This morning over breakfast, Monkey told Otto, "Today's our field trip to the middle school!" Otto clucked appreciatively, asked him if he was excited (he was), then said, "And do you know what one week from tomorrow is?" Monkey scrunched up his face, deep in thought, and I tried to figure out what Otto had in mind. There's a field trip today; there's a field trip next week (though not a week from tomorrow). Hmmm. "He doesn't know, honey. What is it?" Otto turned to me, incredulous. He waited. I thought about it some more. My hands flew up to my mouth, involuntarily. "NEVERMIND!" I yelped....
6:00 a.m. Wake up. Look at clock. Remember it's Sunday. Go back to sleep. 7:30 a.m. Wake up when Otto gets up. Go back to sleep. 8:30 a.m. Hear Otto making coffee. Get up. 8:35 a.m. COOOOOOOFFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. 8:45 a.m. Put turkey breast in crock pot. 8:50 a.m. Field Chickadee's inquisition; she is certainly not eating any of that GROSS ANIMAL in the crock for dinner, so what is she having? Is that cranberry sauce on the turkey? Did I save her any? Because she is NOT EATING CRANBERRY SAUCE THAT TOUCHED TURKEY, MOM. 8:55 a.m. I give up my sanguine replies about how I have unfailingly...
1) Today is National Licorice Day. Licorice requests that you please remit liquid chicken post haste. (My dad gave her an egg white yesterday and she clearly wanted to know why we hadn't brought the liquid-chicken-gifting people over soon.) 2) We have our first middle school IEP planning meeting this afternoon, so I am busy making cinnamon rolls to bribe anyone who will help bring with me to let everyone know that yes, my kid is going to be extra work, but he is worth it because I always bake something yummy. Then this morning I noted that my inability to eat wheat probably leaves folks in...
Party planning can be stressful business, because there are so many factors that go into hosting the perfect event. Can you manage all of the preparation on your own? Do you have the time and resources to clean your house? What food do you have planned for your guests? Well, let's face it. None of that really matters. If you want to have an evening of entertainment for a group of people, all you really need to do is make sure that you have Balderdash on hand, or---if you were lucky enough to pick one up at a yard sale for a quarter, like me---Beyond Balderdash. These games are guaranteed...
You asked (over on Facebook) for the famous Mir's Dad to come and write so, while my lovely bride (oh, hey - this is Otto tapping at you now) is off getting lovelier, he was ordered to hunt and peck his way through writer's block (hard, when you're an architect by trade and nature, to problem solve in your kid's realm) and create the following missive. So, some rules: We love Mir's dad. He's awesome. You must agree to this before clicking through to his post. No nasty comments or he'll leave mean ones on your blog. The chances of him registering "mirsdad.com" are pretty slim, but you can...
... which stands for, "Please, God, help us both survive 13...." My post today over at Off Our Chests is one that contains frank discussion of body parts and some strong language. Please skip it if that's going to be disturbing for you, or if you're my father (ahem). Sometimes I embarrass my kid by accident, and then I don't blog about it, because I figure that's just adding insult to injury. And then sometimes later on she turns to me out of the blue and says, "Hey, did you ever blog about that thing? Because it was kind of funny." And then I can write about it, some, but I still have to be...
My nice quiet bubble of solitude has been popped. Chickadee came home filled with stories about her trip, all of the things they did and which kid said what and how she ordered a veggie burger one day that was GREEN on the inside, SO GROSS. Me: Maybe that means it was made of real vegetables! Did you try it? Her: No, it was just GROSS. Veggie burgers are not supposed to be GREEN. Me: Plenty of vegetables are green. Maybe instead of soy and chemicals it was made of GREEN VEGETABLES? Her: I don't think so. Me: So what did you end up eating? Her: Oh, it's okay! I had my french fries, and a...
Chickadee is home again, and I know it's wrong, but the regression she experiences when tired and uncomfortable totally makes me giggle. I swear last night I navigated a crowd of parents and stinky middle schoolers and plucked Toddler Chickadee of Yore out of the crowd, she who hugged me and delighted in my having brought the dog and promptly broke down into sniffles because her face was sunburned and it "huuuuuuuuurts" to wear her glasses (sniff, sniff). I tried to be solicitous, I did; but I kept laughing. It was all just so very pitiful. I brought her home and tucked her into bed and am...
... you totally noticed that halfway through yesterday I caved and created a Woulda Coulda Shoulda fan page, right? And then you went and "like"d it, because we're all such good friends? (I am really unclear on what such a page is meant for, other than going OH HEY YOU GUYS I LOVE YOU AND YOU LOVE ME, which I guess is... fine? Maybe I'll give away ponies on there, periodically. Who knows!) Meanwhile, now that I have a whole slew of NEW FRIENDS over there on my shiny new page, today I'm talking body hair over at Off Our Chests, because I like to break the ice at cocktail parties with frank...
