Otto and I went to a fancy-schmancy banquet last night, because he won a fancy-schmancy award. Because he's kind of a rock star. Sometimes proper parenting has to take a back seat to free steak, so Monkey was informed that his current behavior was being tabled until tonight, because we already had the sitter lined up for last night. (He did, however, write a very nice apology note to the vice principal after we had a brief discussion, which is sort of going to take all the joy out of grounding him for the rest of FOREVER when we talk, tonight.) (The sitter, by the way, was someone who came...
I am a deal-maker. I don't know why. It's just something I'm prone to, and always have been---I can't even blame it on the kids. Life is one big if-then statement, in my world. And sometimes it makes sense, I guess. Some things do logically follow from others, or at least relate to others. But some things aren't even slightly related until I decide that they should be. Other things are related but acted upon in a less-than-logical manner. I may need some sort of support group. Convoluted Conclusions Anonymous, or something. Clearly I need to demonstrate with some examples, because all of...
Otto is on break this week. The louse. He hasn't actually SAID, "Nyah nyah, you're working and I'm not!" but I strongly suspect he is thinking it, occasionally. Mostly he just wanders into the office when I'm playing Scrabble on Facebook and comments on how UTTERLY SWAMPED I must be. Because he's a wiseass. And nobody likes a wiseass! Except for me. And it's not that Otto isn't terribly busy when he has time off of work. Because he is. He's doing all sorts of manly things around the house, and he thinks I'm mocking him when I'm totally not. Like when he installed the trailer hitch on his...
It's been raining. And raining. And today, it's supposed to SNOW! (Translation, for those who don't live in Georgia: The forecast is calling for ten flakes of snow mixed with our rain. BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES AND CLEAN OUT THE GROCERY STORES!) There's an interesting chain reaction that happens 'round here when we cannot go outside to play. First, Monkey gets a little... ummm... tense. Monkey is sort of like a human border collie; we often joke that he's fine as long as he's allowed to carry heavy things and run and feel useful. On a rainy day when he can't adequately disperse his energy, he...
So, um, I guess we are getting to be People Of A Certain Age. I realized this recently because: 1) A friend of mine told me her husband was getting a vasectomy, 2) The husband knew I knew, 3) I told MY husband, and 4) The next time we were all together my husband mercilessly ribbed my friend's husband about it. There was a time when such knowledge would've offended Otto's delicate sensibilities. I mean, there was probably NEVER a time when it would've offended ME, but we already know that I am largely without shame. Still, brazen offers of frozen peas and scotch delivery in mixed company...
Yesterday I went on a cleaning tear, largely because I had one of those days last week when I looked around the house and realized that I couldn't remember when we'd last cleaned, and also that there were tumbleweeds of carpet fuzz rolling past on the wood floor. So I did the obvious things, like send Monkey off to dust (and then go around behind him, later, and get the spots he missed), and put Chickadee to work on the bookshelves, and donned a haz-mat suit and tackled the bathrooms. (Otto was out in the garage cleaning up our old kitchen table to ready it for sale, and HOOBOY did he get...
I have endless guilt when it comes to my children. ENDLESS. I have guilt over the genetic things I either know or fear they've inherited from me or their dad. I'm not even talking about deadly disease sorts of things---I feel guilty that Chickadee's needed glasses since she was a toddler or that Monkey needed a palate expander and braces. I have guilt over every difficulty they ever experience, whether it involves me or not. I feel guilty when they're mad or sad or frustrated, because if I was a GOOD mother, I'd be able to fix it. I still---coming up on six years later---have guilt about...
Goodness, you're all awfully good at this complimenting thing. Many of you get an A+ in suck-up-itude, and so many nice things were said it made me feel like a complete impostor. Here I thought I was inviting y'all to say something goofy, and then people started busting out with actual, KIND, LOVELY things to say. STOP IT. Needless to say, if forced to pick just one glowing compliment from amongst the 200+ as the book winner, I would need to go to some sort of random method or yank out all my hair, trying to figure out who was the NICEST and BESTEST and SWEETEST TO SMALL ANIMALS. So instead...
One of my friends is pregnant. Actually; wait. THREE of my friends are pregnant right now, but only one in-town friend, who I have the advantage of being able to bother daily. I mean, I doubt she's having a baby just to make ME happy, or anything, but I think it was awfully nice of her, anyway. Smooshy baby cheeks! Yummy baby knees! I can hardly wait! (And in the meantime: Vicarious shopping! Pregnancy jokes! Better-you-than-me comments! She sure is lucky to have me as a friend, I tell you what!) I have thus far really been enjoying my peek into impending-third-child-dom. For example, her...
