Today I have pleased the fickle fates. My spaztastic keyboard spontaneously healed itself; it was fine this morning when I came downstairs. I typed extra words, waiting for the cursor to start leaping around on the screen, but my keyboard coolly kept placing the letters one after another in logical succession. I think I heard it laughing at me. ("Great job screwing with her mind!" the mouse snickered to its companion. "She's actually wondering if maybe she imagined all of that last night!") Also, I'm pretty sure my hair grew a little bit last night. Really. It so did. JUST LET ME BELIEVE...
My children are old enough now that we're almost beyond the age of hilarious malapropisms. Alas! For some reason, though, Chickadee has a mental block with the word teriyaki. And this is particularly unfortunately because she just LOVES teriyaki chicken. So she'll ask me if we can have karaoke chicken for dinner, and I'll tell her I'm just not sure the chickens will be able to hold the microphone, and she becomes very annoyed with me. This doesn't stop me from cracking the very same joke the next time it happens, by the way. Anyway, I wasn't thinking about amusing word play when little miss...
1) A child appears on the stairway after lights-out, saying, "Mama?" You... A) Fork the sign of the cross in his general direction. B) Shriek "GET IN BED!" C) Pretend not to hear him. D) Sigh heavily and answer, "Yes, honey?" 2) He continues on with, "Can I use the bathroom down here?" You... A) Begin performing an exorcism. B) Grab a switch and commence thrashing. C) Pretend to be dead. D) Raise your eyebrows and manage, "Why...?" 3) "Because I feel like I have to throw up, and the garbage can in the bathroom up here is full." You... A) Inform him that vomiting is exceedingly unholy. B)...
... look! Over there! SOMETHING SHINY! Crap. It's just a grey hair. An entire afternoon of scrubbing my head with everything short of brillo pads seemed to have little effect on The Dye Job From Hell, last week, but now we have a handy reminder that... hair grows. And grey grows faster than anything else. Wait. *peering closer* I knew it! Even my hair doesn't grow that fast. It's just a grey hair that decided to release all the dye. So my normal hair is still unnaturally dark, but THANK GOODNESS the grey has decided to resume its former glory. All I need now is for my boobs to make the same...
Monkey: If you love Mama more than apple dumpling cake, raise your hand! *he raises his hand, while his sister stares out the window* Chickadee: I'm not raising my hand. Monkey: Well I am! I love Mama more than cake! Me: You didn't even LIKE the cake. Monkey: Right, so I love you more! Me: Thanks. Chickadee: I didn't raise my hand because I think I love that cake more. It's sooo good! Me: Okay, so let me get this straight. YOU love me more than cake you hate, and YOU would rather have a piece of cake than a mother who loves you. Wow, I feel special. Chickadee: Don't worry, Mama. I still need...
The following is a compilation of conversations and written communication I either have had today or will have tomorrow. Some are completely accurate. Some may change a bit once I think about it some more, but it really depends on how much sleep I get tonight. First sidebar: The Big Kiwi Project is shaping up nicely. Chickadee and her dad were busy this weekend, and I now have a large hairy mama kiwi and three offspring and an egg living here in the house. Sadly, one of the three chicks was immediately confiscated by Monkey, and now lives in a plastic bin where it is being babysat by one of...
It is a general rule of thumb that if you are the parent of a child with "issues," you are not necessarily filled with joy when a teacher or other school official asks for your attention. I'm not saying that this is always an occasion for bad news... but it's not always to tell you how great your kid is, either. Ahem. So this morning, the bus pulled up and I hugged and kissed Chickadee good-bye. The doors swung open and I heard the familiar greetings as the world's greatest bus driver addressed each child by name. "Hey! Chickadee! No, wait... Chickadee's MOM! C'mere!" "Oh," Chickadee looked...
Chickadee is--even as I type this--watching movies and eating popcorn with 7 other 7- and 8-year-old girls. In a little while they will hunker down in their sleeping bags and whisper and giggle for who knows how long. Thank the lord those girls aren't HERE. I mean, yes, it sounds wonderful. For THEM. I had to restrain myself from offering the host mom some ativan before I left. In the end, I opted for the more politically correct salute and cheerful, "Good luck... and godspeed!" The truth of the matter is that this is a rite of passage for her, and I'm happy for her to have it. But this...
Chickadee and Monkey received their first-ever allowance today. I'm pretty sure that Christmas is going to pale in comparison. It's THAT exciting. I suppose we're late on the bandwagon. That's partially due to the fact that, hello, they're provided with everything they need and plenty of stuff they don't, so it never seemed like they were needing cash or anything. (Heck, when they need cigarettes, I make sure they get 'em; that's just the kind of mom I am.) Then it can also be attributed to the fact that I have long pondered whether I wanted to listen to the immediate and prolific cries of...
