Don't wake up with a stomach ache. I said DON'T. You already did? Geez, you don't follow directions very well, do you? Fine, then. Do dig around until you find some chewable anti-gas antacids to take. Don't wonder why the wrappers are sticky. You probably don't want to know. Do drink some water to get the nasty "tropical" taste out of your mouth. Yech. Don't be grumpy with the children, just because you're not feeling well. Speak softly as you wake them up. (Don't worry; they're grumpy enough for all of you!) Do move around slowly until you start to feel a little better. Don't be surprised...
A few days ago I finally made a call to the orthodontist here, figuring that it would take a while for them to get us in, but also figuring that it wasn't a big deal. You may remember our first orthodontic visit and the subsequent tooth extractions, lingual bar insertion, and gum graft; really, poor Chickadee has had enough dental trauma to last a lifetime, already. But mostly, now that all of that is done, we are "watching and waiting" and so I knew there was no rush to get her in to be seen. What comes next is braces, but not for a while. However, I knew we needed to get established with...
Suffice it to say that it's very rare that anyone will ask me that question and my answer will be "yes." I tend to be---in a word---oblivious. Oh, I notice the important stuff... usually... but, for example, the tree adventure from the previous post started with me grilling Otto as to whether or not he was CERTAIN the damage had just occurred that day. "Of COURSE it did," he said, looking at me like he'd just caught me sniffing glue. "It's RIGHT HERE by my car, which I drive EVERY DAY. I would've noticed it if it had happened before." And he's right, of course. He would've. Me, on the other...
So it turns out that when you spend your day catering to a very sick and pitiful child and also trying to work, by the end of the day you feel as though you've been up for a week. And then you review the day to consider what you could possibly write about, and once you rule out everything that has to do with a bucket or Lysol or the indignity of the Hallmark Channel claiming that Little House on the Prairie is on when REALLY it's just another damn episode of The Waltons, there isn't much else on your mind. Um, let's see. Oh! Our dishwasher started behaving strangely. And by "behaving...
I had so many exciting things to tell you about today, like that the Great Scrabble Wars are alive and well (in case you were wondering, HOMEY is acceptable, but HOMEYLIT as the genre that results from rappers writing books is---for some reason---not) and that we've already nearly demolished the leftovers from the Super Bowl party, but I'm afraid that will all have to wait. My folks are getting ready to leave and head back up north this morning, and not a moment too soon. (No, not because we want them gone. For their own safety.) When my alarm went off this morning, I was in that place of...
I refuse to believe that my days of trash-talking the Giants and making fun of my father for being a Giants fan are to blame for the Patriots having screwed up royally last night. Hey, I'm not the one who let all those guys hit Tom Brady. Though I'd sort of like to hit Tom Brady, myself, now. Preferably in the knees. With Bill Belichick. But whatever. We have various "posters" (the kids spent half the afternoon making them) cheering on the Patriots all over the house, still, and the children---who went to bed at halftime---ate their breakfast in glum silence. "But they were WINNING when we...
The (glass) coffee table in the family room is about 15 hand prints across. Small boys who've just scarfed down most of the two giant pizzas I made them and declared themselves full will still manage to demolish two giant bowls of popcorn not ten minutes later, in about five minutes flat. Our "incredibly soundproof" home where we often cannot hear the children playing upstairs is not quite soundproof enough to mask the unmistakable sounds of seven small boys JUMPING ON THE BED. Telling people "no gifts, please" is apparently southern-speak for "cold hard cash is preferred." I swear I did not...
The older I get, the more attention I pay to what I put into my mouth and how it makes my body feel. Unfortunately, many of those observations end up along the lines of "When I eat this chocolate, it makes me SO HAPPY!" and then "Wait, why don't these jeans fit anymore??" (I didn't say I was making the right choices, necessarily, just that I am thinking about it more often. Like, now I feel pretty safe saying: Hi! I am a big fat sugar addict!) For example: I have been religiously (outspokenly, even) buying organic milk for the kids for years. You know, because I didn't want Chickadee to have...
Somehow I ended up today at a "hair party" where a stylist comes to someone's house and does everyone's hair. This is awesome because it costs much less than having it done at a salon, but this is ridiculous because a process that normally takes about two hours ends up taking seven. Because she's working on four people at once. And also possibly because my first round of highlights were blonde and I threatened to cry. LOUDLY. ["Wow, you're BLONDE!" said the hostess, as my foils were being taken out. "Shut UP," I replied, certain she was messing with me. "No, um, that's pretty blonde," said...
