I am officially in the Christmas spirit
“I think this little girl wants to play, too,” I tell my children. Monkey obediently scoots back to make room, but as the interloper reaches for the toy, Chickadee starts telling her to sit back and watch, she will show her how it works. “Chickadee.” No response. “CHICKADEE. Please let her have it.”
“I’m just SHOWING her—”
“She can figure it out. Let her have it.” She ignores me, and puts her hand up to the offender once more, explaining that she will demonstrate. “Chickadee. NOW.” She turns over the toy but stands with a huff and a stomp and starts to leave. “Chickadee. Don’t leave, honey, just— Chickie. CHICKADEE!” She has tried to push past me and I grab her arm. She howls in indignation.
“LET GOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Karma, party of one. Two. No, one.
One of the things I really like about my parents is that—in spite of my having been a thoroughly obnoxious child, and probably none too winning in various stages of my adulthood, either, come to think of it—they seem to understand two very important things:
1) It is their God-given right to spoil their grandchildren,
and
2) That spoiling thing goes much better all around when they check in with me first.
This arrangement fills me with joy, because my children are happy, my parents are happy, I am happy (because the kids get things which I perhaps cannot afford on my own), and I never have to worry about opening the door to find a Shetland pony or a stripper on the porch. read more…
Please send back-up and kibble
Continuing in their fine tradition of tackling my internet problems with alacrity, today TWO cable repair trucks showed up in my driveway. I was thrilled! I mean, I’m not really clear on why Comcast would be utilizing the buddy system (unless it’s a safety issue, what with people beating the crap out of useless repairmen who show up a week after the problem occurred), but I figured two trucks had to be good news. Right?
Hahahaha. read more…
Mmmm. . . tainted tap water
So I’ve talked to a few realtors, and today I had the great big Measure Things And Sit Down And Talk About It meeting with the person who I’ll probably have list the house next year. I like him. I get a friendly, honest, capable vibe off of him. And really, how many realtors can you say that about? (Now twenty people will be enraged in the comments. “I’m a realtor! My father is a realtor! We are good people!”)
Also: Vibe? Is that how I’m deciding these things? Well, I examined his aura and deemed him appropriate. That’s true, if by aura I actually mean the various awards he’s won. Bottom line, he seems pretty good at this whole house-selling thing, and Lord knows I’m not. (“Would you like to buy my house? It has walls! Also floors! You should give me many dollars!”) read more…
It makes perfect sense to her
My daughter’s class is doing their Famous People Project, and each child has to choose a famous figure in history. They then write reports on their subjects, and—on the specified day—dress up as the person they’re featuring and give an oral report in the first person.
When Chickadee first started talking about this project, she said she would probably be Laura Ingalls Wilder. I wasn’t surprised; she loves the “Little House” books beyond reason. (I did worry, just a little, about a classroom full of Lauras.) But when the time came to start working, she picked someone else. Puzzled, I asked her why she’d switched.
“Well,” she told me, “you know, the part where we dress up is really important.” I nodded, uncomprehending. She sighed. “Mom. Laura Ingalls had REALLY LONG HAIR that she wore in two braids. My hair won’t do that, it’s not long enough.”
That’s impeccable logic, except that instead of being Laura Ingalls, she’s now being… Rosa Parks.
I would’ve asked, but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I’d start laughing. If you understand, please explain it to me.
Please ignore my paralyzed lip
Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.
The bad news is that I am incapable of eating a cinnamon crunch bagel right now, as I seem to only be commanding about half of my mouth and approximately one-quarter of my upper lip.
The good news is that my internet at home is working again, thanks to the mystical wonder I like to call “nightly maintenance that fixes whatever it is that Comcast is now regularly breaking on my system.”
Oh, wait. There’s more good news: I can make some really cool faces with my lip all numb like this. read more…
Not feeling Comcastic
I’m having some technical difficulties with my internet service. Please stand by while I rip my hair out and call to yell at the cable company some more, and then eat my weight in cinnamon crunch bagels at Panera so that I can use their WiFi.
The decapitations must end
Dear everyone who is important to me,
This has been quite a year for me. If you’re someone I see or talk to regularly, you’ve probably left me a bunch of phone messages I haven’t returned. If you’re someone far away and/or whom I remain in only sporadic touch, not only haven’t you heard from me, you have no idea, perhaps, that I’m getting married and all the other things that have changed this year.
You all deserve a beautiful Christmas card from me. A sickly-sweet photo of my children, and a heartfelt message inside, along with a succinct summary of news (but not a Christmas Form Letter, because who has time for that?), perhaps.
You deserve all of that and probably a lot more, but you’re not getting it. read more…
Oops!
If I sell you something on eBay, and you ignore my auction terms that state you must contact me within 2 days and pay within 5, and you ignore my repeated reminders, and you finally pay with NO explanation and NO apology but have the nerve to add “please tell me when you ship so Santa can watch for the package,” I might forget to go to the post office today.
I might forget on Monday, too.
Stick out your tongue
We waited and waited, and had 60+ degree days in November, and just the other day Monkey sighed and huffed, “Is it EVER going to be winter, Mama?”
I was hoping the answer was no, but alas, I am not in charge.
Also? It is hard to take a picture of children who are spinning and twirling and catching snowflakes on their tongues, but that’s okay. Right now, they’re having a blast. They don’t realize this is the first quarter inch of what will ultimately total up to a bazillion feet of that stuff. Heh.
