Post-Its from the Edge
Dear Chickadee,
This week you have lied about all manner of things both important and inconsequential, insisted on wearing overalls two sizes too small to school, tormented your brother, and generally driven me insane. So it was with some trepidation that I asked you to put napkins in the lunchboxes, this morning, while I ran upstairs to get dressed. I cannot even explain to you how I felt when Monkey’s teacher pulled me aside to let me know that you’d tucked a little note into his lunch. It is that seed of unbounded love that I pray will become the mainstay of your behavioral motivation. In the meantime, these little glimpses may just keep you from being sold to the gypsies. For now.
* * * * *
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While we wait
The wheels of bureaucracy continue to turn, albeit at the standard snail-like pace. I don’t really have an update for all of you pretty people who are joining me in shaking a fist in the air (or, alternatively, right in Ramon’s face), but things are moving. Do not celebrate just yet. I am heartened, however, that my insurance agent came to my house this evening his own damn self to take pictures in the basement. He is playing phone tag with the head adjustor muckity-muck, and now has pictures OF MY DRAIN (you know, the one with the BACKED UP WATER) to send along should they be needed.
In the meantime, Tales of the Dumpster to come next week! Also, feel free to come on over and rob my house (of all my rare and valuable… soggy cardboard boxes) any day I’ve got the bulkhead thrown open. I recommend wearing a breathing filtration system, though.
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And then the string said…
My children love a good joke. And while I am delighted that we’ve (finally) moved past the knock-knock stage, it’s hard to know at any given time what sort of jokes they’ll like, or even get.
Our ongoing quest at the moment is to get Monkey to understand the string joke.
A string walks into a bar and says, “Bartender! Gimme a drink!”
The bartender says, “We don’t serve strings here! Get out!”
So the string leaves and goes outside. He twists himself up and makes his hair all messy. Then he goes back inside and says, “Bartender! Gimme a drink!”
The bartender says, “You were just in here, and I TOLD YOU, we don’t serve strings!”
And the string says, “I’m not a string! I’m a frayed knot!”
Monkey laughs and laughs and laughs… and then says, “Wait. I don’t get it.”
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My own musical
I’m working on the score right now. I anticipate a smash hit, actually. There are lots of catchy songs, and I dunno, they just CAME to me. Almost like I already knew them.
Let’s see. There’s “How Do You Solve A Problem Like Lung Fungus.” And “Try Ev’ry Sump Pump.” Oh! An adorable number for the children, of course, called “Doh! Wasn’t Me!” There’s one with puppets, called “The Lonely Blogger.” What else… oh! A big production number, “Go Wrong, So Well.” There’s also a soft ballad (for variety, you understand) called “Dandelions.” And a cute little romantic number, “Thirty-Four Going On Eighty-Five.”
But the best one, well, I think I’m ready to share it with you. I’d like to sing it for you, but you’ll just have to imagine. I hope you like it. It’s sort of my baby. It’s called “My Suckiest Days.”
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A nice cup of tea and some lung fungus
[But first! A non-sequitor! I am SO ENJOYING all of the angry comments/emails I continue to receive about this post, where I thought I was making fun of a commercial but APPARENTLY I was REALLY saying that I thought cancer was funny. Because that’s the sort of person I am. The sort of person who thinks cancer is a laughing matter. That’s me! Anyway, I’ve been so successful with that, I thought it was time to expand my campaign.
So, I ask you: Have you seen the commercial for Coppertone Sport Spray? The perky, happy people in the commercial assure me that it’s the very best sunscreen EVER for their active lifestyles. Even the cyclist guy insists that it’s ultra-sweatproof and won’t run into his eyes no matter how much he sweats (and then they show him cycling, dripping in sweat). Can someone explain to me HOW the sunscreen doesn’t end up in your eyes when your entire face is RUNNING with perspiration? I don’t buy it.
And clearly this means I think blindness is funny. Commence with the hatemail.]
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Caption Fun
Huck: Baron Baptiste? Seriously? No wonder your mom’s so weird, Monkey.
Rainboy: LOOK AT MY CARDS I HAVE THESE POKEMON CARDS AND YOU SHOULD LOOK AT THEM CUZ I HAVE THEM RIGHT HERE THE POKEMON CARDS I HAVE LOOK!
Monkey: Um, if you two stop talking for a minute, my mom’s eye might stop twitching and then maybe she’ll give us cookies.
Your turn!
The demon trio sleepover
When I agreed to a sleepover extravaganza, I thought I was being very clever, and here is why: I offered a “regular” party with the typical dozen guests, or a sleepover with just two friends. Just two friends! I was going to get off easy!
Having just one friend sleep over didn’t seem very party-like, and the thought of having more than two other kids here for 12+ hours made me want to curl into the fetal position in the corner. But I had forgotten what happens in a group of three.
You might argue that this was fitting, seeing as how I’d also forgotten how much I dislike dealing with other people’s children, how hyper boys are when allowed to assemble in groups, and that many children normally go to bed much later than my kids.
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Misery loves company which is more miserable
Is it a bad sign when watching the horrifying season finale of ER cheers me up a little bit…?
In other news: The long-delayed testosterone sleepover birthday party is happening here tomorrow, even if I have to put all of the boys in boats and give out oars as party favors.
And the forecast is calling for heavy rain.
Shutting up about Basementgate
[Well, except for this: And lo, on the third day, the water table did begin to recede. As of about 2:00 this afternoon, the pumps are actually removing water instead of just maintaining. I expect to hit concrete tomorrow. Never before have I been so excited by the prospect of seeing floor. I turned the pump off at 12:30 because I was afraid to let it run all night, and the water was down to half an inch. This morning? Four inches. KILL. ME.]
Anyway. Hi! The kids went back to school today, so I decided to pretend Life Is Normal.
After all, life IS normal. Right? Work to be done. Dishes to be washed. Kids to be yelled at. Crazy people to be avoided. Groceries to buy. And, um, killer dandelions. Aaaaaaaaaall perfectly normal.
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This is the driest corner
I particularly like the juxtaposition of the paper bag which is floating by, a couple of inches ABOVE the submerged carpet.
Yeah.