When Chickadee gets her license, she would like to buy a red VW Beetle with yellow lightning bolts down the sides. She has been telling us this for YEARS, which of course means that for years we have been telling her that 1) it's good to have dreams and 2) she should feel free to get a job at any time. When that elicits whining and complaining, Otto always points out that he's perfectly willing to gift her his car once she's driving. As his car is already 20 years old, for some reason this doesn't thrill her. Go figure. Given her lifelong obsession with Beetles, you'd think that playing...
Friday morning was one of those days where we're aaaaaalmost done with the week, and everyone is tired and grumpy, and we're running late and wishing it was already Saturday. So when Chickadee dragged her way through her shower and came downstairs late and then was fussing with a necklace instead of eating her breakfast or feeding the dog, I may have been a little impatient. There may have been some yelling. She may have flounced out the door without even saying goodbye, and I may have been righteously indignant that SHE was mad at ME when I wasn't the one dragging ass. When the phone rang...
Just now: Him: Leaving the building. Will get something for dinner. Anything else we need? Me: Um... world peace? And a bag of spinach. Him: What if they're out of spinach? Will just world peace be okay? (This is why I married him. He makes me laugh, every day. Even on Love Thursday when I'm so busy I forget it's Love Thursday and I end up posting from my phone, in the car.)
This past week was Spring Break, here in the land of Start School Halfway Through The Summer And Then Finish When Everyone Else Still Has A Month To Go, and that of course meant that the kids went off to visit their dad while Otto and I spent the week in Bacchanalian revelry and various states of undress. That's a total lie, of course. The closest we got to a bacchanal was a little wine-and-cheese gathering we had for some colleagues, wherein I tried my hand at a baked Brie thing with candied walnuts and we all ended up face-down in the cheese plate. (Also: When the kids called the next...
I received an email scolding from my father for skipping Love Thursday this week, but in my defense, I was sort of busy wallowing. Yesterday was just one of those one-thing-after-another kinds of days, and I was not feeling the love, I admit it. Which brings me to a little epiphany I had last night. But first, an update after y'all were so concerned that I was going to scar my child for life with the silent treatment: And I preface this with just a couple of things. First, I love comments, and I read and consider them all, and I love that folks get so invested and passionate in the things we...
I'm pretty sure I have covered here before how I am not a particularly romantic or sentimental person. Part of me would like to be, but that part has been beaten into submission by the practical part of me that doesn't have the time or the brain space to actually care. So. On Friday I realized that Valentine's Day was this weekend, and I drew close to my beloved and stared deeply into his eyes and said, "I love you. Can we please not do anything for Valentine's this year? Can we just... not?" Otto immediately took on the look of a caged animal. I could almost HEAR the opposing arguments in...
The setting: Our kitchen table. The time: Any given night around 6:15 or so. The preset: Food on table, I open my mouth and yell "DINNER!" because I'm classy and stuff. And... begin scene. "Where is Monkey?" "Bathroom." "Didn't he hear me call dinner?" "Yeah, that's why he went to the bathroom." "Do you think that he'll ever go BEFORE I call dinner?" "Do you really want me to answer that?" "No, nevermind." "Whose book is this?" "It's mine." "Why is it here?" "Because I didn't take it upstairs yet. BECAUSE I CAME WHEN YOU CALLED DINNER. LIKE A GOOD CHILD." "Uh huh. Please take it up after...
My children are hoarders. I mean, not Prime Time Special, bring in the forklift kind of hoarders, but hoarders nonetheless. Every item that comes into the house is the most wondrous [insert category of object here], and every drawing is sacred, and every graded test a reminder of a more halcyon time. I have to remove outgrown clothing under cover of darkness or create an elaborate diversion during the day ("Hey, look! Is that a big sign that says FREE COOKIES?"), lest the wailing and gnashing of teeth commence. Otto is meticulous and organized, and while he has a vast quantity of STUFF,...
Me: So now that I'm putting this stuff in her water, have you noticed a difference in the Death Breath? I mean, do you think it's working? I think maybe it is. Him: Well, I think now it's more like Terminally Ill Breath than Death Breath. That's an improvement, right?
