Otto and I decided that it would be certain catastrophe to take the kids to one of those "adoption day" events to look at dogs. Surely one of them would fall in love with the first dog they laid eyes on, and tragedy would ensue when we were unwilling to embrace that pup on the spot. One of the dogs I've had my eye on on Petfinder was listed as being at a local rescue, and we figured we'd go check him out today BEFORE potentially dealing with a child enamored of him, etc. So we got the kids off to school and headed over, and the woman there asked which dog we were interested in and we told...
I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to go make sure I packed underwear. You think I'm joking, but as we pulled out of the driveway last weekend and I started my traditional "I think I forgot something, I think I really forgot something this time" chant to Otto, he nodded and patted my knee, sanguinely, until we got to the end of the road and I started screeching, "WAIT! I DID! GO BACK!" Oh, I know what you're thinking---that I'd forgotten to pack underwear. But that would be silly. Of COURSE I'd packed underwear! No, I'd forgotten to pack bras. Oops. (In my defense, I'd just done laundry,...
Tonight at dinner I came down with an impressive case of hiccups. Like, gut-wrenching, popping-out-against-my-will kind of hiccups. My family---being the kind and supportive lot they are---found this hilarious. They asked me questions to force me to talk and be interrupted by big *HIC*s, and laughed and laughed. When I said it wasn't funny, they kindly decided to try to help me get rid of them. I was mid-sentence when Chickadee leaned in on my right. "AHHHHHHHH!" she screamed. I rubbed my ear. And *HIC*ed again. "I guess that didn't work," commented Otto, as Monkey leaned in on my left....
Last night Otto and I went out to run some errands, and found ourselves stopping at a restaurant across town for some cheap Mexican food. Now, generally the advantage of Mexican food for dinner when the kids aren't around is that we can take our time and have a margarita, but we had a bunch of things to do and opted to stick with a quick meal topped off with diet Coke. Because we are FANCY. We talked about things we need to pack for our upcoming camping trip, and how the food was not nearly as good there as at our local place, and wondering how the kids are doing. And when we finished...
Hey, we survived our weekend with nature. Enjoyed it, even. By the time we were working our way back, yesterday, I was starting to wonder if we could swap Chickadee for Swan, maybe, but on the whole I was very pleased with the girls' behavior while we were on our adventure. (No, Chickadee didn't do anything wrong. It's just that kids are always better-behaved for someone else's parents, right? Swan didn't engage in any backtalk, nor did she ever roll her eyes at me that I noticed. Chickadee was her usual sassy self, and I couldn't help wondering if she might be an angel for anyone other than...
There will be a gaggle of children arriving at my house, shortly, to partake in what is supposed to be a swim and tie-dye extravaganza, to celebrate the end of the school year. We ran out this morning for latex gloves and rubber bands. Sure, some people get cheetos and pretzels for such a thing, but we're all fancy and... ummm... rubbery. Of course now the sky is dark and rain is imminent. Would it be wrong of me to lock them all out of the house, as planned, anyway? I mean, they'll have the gloves. Their hands will be dry. Oh, I'm just kidding. Probably.
It's getting to where it feels like I need a whole separate calendar just to keep track of the end-of-school-year events and happenings and places we are required to be and things we need to do. (For example: The day after school ends, incoming middle schoolers for the following year who wish to be in the band have to go fork over a few wads of cash, sign paperwork, and pick their instruments. Should you move to the district later than the day after school ends, one assumes you are relegated to playing tuba. In the corner.) Today was a very special day wherein Chickadee and a classmate were...
Tomorrow my dad and stepmom arrive for a week-long visit, and because we love them very much and hope they never figure out what complete and total pigs we are, we've been tidying up the house in preparation for their arrival. Um. Wait. I think maybe they read this blog. Oh hey, look over there! RIBEYES, POPSICLES AND A FUNNY MOVIE WITH STEVE CARELL! (Okay, we should be good for about an hour and forty minutes, now.) ANYWAY, as I was saying, my family is disgusting. Well, everyone except Otto. Otto is probably the tidiest of the lot of us, because he is part robot. (Otto's mother is lovely,...
I don't usually (read: ever) blog about sex. I'm a shy, retiring flower when it comes to such things. Also, my husband is descended from Puritans and my dad reads here (waving to all of the horrified men in my life). So, yeah. Not a sex blogger. On the other hand, some things must be blogged. Some things BEG to be blogged. And going to a "special" party just for ladies is one of them, no? Yes. I went to such an event, my pretties, and it was truly the experience of a lifetime. Not so much because of the products themselves, no. More because you just tend to learn a lot about people when...
