back to me around the same time I decided Gov Mike was channeling Nixon. "Oh! Can we do an two party debate right after the Super Bowl?!" I asked my husband. "I want to see if we can recreate 1960."
Yes, this means I watched the debates.
Now, don't get me wrong. Deep down I'm a political junky. In fact, in other places on the web I even wax poetic on all sorts of political/news/social issue topics over at The Soccer Mom Vote . But debates? Really? It's rare that I sit still long enough to absorb anything relevant from them. I've never found them to be anything more than some verbose posturing by giant egos who have spent hours and hours of prep time being coached by the little people that live behind the scenes. Nothing new is ever said. A good debate, in my view, is a regurgitation of some decent sound bytes. (Lockbox? Read my lips? It's the economy stupid? Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy? Am I ringing any bells?)
Except that was all in the past. That was not in the era of the WGA strike. The lack of alternative programming means I've developed a new appreciation for the debates. No, I'm being serious. These things are the best reality TV show going.
Of course, if we're talking issues and reasons to vote for a person, I still can't tell you much more than sound bytes from any of the 6 people I saw on a dais the last two days. BUT, I can tell you lots of other things I learned from watching them fight it out amongst their respective parties.
For example:
- Did you know Ron Paul has ears like Ross Perot? Not only that, but he also has that same "eccentric little guy" thing in common with Mr. Independent.
- I'm not the only one that thinks Mike Huckabee bears at least a slight resemblance to Richard Nixon. (Go ahead. Google their names together and find more like me. It's down right spooky.)
- To be a (near) front runner in your party's race, you need to perfect the "Holier than thou but I'm still sincere" smirk. McCain, Romney, Clinton and Obama all have it. Don't believe me? Watch any of them when their opponent speaks. It's all Miss America smile while the eyes say "Oh give me a break."
- If you're in distant, distant third but refuse to give up, it's really cool to whine to the moderators "You know, I didn't come here to referee. I want questions too." Do that a few times. It amuses people like me sitting on the couch at home. I was waiting for Simon Cowell to roll one of the CNN folks out of the way so he could lay down some snark on Gov. Huckabee. Now that might have been fun.
- I heard that the senior (and I do mean senior) Senator from Massachusetts has compared Senator Obama to his late brother JFK. This came flying back to me around the same time I decided Gov Mike was channeling Nixon. "Oh! Can we do an two party debate right after the Super Bowl?!" I asked my husband. "I want to see if we can recreate 1960."
11.07.2007
By ear
When we graduated High School my best friend and I hit a stretch of nostalgia. We had this need to try to preserve or at least commemorate the relationships we had, or perhaps just document who we had been during those years of our lives. It was the time before email. Before digital photography. It was before easy access to video cameras that didn't require a shoulder to, well, shoulder some of the weight. It was before you could, gasp, burn your own CDs. Before scrapbooking skyrocketed to all it's glory. We were just "that" far north of the 80s.
The process of creating our shared memento was somewhat laborious but not difficult. We made tapes. Between our own collections and what we could gather at the library - a good decade before iTunes - we would spend hours in front of our parent's stereos carefully starting and stopping the source and destination tapes until we had a mix that captured the desired effect.
It's been years since I've listened to the results. I came across one during a garage sale purge last year - and as much as I wanted to take the walk down memory lane my inability to locate an actual tape player got in the way of my desire.
This morning, as usual, I woke up way too early as my husband moved around the room readying himself for work. This morning, not like usual, I couldn't drift back off to even an uneasy sleep. Instead I pulled a pillow over my head, reached a hand into the nightstand and pulled out my little Shuffle. Plugged neatly into a world of random music, I was at least able to wander around aimlessly in my own mind.
As the garage door closed behind his car leaving and I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling, it was clear that I had no hope of doing anything more than sitting in the dark listening to music that seemed like a good idea to preserve on this device. I crept down the dark hall way and flipped the computer on. The player moved from a ballad by Rascal Flatts to a heavy drum beat and loud rocking vocals of Bon Jovi from a time when big hair was best way to identify a rocker.
I waited for the PC to warm up and in the dark haven of my home, I danced around like it was the prom all over again. The music slid seamlessly to Jerry Lee Lewis and so did I. The pre-coffee blitz of energy left me happy to find my leather chair waiting for me. I slipped in and began typing as the music transitioned into a little Billy Joel and from there into Norah Jones.
Her music oozed over my ear drums like caramel dripping from a spoon dipped into in a sundae. It made me wonder what someone who came across my collection of songs on this MP3 player would surmise about me simply based on the eclectic collection it contained.
Last year someone sent me one of those "get to know you forwards" that asked one simple question "What's on your iPod play list?" It seemed frivolous at the time and, since most of my listening time is spent "Oh yeah! I remember this song. Hmm, didn't realize I had put it on" it also seemed nearly impossible. Now, though, I think I see the wisdom behind the question.
Music is expression. The music that calls you can be a window to who you are - what moves you, what calls to you and what sets your feet dancing and your voice singing (off key or clear as it may be). It's not that the lyrics speak for me, but they do speak something about me.
I'll leave it up to you to decide what it says. I've got some old Nelson song to bop around to now and perhaps after that a little Nickelback.
The process of creating our shared memento was somewhat laborious but not difficult. We made tapes. Between our own collections and what we could gather at the library - a good decade before iTunes - we would spend hours in front of our parent's stereos carefully starting and stopping the source and destination tapes until we had a mix that captured the desired effect.
It's been years since I've listened to the results. I came across one during a garage sale purge last year - and as much as I wanted to take the walk down memory lane my inability to locate an actual tape player got in the way of my desire.
This morning, as usual, I woke up way too early as my husband moved around the room readying himself for work. This morning, not like usual, I couldn't drift back off to even an uneasy sleep. Instead I pulled a pillow over my head, reached a hand into the nightstand and pulled out my little Shuffle. Plugged neatly into a world of random music, I was at least able to wander around aimlessly in my own mind.
As the garage door closed behind his car leaving and I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling, it was clear that I had no hope of doing anything more than sitting in the dark listening to music that seemed like a good idea to preserve on this device. I crept down the dark hall way and flipped the computer on. The player moved from a ballad by Rascal Flatts to a heavy drum beat and loud rocking vocals of Bon Jovi from a time when big hair was best way to identify a rocker.
I waited for the PC to warm up and in the dark haven of my home, I danced around like it was the prom all over again. The music slid seamlessly to Jerry Lee Lewis and so did I. The pre-coffee blitz of energy left me happy to find my leather chair waiting for me. I slipped in and began typing as the music transitioned into a little Billy Joel and from there into Norah Jones.
Her music oozed over my ear drums like caramel dripping from a spoon dipped into in a sundae. It made me wonder what someone who came across my collection of songs on this MP3 player would surmise about me simply based on the eclectic collection it contained.
Last year someone sent me one of those "get to know you forwards" that asked one simple question "What's on your iPod play list?" It seemed frivolous at the time and, since most of my listening time is spent "Oh yeah! I remember this song. Hmm, didn't realize I had put it on" it also seemed nearly impossible. Now, though, I think I see the wisdom behind the question.
Music is expression. The music that calls you can be a window to who you are - what moves you, what calls to you and what sets your feet dancing and your voice singing (off key or clear as it may be). It's not that the lyrics speak for me, but they do speak something about me.
I'll leave it up to you to decide what it says. I've got some old Nelson song to bop around to now and perhaps after that a little Nickelback.
9.27.2007
TGIT (Thank God it's Thursday)
It's Thursday.
It's actual-brand-new television.
The Office is back.
I'm a happy girl.
And for the record, I honestly think I've worked with a real life rendition of nearly every character on that show. Yes. Even Dwight. My Dwight wanted to sell videoconferencing services to funeral homes. Don't ask.
It's actual-brand-new television.
The Office is back.
I'm a happy girl.
And for the record, I honestly think I've worked with a real life rendition of nearly every character on that show. Yes. Even Dwight. My Dwight wanted to sell videoconferencing services to funeral homes. Don't ask.
8.29.2007
What you'd hear if you were here
Over heard in my house today:
L (my brand new Kindergartener fresh off orientation): I want to do my homework.
Me: You can do your calender page. Remember, it's not due until the actual first day of school next week.
L: I know, I want to do it now.
He works diligently on printing his name in upper and lower case letters then works with utter fixated concentration - coloring in the boxes for Sept 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 with a yellow crayon just like the paper says to do.
L: I'm done. I want to do my other homework.
Me: Honey, you've got to go with Grandma and I have to get to work. You just have to draw a picture of yourself and your favorite stuffed animal. That paper isn't due until next Friday! You have time, we can do it tomorrow when we don't have to rush.
L: But I want to do it now! I want to do homework!
Me: Logan, I want you to remember this conversation when you're 15.
L: Why? (pause) Ok, can you assign me other homework to do at Grandma's today?
--
Also overheard at my house:
Me: So, Meg, are you excited about starting preschool next week? Are you going to make new friends?
M: Yes, with the girls.
Me: Just the girls? What about the boys?
M: The boys can make their own friends.
(Daddy is so relieved and hopes she holds tight to this philosophy until she's 30 or something like that.)
---
Overheard later at my house as Miss Meg is in the bathtub
M: Mommy, come here, I want to squirt you with this water bottle.
Me: No, honey, I don't want to be squirted with your water bottle.
M: But you have to. I will get your foot wet.
Me: I don't want to get wet.
M: Yes, just a quick squirt.
Me: Megan Rose, I do not want to get wet.
M: Mommy, I love you and we are still friends, but you are REALLY starting to fuss-trate me!
L (my brand new Kindergartener fresh off orientation): I want to do my homework.
Me: You can do your calender page. Remember, it's not due until the actual first day of school next week.
L: I know, I want to do it now.
He works diligently on printing his name in upper and lower case letters then works with utter fixated concentration - coloring in the boxes for Sept 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 with a yellow crayon just like the paper says to do.
L: I'm done. I want to do my other homework.
Me: Honey, you've got to go with Grandma and I have to get to work. You just have to draw a picture of yourself and your favorite stuffed animal. That paper isn't due until next Friday! You have time, we can do it tomorrow when we don't have to rush.
L: But I want to do it now! I want to do homework!
Me: Logan, I want you to remember this conversation when you're 15.
L: Why? (pause) Ok, can you assign me other homework to do at Grandma's today?
--
Also overheard at my house:
Me: So, Meg, are you excited about starting preschool next week? Are you going to make new friends?
M: Yes, with the girls.
Me: Just the girls? What about the boys?
M: The boys can make their own friends.
(Daddy is so relieved and hopes she holds tight to this philosophy until she's 30 or something like that.)
---
Overheard later at my house as Miss Meg is in the bathtub
M: Mommy, come here, I want to squirt you with this water bottle.
Me: No, honey, I don't want to be squirted with your water bottle.
M: But you have to. I will get your foot wet.
Me: I don't want to get wet.
M: Yes, just a quick squirt.
Me: Megan Rose, I do not want to get wet.
M: Mommy, I love you and we are still friends, but you are REALLY starting to fuss-trate me!
7.18.2007
If it rains on your parade...splash in the puddles
We got a 1/2 inch of rain in a 1/2 hour. That's a lot of rain. In fact, after a lull in the downpour we're back up to about the same rate as it had been earlier. The ebb and flow of heavy precipitation hasn't slowed us down at all though. As the title says, if it rains on your parade, splash in the puddles:
7.10.2007
Truth in cookies
We broke down and had Chinese food tonight. It's not something we eat when Megan's eating with us as Chinese food in general tends to be a high risk for peanut cross contamination. The kids, however, were in bed and we were looking for something different for dinner.
I don't get Chinese food often so when I do, it's hard to "save room" for desert. I tend to fill-up on my sesame chicken. This leaves Bruce with two fortune cookies - a fate he does not shirk from. He snapped open the cookies, munching loudly on them before reading the little slips of paper. Operative word here being little.
Moments later *I* was being handed two slips of paper as he mumbled something about lights and reading glasses in the other room. I stifled my giggle and urge to chide him on age related matters. Instead I read aloud the fortune sitting atop the small stack:
Then, and I am SO not making this up, I read the next fortune:
Ahh....think the cookie maker is trying to tell us something?
I don't get Chinese food often so when I do, it's hard to "save room" for desert. I tend to fill-up on my sesame chicken. This leaves Bruce with two fortune cookies - a fate he does not shirk from. He snapped open the cookies, munching loudly on them before reading the little slips of paper. Operative word here being little.
Moments later *I* was being handed two slips of paper as he mumbled something about lights and reading glasses in the other room. I stifled my giggle and urge to chide him on age related matters. Instead I read aloud the fortune sitting atop the small stack:
You will have many friends when you need them.
Then, and I am SO not making this up, I read the next fortune:
The time is right to make new friends.
Ahh....think the cookie maker is trying to tell us something?
6.08.2007
Late...again
Logan has spent this last year attending preschool three mornings a week. Each of those mornings had it's own routine - but not in a good way.
Each morning we'd start off great. Moving through paces on time and in good order. And then the final 5 minutes - let's just say it included a lot of me saying things like "Get down stairs NOW or [pick a toy] is in time out for the rest of the day! We're going to be late!"
It seems a lot of my life fits this 'last minute, running late" mode recently - and I can only blame some of that on the kids.
I began this post with the intent of telling you that the ground hog playing Moby Dick to my rendition of Ahab has been relocated several miles away to a park. Yet, it occurs to me that I'm a bit behind in even writing about "Peaho the beast" (name courtesy of Megan) and its lust for all things green in my yard.
Once I covered my victory over my tormentor, I was going to share some photos and/or commentary about the recent "no-kids-just-grown-ups" weekend. But, well, ahhh, I'm about 9 days late about writing something mushy-gushy about my 10th wedding annivesary and just slightly fewer days late in mentioning that we were even taking a trip to celebrate the occasion.
It's not worth the time it'd take to explain why the sometimes vaguely referenced wedding from hell was causing me heartburn again. Let me ask you this though - have you ever known a bride to turn down a bridal shower? Not just turn it down, but get down right NASTY about it? I didn't think so. I may need to investigate all-natural calming remedies before the big day.
I'm sure there are other things too. Things I can't even begin to muster much semblence of memory for. And yet, perhaps that's the answer - you know, to the question of "why am I so far behind and out of the loop lately?" Let's put it this way, although I actually do multi-task quite well, I'm not the best juggler. I've been doing a lot of juggling of late. I'm doing it right now as we speak. I *should* be in bed resting up for the "quite early but it's for a reason" birthday party for Logan tomorrow...but I'm not. I'm writing this rambling incoherent monologue and then I'm going to return a few work related emails, jot a few notes to friends looking for playdates next week that I've not replied to in days and then maybe, just, maybe, I'll wander down to bed -- thankful that the brand new central air unit is finally in and working.
Each morning we'd start off great. Moving through paces on time and in good order. And then the final 5 minutes - let's just say it included a lot of me saying things like "Get down stairs NOW or [pick a toy] is in time out for the rest of the day! We're going to be late!"
It seems a lot of my life fits this 'last minute, running late" mode recently - and I can only blame some of that on the kids.
I began this post with the intent of telling you that the ground hog playing Moby Dick to my rendition of Ahab has been relocated several miles away to a park. Yet, it occurs to me that I'm a bit behind in even writing about "Peaho the beast" (name courtesy of Megan) and its lust for all things green in my yard.
Once I covered my victory over my tormentor, I was going to share some photos and/or commentary about the recent "no-kids-just-grown-ups" weekend. But, well, ahhh, I'm about 9 days late about writing something mushy-gushy about my 10th wedding annivesary and just slightly fewer days late in mentioning that we were even taking a trip to celebrate the occasion.
It's not worth the time it'd take to explain why the sometimes vaguely referenced wedding from hell was causing me heartburn again. Let me ask you this though - have you ever known a bride to turn down a bridal shower? Not just turn it down, but get down right NASTY about it? I didn't think so. I may need to investigate all-natural calming remedies before the big day.
I'm sure there are other things too. Things I can't even begin to muster much semblence of memory for. And yet, perhaps that's the answer - you know, to the question of "why am I so far behind and out of the loop lately?" Let's put it this way, although I actually do multi-task quite well, I'm not the best juggler. I've been doing a lot of juggling of late. I'm doing it right now as we speak. I *should* be in bed resting up for the "quite early but it's for a reason" birthday party for Logan tomorrow...but I'm not. I'm writing this rambling incoherent monologue and then I'm going to return a few work related emails, jot a few notes to friends looking for playdates next week that I've not replied to in days and then maybe, just, maybe, I'll wander down to bed -- thankful that the brand new central air unit is finally in and working.
5.30.2007
Scratch and sniff skivvies?
Logan has been on a HUGE Transformer kick throughout the last year - and with the live action movie on it's way out (no he won't see it in theatres) that means loads of merchandise in the stores. Loads.
The two imps were both 'warned' before entering the big bulls-eye store - no toys. Mommy is not buying toys. Don't even ask. Don't even think of asking. No. They didn't ask. They asked to
"just look."
I can do "just look."
Luckily, look did not inspire wistfully staring and drooling primarily since the Transformer stretch of shelf was barren - totally and completely barren. It's been cleared of the older stock (the stuff Logan has been loading up on whenever he tucks away enough allowance or gift money). It's sitting dormant waiting for the movie related stuff to appear this weekend. So instead of staring wide-eyed at new toys, Logan read the shelf labels. He's got a birthday wish list formed on just that.
We found what we had really entered the big red bulls-eye shop for and started to make our way through the meandering carts to the check-out. I found, as we did so, a Transformer bathing suit. I was, being the softie I can sometimes be, willing to buy it for the kid. I mean really, his older suits are a tad snug. Except size saved me- the pair supposedly Logan's size would have slipped right off his hips and they had nothing smaller.
But the suit got me thinking - if that's out then maybe tshirts or PJs. I was willing to look. The kid really does need some wardrop replenishment as he's sitting nicely on the brink of a new size. Yet neither existed.
What DID exist?
Transformer Underwear.
Transformer underwear that glows in the dark.
I kid you not. (By the way, being the wonderful Mom I am, I have already pointed out that when Logan puts his shorts on over those lovely new underwear, it'll be dark under the pants and so he'll be glowing. I did feel the need to reinforce that we should not feel compelled to remove, lower, or look in said shorts just to check.)
When Logan gets a new toy or some trinket he likes to hold on to it in the car - preferably out of the package. Apparently glow-in-the-dark Transformer underwear is no different.
As I eased the van out of the lot and into the highway, Logan calls out in complete amazement:
"They DO smell like fruit!!"
"What does?" I said, already knowing and yet afraid to ask.
"My new underwear! It smells like fruit! It's like Megan's scratch and sniff pages in her book."
"Honey, I don't think your underwear is supposed to smell like fruit," I told him, trying hard not to laugh at him - too loud anyway.
"But then why are all these little pictures of fruit on my label?" he said.
I'm starting to think Fruit of the Loom was branded by someone that wanted to spread a little joy amongst mothers of the delightfully young and naive.
The two imps were both 'warned' before entering the big bulls-eye store - no toys. Mommy is not buying toys. Don't even ask. Don't even think of asking. No. They didn't ask. They asked to
"just look."
I can do "just look."
Luckily, look did not inspire wistfully staring and drooling primarily since the Transformer stretch of shelf was barren - totally and completely barren. It's been cleared of the older stock (the stuff Logan has been loading up on whenever he tucks away enough allowance or gift money). It's sitting dormant waiting for the movie related stuff to appear this weekend. So instead of staring wide-eyed at new toys, Logan read the shelf labels. He's got a birthday wish list formed on just that.
We found what we had really entered the big red bulls-eye shop for and started to make our way through the meandering carts to the check-out. I found, as we did so, a Transformer bathing suit. I was, being the softie I can sometimes be, willing to buy it for the kid. I mean really, his older suits are a tad snug. Except size saved me- the pair supposedly Logan's size would have slipped right off his hips and they had nothing smaller.
But the suit got me thinking - if that's out then maybe tshirts or PJs. I was willing to look. The kid really does need some wardrop replenishment as he's sitting nicely on the brink of a new size. Yet neither existed.
What DID exist?
Transformer Underwear.
Transformer underwear that glows in the dark.
I kid you not. (By the way, being the wonderful Mom I am, I have already pointed out that when Logan puts his shorts on over those lovely new underwear, it'll be dark under the pants and so he'll be glowing. I did feel the need to reinforce that we should not feel compelled to remove, lower, or look in said shorts just to check.)
When Logan gets a new toy or some trinket he likes to hold on to it in the car - preferably out of the package. Apparently glow-in-the-dark Transformer underwear is no different.
As I eased the van out of the lot and into the highway, Logan calls out in complete amazement:
"They DO smell like fruit!!"
"What does?" I said, already knowing and yet afraid to ask.
"My new underwear! It smells like fruit! It's like Megan's scratch and sniff pages in her book."
"Honey, I don't think your underwear is supposed to smell like fruit," I told him, trying hard not to laugh at him - too loud anyway.
"But then why are all these little pictures of fruit on my label?" he said.
I'm starting to think Fruit of the Loom was branded by someone that wanted to spread a little joy amongst mothers of the delightfully young and naive.
4.26.2007
The hills are alive. . .
I feel moved to write a list. I know. I know. You're jumping with joy at the thought of reading this thing. Humor me, ok? Julie Andrews is singing in my head and the only way to stop her is by listing some of my favorite things:
- Sharing reading duty with Logan. At bedtime tonight I read one book. Then he read to me - "Hop on Pop" by Seuss. I'm not sure which of us had a bigger pride filled smile.
- Logan's frustrated voice as he says, "Mommy, I am not four-and-a-half. I AM four-and-three-quarters."
- Not having to worry if we're out of diapers or not. Yipee!!! Little Miss Meg, at 2 1/2 years old has offically been diaper AND accident free for a month now. Again I say, AMEN!
- Meg's rendition of the wedding march. Mind you, she's learning the march because our entire family of four is in a wedding this fall. Few adults (outside of maybe the couple and even that's sometimes questionable) think this union is a good idea. Megan has taken to singing (with NO prompting I swear) "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb" to which I say "exactly! You got it!"
- Having a job that actually 'gets' that family comes first.
- Seeing my son tear through the park with his 'very best friend ever.' This being the first very best friend ever (VBFE) he's made without me setting up a "blind [play]date" for him. Luckily I find VBFE's mom to be an actual human being that I can enjoy talking to for a few hours at a time. Yipee! Logan set *me* up on a friend-date this time. Way to go kid!
- Hearing the following exchange after a sibling blow-up:
"Wogan, I am very, very sorry. I am sorry I threw your toy. I am sorry I hit you."
"That's ok, you're still just a little kid. You're learning."
- My whim to remove all the plants from one flower bed and transplant to other flowerbeds has yet to kill said plants. (Fingers crossed!)
- Knowing my anniversary weekend sans kids is almost a month away!
- Megan staring at the white hair that is starting to creep into the side of Daddy's head. Then her brash little voice declaring "Daddy! You have stripes!"
- Finally getting around to painting my living room which sorely needed it.
- Knowing my dear husband will finally get to use his new toy (I mean tool) to cut molding. The man asked for a mitre saw for Christmas so he could mitre me some molding. Now that the room is painted he can get to work. He's so giddy with anticipation it's cute.
- Sharing reading duty with Logan. At bedtime tonight I read one book. Then he read to me - "Hop on Pop" by Seuss. I'm not sure which of us had a bigger pride filled smile.
- Logan's frustrated voice as he says, "Mommy, I am not four-and-a-half. I AM four-and-three-quarters."
- Not having to worry if we're out of diapers or not. Yipee!!! Little Miss Meg, at 2 1/2 years old has offically been diaper AND accident free for a month now. Again I say, AMEN!
- Meg's rendition of the wedding march. Mind you, she's learning the march because our entire family of four is in a wedding this fall. Few adults (outside of maybe the couple and even that's sometimes questionable) think this union is a good idea. Megan has taken to singing (with NO prompting I swear) "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb" to which I say "exactly! You got it!"
- Having a job that actually 'gets' that family comes first.
- Seeing my son tear through the park with his 'very best friend ever.' This being the first very best friend ever (VBFE) he's made without me setting up a "blind [play]date" for him. Luckily I find VBFE's mom to be an actual human being that I can enjoy talking to for a few hours at a time. Yipee! Logan set *me* up on a friend-date this time. Way to go kid!
- Hearing the following exchange after a sibling blow-up:
"Wogan, I am very, very sorry. I am sorry I threw your toy. I am sorry I hit you."
"That's ok, you're still just a little kid. You're learning."
- My whim to remove all the plants from one flower bed and transplant to other flowerbeds has yet to kill said plants. (Fingers crossed!)
- Knowing my anniversary weekend sans kids is almost a month away!
- Megan staring at the white hair that is starting to creep into the side of Daddy's head. Then her brash little voice declaring "Daddy! You have stripes!"
- Finally getting around to painting my living room which sorely needed it.
- Knowing my dear husband will finally get to use his new toy (I mean tool) to cut molding. The man asked for a mitre saw for Christmas so he could mitre me some molding. Now that the room is painted he can get to work. He's so giddy with anticipation it's cute.
2.22.2007
For the Love of Spam
Dear Mr (or Ms) "Money for you to Shop",
Listen, I'm quite flattered that you're thinking about me but I think we need to chat. Ok, so here's the thing. I really love that you've got this great stash of money earmarked for me and all that, but how about we make a deal. How about you just send me the actual check or something instead of flooding my "free-and-just-for-junk" email account with a few dozen messages a day. Everything you send tends to end up in my "junk mail" box and the vast majority of the time I don't even know it's there. I have this compulsive habit of emptying that bin without peaking in it first.
I know you're there though. I see the total number of crap, I mean messages, sitting in that virtual spam can. I know it's you. Well ok, I know it's you and your friend "Laptop for you", sandwiched between a few girls that want to show me what they've got and a couple of "medical" devices that could either put a certain little blue pill out of business or bring an end to embarrassing "the water was cold" moments for men everywhere. (Which, by the way, is quite ironic since, you know, I'm not a guy.)
Yes, I admit it, sometimes I do sneak a peak in the junk box. Every now and then something I do need (or want) ends up trapped in the abyss. Every now and then I rescue it. Usually, however, my adventure into the great pit of despair ends in nothing more than some rolling eyes and groans.
Speaking of which, please do pass on my condolences to your buddy on the loss of whoever or whatever it was he/she was going on and on about. I only got to skim her pleading missive. From what I can tell it is such a terrible thing to endure and yet, I can't seem to feel comfortable helping him/her funnel money through my bank account. I'm sure you understand - I mean obviously you know a little extra cash would be useful here, it's why you've got some for me to shop with, right?
I'm curious. Do you even know my name? I mean every time you send me off a love note you address it to the first half of my email address -- you know, the part before the @. And the thing is, it's not even a name. It's a silly misspelling I created as a goof years and years ago. So am I just some miscellaneous 'gur' to you (I ran out of letters or I'd have been a gurl)? Do you want me to shop simply because you've got a thing for red heads? Suddenly I'm not feeling so special any more - at least not special in your eyes. I bet you're sending your genorsity to other gurs too, aren't you?
Sincerely,
the holder of the free-email account you keep sending your love notes to.
Listen, I'm quite flattered that you're thinking about me but I think we need to chat. Ok, so here's the thing. I really love that you've got this great stash of money earmarked for me and all that, but how about we make a deal. How about you just send me the actual check or something instead of flooding my "free-and-just-for-junk" email account with a few dozen messages a day. Everything you send tends to end up in my "junk mail" box and the vast majority of the time I don't even know it's there. I have this compulsive habit of emptying that bin without peaking in it first.
I know you're there though. I see the total number of crap, I mean messages, sitting in that virtual spam can. I know it's you. Well ok, I know it's you and your friend "Laptop for you", sandwiched between a few girls that want to show me what they've got and a couple of "medical" devices that could either put a certain little blue pill out of business or bring an end to embarrassing "the water was cold" moments for men everywhere. (Which, by the way, is quite ironic since, you know, I'm not a guy.)
Yes, I admit it, sometimes I do sneak a peak in the junk box. Every now and then something I do need (or want) ends up trapped in the abyss. Every now and then I rescue it. Usually, however, my adventure into the great pit of despair ends in nothing more than some rolling eyes and groans.
Speaking of which, please do pass on my condolences to your buddy on the loss of whoever or whatever it was he/she was going on and on about. I only got to skim her pleading missive. From what I can tell it is such a terrible thing to endure and yet, I can't seem to feel comfortable helping him/her funnel money through my bank account. I'm sure you understand - I mean obviously you know a little extra cash would be useful here, it's why you've got some for me to shop with, right?
I'm curious. Do you even know my name? I mean every time you send me off a love note you address it to the first half of my email address -- you know, the part before the @. And the thing is, it's not even a name. It's a silly misspelling I created as a goof years and years ago. So am I just some miscellaneous 'gur' to you (I ran out of letters or I'd have been a gurl)? Do you want me to shop simply because you've got a thing for red heads? Suddenly I'm not feeling so special any more - at least not special in your eyes. I bet you're sending your genorsity to other gurs too, aren't you?
Sincerely,
the holder of the free-email account you keep sending your love notes to.
2.16.2007
Gift receipt required
I was raised in a family that poured a lot of time into gift buying. We mulled. We pondered. We danced around the edges of conversations looking for hints. We wanted to find the 'right' gift that would mean something to its recipient - or at least be appreciated.
Sometimes we don't get it right. We know. It's fine. Here's the gift receipt if you need it. Feel free to exchange it.
Yet I'll admit, when every gift you hand a paricular person ends up disgarded - handed down to a daughter, not even as a 'regift' - it starts to get a little irritating. Why bother wasting the money on the token acknowledgement of a birthday? The 9 year is going to end up with whatever I buy. When I think of the list of items that got a "oh, thanks" and then later "here, you take it" I cringe. Any gift - spa gift certificates, gym certificate (which she asked for, mind you), bath lotions and gels from her daughter (yes, given to her daughter with a "I can't remember who gave me this, but I have no use for it. You have it.), and on and on and on.
My mother was grousing about it a few days ago. The pass-it-on-gift-getter was about to have a birthday and mom was getting cranky just thinking about what to buy that wouldn't be handed over.
"I have one word for you," I told my mom, "MONOGRAM."
And that's exactly what she's going to do. A nice, monogramed blanket - two hearts with both the birthday girl and her future-spouse's name on it.
Yeah, try to give this one away.
Sometimes we don't get it right. We know. It's fine. Here's the gift receipt if you need it. Feel free to exchange it.
Yet I'll admit, when every gift you hand a paricular person ends up disgarded - handed down to a daughter, not even as a 'regift' - it starts to get a little irritating. Why bother wasting the money on the token acknowledgement of a birthday? The 9 year is going to end up with whatever I buy. When I think of the list of items that got a "oh, thanks" and then later "here, you take it" I cringe. Any gift - spa gift certificates, gym certificate (which she asked for, mind you), bath lotions and gels from her daughter (yes, given to her daughter with a "I can't remember who gave me this, but I have no use for it. You have it.), and on and on and on.
My mother was grousing about it a few days ago. The pass-it-on-gift-getter was about to have a birthday and mom was getting cranky just thinking about what to buy that wouldn't be handed over.
"I have one word for you," I told my mom, "MONOGRAM."
And that's exactly what she's going to do. A nice, monogramed blanket - two hearts with both the birthday girl and her future-spouse's name on it.
Yeah, try to give this one away.
2.13.2007
I think Bill Cosby had it right
Do you remember that show Bill Cosby had in the late 90's? The one with the cute kids spouting comic gems with no effort? Yes, "Kids say the Darndest Things."
Anyone sitting for more than a few moment with a young conversationalist knows this is true - Cosby (and Art Linkletter before him) simply had the good fortune of exploiting it on national television, while the rest of us get to enjoy the show (and possibly the humiliation) from front row seats in our day to day lives.
A few days ago, WordNerd explored the same topic (even referring to the same Linkletter show, which, by the way, is not something I had remembered until I went back to the site for the url to link.) Reading her thoughts reminded me that I had also slacked off from writing in the kids' respective blogs - the ones I like to use for future blackmail by preserving these comic gems for future reference. Then it occurred to me that some of those aforementioned topics (see yesterday's post) swirling 'round my brain were such prime examples.
Of course the tragedy is I have forgotten many of them already. Yet fret not. There are children involved here and they are apt to provide more fodder before I even realize I need it. For example there is Miss Independent Megan who likes to put her own shoes on yet does not always get the right foot and the right shoe matched up properly.
Grandma said, "Meg, honey, I think you have your shoes on the wrong feet."
Meg stopped running. She stared at her feet as she lifted her toes up and down a few times. Then she gave Grandma a puzzled look.
"No, Grandma, they're on my feet."
Or there's Mr. Romance Logan who sat at the table writing out his Valentine's Day cards for the preschool friends. I handed him a card and said, "Is this one ok for Sophie?"
And he said, "Mom! It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. Geesh!"
Oh, lest we forget the joys potty training can bring. Megan, who knows darn well what to do on the potty and does so when the whim hits her, has developed that oh-so-charming-knack of discussing her (or anyone else's bathroom habits (or lack thereof) at any given moment. For example, kid-gym on Monday. She was lounging on mats waiting for her turn to tumble. She looked up with her eyes really wide and then started to giggle. "I peed and now my diaper is really hot," she informed me and every other mother in a 5 mile radius. Needless to say we took a quick break for a diaper change.
Or last but not least, there was the fine skill of peer-to-peer tutoring. As we left preschool the other day Logan's friend D came running over to a giant bear hug good bye. Logan's pretty particular about who is allowed to hug him. Mom/dad/grandparents/sister? Yes. Rest of world? Not so much. He pulled away, clearly not thrilled with the affectionate display. Seeing the boy was about to attack again, I jumped in with "Oh! Logan, can you high five him good bye?"
Both boys loved the idea. Logan held out his hand. His friend held his high, "Slap me high!"
And Logan did.
"In the middle," said the friend as he moved his hand slightly lower. And Logan did.
"Down low. . ." said the friend who moved his hand quickly away when Logan tried to catch it. "You're too slow!" the boy yelled in a familiar refrain*.
Logan laughed and patted his friend's shoulder. We left the class and as we did, Logan shook his head a little and smiled really wide. "I taught him that you know," he said in the prideful way any master might display when his prodigy excels.
*Damn those cousins in the far away place. It's so nice the things they teach.
Anyone sitting for more than a few moment with a young conversationalist knows this is true - Cosby (and Art Linkletter before him) simply had the good fortune of exploiting it on national television, while the rest of us get to enjoy the show (and possibly the humiliation) from front row seats in our day to day lives.
A few days ago, WordNerd explored the same topic (even referring to the same Linkletter show, which, by the way, is not something I had remembered until I went back to the site for the url to link.) Reading her thoughts reminded me that I had also slacked off from writing in the kids' respective blogs - the ones I like to use for future blackmail by preserving these comic gems for future reference. Then it occurred to me that some of those aforementioned topics (see yesterday's post) swirling 'round my brain were such prime examples.
Of course the tragedy is I have forgotten many of them already. Yet fret not. There are children involved here and they are apt to provide more fodder before I even realize I need it. For example there is Miss Independent Megan who likes to put her own shoes on yet does not always get the right foot and the right shoe matched up properly.
Grandma said, "Meg, honey, I think you have your shoes on the wrong feet."
Meg stopped running. She stared at her feet as she lifted her toes up and down a few times. Then she gave Grandma a puzzled look.
"No, Grandma, they're on my feet."
Or there's Mr. Romance Logan who sat at the table writing out his Valentine's Day cards for the preschool friends. I handed him a card and said, "Is this one ok for Sophie?"
And he said, "Mom! It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. Geesh!"
Oh, lest we forget the joys potty training can bring. Megan, who knows darn well what to do on the potty and does so when the whim hits her, has developed that oh-so-charming-knack of discussing her (or anyone else's bathroom habits (or lack thereof) at any given moment. For example, kid-gym on Monday. She was lounging on mats waiting for her turn to tumble. She looked up with her eyes really wide and then started to giggle. "I peed and now my diaper is really hot," she informed me and every other mother in a 5 mile radius. Needless to say we took a quick break for a diaper change.
Or last but not least, there was the fine skill of peer-to-peer tutoring. As we left preschool the other day Logan's friend D came running over to a giant bear hug good bye. Logan's pretty particular about who is allowed to hug him. Mom/dad/grandparents/sister? Yes. Rest of world? Not so much. He pulled away, clearly not thrilled with the affectionate display. Seeing the boy was about to attack again, I jumped in with "Oh! Logan, can you high five him good bye?"
Both boys loved the idea. Logan held out his hand. His friend held his high, "Slap me high!"
And Logan did.
"In the middle," said the friend as he moved his hand slightly lower. And Logan did.
"Down low. . ." said the friend who moved his hand quickly away when Logan tried to catch it. "You're too slow!" the boy yelled in a familiar refrain*.
Logan laughed and patted his friend's shoulder. We left the class and as we did, Logan shook his head a little and smiled really wide. "I taught him that you know," he said in the prideful way any master might display when his prodigy excels.
*Damn those cousins in the far away place. It's so nice the things they teach.
12.20.2006
15 years too early
I told Megan that we had to leave to pick Logan up from his youth group program at our church. She was resistant to leaving. She had plans to play Thomas. I made it clear this was not negotiable. She thought about it and then nodded.
“Ok. I’ll drive, you sit in the passenger seat,” she said and headed off to find the car keys.
“Ahh, Meg, you can’t drive,” I said because sometimes you have to state the obvious to a two year old on a mission.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well for starters,” I told her, thinking I had a good angle, “You’re still wearing your diapers.”
You could see the little mental shrug. “Ok. I’m going to use the potty ALL. The. Time.”
For the record when I got her strapped in her car seat and stuck the keys in the ignition myself she cried and cried and cried, “I was going to drive! Bad mommy! I’m going to use the potty all the time and drive!” (And, as a matter of fact, she’s in the bathtub as I type this telling Bruce all about it – I wanted to drive the car and I tell mommy I will use the potty but she still say no!”)
I’m so much in trouble with this one!
“Ok. I’ll drive, you sit in the passenger seat,” she said and headed off to find the car keys.
“Ahh, Meg, you can’t drive,” I said because sometimes you have to state the obvious to a two year old on a mission.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well for starters,” I told her, thinking I had a good angle, “You’re still wearing your diapers.”
You could see the little mental shrug. “Ok. I’m going to use the potty ALL. The. Time.”
For the record when I got her strapped in her car seat and stuck the keys in the ignition myself she cried and cried and cried, “I was going to drive! Bad mommy! I’m going to use the potty all the time and drive!” (And, as a matter of fact, she’s in the bathtub as I type this telling Bruce all about it – I wanted to drive the car and I tell mommy I will use the potty but she still say no!”)
I’m so much in trouble with this one!
12.18.2006
4 year old frienship
Today was cuddle-and-story time at preschool. I dropped Meg off at Grandma's and headed over for my date. Logan was quite excited to see me arrive. I was instructed on how to sit (criss-cross-applesauce...or for those that don't have children in a PC world - Indian Style.) Logan snuggled himself onto my lap and leaned back against me.
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
He turned slightly to look at me and whispered with some measure of excitement, "I asked Mark if I could go to his birthday party and he said yes."
"Oh, ok. Well that's great," I said. I glanced at the row of cubby boxes on the wall but my vantage point wasn't one that allowed a good peak. I assumed I'd find the invite when Logan retrieved his papers at the end of class. I mean surely this came up because the kids were talking about a party - right?
Yet, there was no invite. No sign of any pending party.
We walked out the car - Logan yammering on about this and that. I helped him with his seat belt, climbed into my seat and waited for a pause in his running commentary.
Finally my chance.
"Logan? When is Mark's birthday?"
" I don’t know. I guess he’ll tell me when it is and when I’m supposed to come to his party."
12.12.2006
What would she say to John? and other kid stuff
We have the original Little People Nativity.
Damn it.
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
Of course that's not as antique as it sounds up there in italics. We got ours about 5 years ago when you could only order it from the catalog and the animals were not yet the new "touchy-feely" variety. We have no shepards quaking or drummer boys drumming. Just a few wise men and a new family with a angel to watch over them all.
It's been a favorite toy in our house from it's debut, in large part because it only appears in December each year.
Megan has spent a great deal of time playing with this thing since it came upstairs a few weeks ago. Sometimes she replaces the wise men for Little People kids dressed as Easter Bunnies and (LP styled)Dinosaurs.
We egg her on. After all, the baby did come for all and not just a select few.
Tonight, as we huddled with our collective runny/stuffy noses under quilts and watched the Grinch steal Christmas yet again, Megan dragged out a camel and a handful of wise men.
She'd place each of the two kings she was toting around upon the camel's back and take them for walks. Until she got bored of that. Then she retrieved the poor baby laying in a manger. She pet him with one finger as gently as a two-year old can. Then she tilted her head to one side and said, "Come on. You have to take a bath Baby Jesus."
Luckily the Grinch and Max distracted her before she filled a bowl up with water from the water cooler in the kitchen.
-
In other holiday goings on, Santa's going to get this mom in trouble. We were shopping for a book at small shop. Megan spied the tomato from the Veggie Tales. Mind you, Megan has never actually SEEN the Veggie Tales unless they've shown a video or two at church that I didn't know about. She just knew this big, red, stuffed tomato was soft and squishy....and something she did not already have.
"Mommy, I want the tomato," she said to me quite sweetly.
"Honey, no. I'm not buying you a stuffed Veggie Tale that you'll play with today and then forget about tomorrow. Besides, it's so close to Christmas and you're going to get so many neat things."
"I want the Veggie!" she wailed.
And I stood firm.
When we got home she was still pouting. I reminded her again about Christmas and the lovely gifts that awaited her. She didn't care. Instead she's launched a new mantra -- one that continues a week later:
"I want tomato but Mommy say no. Santa will bring me Veggie Tale!"
Damn it.
--
At least I'm not the only one she's harping on. We took their soon-to-be cousin (pending a family wedding) Christmas shopping yesterday afternoon. Three kids - 9, 4, 2 - and me in the massive chaos that was Target. I know.
As we stood in line waiting to check out, Megan spied a small stuffed elephant with a tag around it's neck - the tag is where you're supposed to put a gift card.
Hmmm.
Stuffed? Check.
Cute? Check.
Not already in inventory? Check.
Megan wailed, "Elephant! I want that! Can Santa bring it to me?" (Now, frankly folks, Santa's all done with her shopping and she's not buying another thing no matter how cute the kid is.)
Instead cousin-to-be-G stepped in. She decided to get it for Megan as her Christmas present. "But you have to wait for Christmas," she said to Megan as she put it up on the belt. I didn't bother trying to explain the whole "two-year-olds-lack-patience" problem to the 9-year old.
Megan saw her new toy-in-waiting when we got back to our house. She asked. G said no. Megan flew into full pout mode: “G say no. I can not have my elephant. Bad G.”
To prevent future outbreaks of toddler scolding big kid, the cousin decided to hide the elephant at our house. Logan suggested they hide it where he has Grandma’s gift hidden. G decided to put it near Logan’s laundry basket. Long story not so short – Megan found it tonight. We won’t telling her cousin.
--
Movie review? Happy Feet - Logan loved it and is now on a real "don't liter" kick. Megan says she liked it but she's judging the total of 20 minutes she sat still (scattered throughout the film, of course.) She will also tell you that when Daddy took her out of the theatre the fourth time he would not let her return again.
"Daddy say no I can not go back in. Bad Daddy not let me see Happy Feets."
Unless you catch on her on happy upswing in moods. Then she'll say "I saw Happy Feets Pang-in in the feeture"
Logan saw his first movie at 29 months old -- The Polar Express. He did not flinch the entire time except when he was clapping wildly in the right places. Megan, on the other hand, clearly *not* ready for the cinema.
--
Speaking of the boy. . .his teacher is working on a 'good citizens' unit at the moment. They've started a "Good Behavior Chain." Each extraordinary good deed is considered for the day's link. (Being preschool everyone is going to end up with a link sooner or later.) Logan loves this and has instituted his own chain at home -- for him.
When I pick the kids up on my work days, they both have a tendency to talk. Without. Pause. At. All. No. Stopping. Ever. On these days I sometimes have to work at talking over them saying repeatedly, "Logan. Logan. Stop. Talking. Listen. Shhhh....."
Except today I could not talk over him because it made the throat hurt too much. I told him this. He got quite and then started talking again after a pause too short for me to say much more.
"I think when we get home, I need to get your water so your throat might feel better." he said. He's thinking of what we do for him in the morning when he wakes up with a dry mouth/dry sore throat. The water always helps.
As soon as we got in the house he ran for the kitchen, dug out his favorite plastic Diego depicting cup and added water from the water cooler. He handed it to me (with about a sip worth of water in it - haste never equates to full cups.)
The hand off complete he eyed me thoughtfully and said “Ok, do I get a link on my chain for this?”
11.12.2006
So much to say
It's been one of those weekends - the kind where you run around a lot and get almost nothing done. Nothing. Almost.
Instead I spent it relishing the final vestiages of warm temperatures mixed with the crisp smells and sounds of dying leaves beneath the feet. I mean really, who can get anything done when you've got this:
Instead I spent it relishing the final vestiages of warm temperatures mixed with the crisp smells and sounds of dying leaves beneath the feet. I mean really, who can get anything done when you've got this:
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