Tonight we decided that none of our usual standbys would do for Family Game Night, so we went ahead and opened up our Urban Myth game that was still sitting in its shrink wrap in the closet. [Me: Where did we get this? Otto: You gave it to me. Me: Uh, no I didn't. Otto: Are you sure? I thought you did. Me: Nope, seems like something I'd remember. Otto: Oh. In that case, I have no idea.] Urban Myth says that it's for ages 12+, but we are fans of rounding up. We read the rules and off we went. It turned out to be rather more educational than we'd planned. The way the game works, everyone takes...
Wednesdays are my busiest day, because I suck at planning and I always have eleventy million things I must do and go to and monitor ON THAT DAY, and no, they can't be moved to a different day. Um. Yay, me? No. The point is that I tend to be harried and cranky and lots of other less-than-flattering adjectives on Wednesdays, and also, I would really like it if Otto would cook on Wednesdays, but often it just doesn't work out that way. So last night, we'd all just gotten home from various destinations, and I was TRYING to finish up cooking dinner, but really all I was thinking about was the...
My alarm clock went off at 5:45 this morning for the first time since last Thursday, and verily, I didst think Very Bad Words Indeed. In a discussion with some friends (okay, FINE; it was a thread on Facebook, because we all know I never actually talk to people face-to-face anymore), I realized just how LONG of a day the kids have, for no discernible reason. I mean, okay; Monkey is gone by 7:15 but is generally home before 3:00, which just seems like a long day for a little guy. It's not beyond the norm, I suppose, although the schools are always bitching about how they don't have time to...
An alert and pretty commenter pointed out that I have been writing about Licorice in my "Offspring" category more often than not. I responded that as "mah baby" that seemed to make the most sense, but I wonder if she needs her own label. Long ago I had a category naming contest and that brought us the categories "The Year of Living Changerously" and "Ottomatic For the People," both of which still tickle me to this day. Want to come up with a category for Her Supreme Dogginess? (Here, let me inspire you: I took this shot of her last night. You're welcome.) There shall be a prize. I don't know...
... of the puke. That's pretty much dog ownership (or parenthood) in a nutshell, right? When Monkey was a baby, we made up a song about him to the tune of Daisy Bell. I'm deeply aggrieved this morning that I can't remember the whole thing, but I know it included, "You're so sweet / When you chew on your feet," and that THAT was the important part. The kid munched on his own toes for hours, and he was round like a little Buddha, so it was endlessly entertaining to watch him do so. Toddler Chickadee used to run over, grab one of his legs, and cram his foot into his mouth FOR him, if she was...
[Before I tell you this, can I just tell you that the comments on the previous entry have had me in stitches for hours? Next year I'm going to suggest that the students analyze the rockingness of my readers.] Yesterday, for some reason, the family was congregated here in my office and the subject of a ring of mine came up (do not ask me to explain; I can't), and Chickadee immediately piped up, "Can I have it when you're dead? It doesn't matter how many bushes you have, people. Chickie is not going to beat around even a single one of them. FYI. Because I am mean and horrible and also because...
When I was younger I kept a journal for years and years, and about 80% of it was grumbling and angst and violent fantasies about things I would do and say if the world was a different kind of place. (Why waste energy dreaming of a world where my angst didn't exist? So much more satisfying to imagine telling my German teacher to stop looking down my blouse, you perverted creep!) Nowadays I try to focus on the finding the joy in things which are real, rather than wishing for things which are not. Nonetheless, once an active imaginer... well, you know the rest. [Why does my spell check believe...
One of the (few) things I miss about the winter weather in New England is the handy excuse to stay in and do nothing for an entire day. The kids and I used to do "blizzard days" where everyone was allowed to stay in their jammies, watch as much television as they liked, and generally withdraw from polite society for the day. Cheerios by the handful? Sure! Build a giant couch fort? Why not! Learn to be a hermit like your mother? OKAY! We don't have weather like that, here. Plus I have this husband who believes in accomplishing things and hanging out with people and stuff, so lazy days can be...
You would think that---after nine and three-quarters year with the child---I would know certain things right off the bat, even those that require a bit of interpretation. Like, say, that, "I may need a little help here" = "I just spilled an entire gallon of milk." Or that, "I had kind of a bad day today" = "Did the principal call yet?" Or, in the case of this morning, that "My head hurts" = "I have a fever that puts my head at roughly the same temperature as the surface of the sun." Sorry it took me an hour to get you that Advil, kid. I really did think you were just thirsty when you said it...
