The first hit’s free
Well, the visit has flown by, and tomorrow morning I will repack the car–which will now be overflowing with approximately half a toy store’s worth of loot for the kids and one of every item from the girl’s department at Target (that’s what happens when Grandma offers to take Chickadee shopping for “a dress,” much to Chickadee’s delight)–and head back home.
I could tell you that this was always the plan, and that would be true. But let’s be clear: It’s supposed to SNOW here tomorrow. I love my parents and everything, but COME ON. It’s nearly May. That sort of weather is just against my religion. I need to get back to New England where we already have mosquitoes as big as golf balls by now.
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And yet, we survived
Me: Oh, we could go have sushi tonight!
Grandpa: Good idea! We’ll do that.
Chickadee: Sushi! YAY!
Monkey: *flinging himself spread-eagled to the floor* THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!
(It must have been his dish of green tea ice cream that staved off the apocalypse.)
But it didn’t make me better at Sudoku
Once upon a time, all Americans were formally granted certain inalienable rights by the Declaration of Independence. Among those were life, liberty, and people sending you free stuff to try if you happen to have a website. I cannot even find the words to express my gratitude to our forefathers for toiling on our behalf to make these things so. But that’s probably because I’m too busy with the free stuff.
I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the nice folks over at BocaJava have launched a new line of premium coffees specifically for bloggers. I take my mooching reviewing responsibilities very seriously, so I know they’re going to be thrilled that I was one of the recipients of a coffee reviewer kit.
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Out of the rain, into addiction
It rained a little, today. Only for about… 6 hours of our drive.
The kids were fantastic. We only listened to two books’ worth of audio, and the rest of the time they played Gameboys, read, colored, snacked, and asked me how much further. Monkey commented no less than 10 times, “I don’t really like the DRIVING part of the trip, I just like SEEING Grandma and Grandpa.” I would nod and he would add, for emphasis, “At the END.” Right. What are you trying to say, son?
At last we pulled up and as I gathered some of our things together, I told the kids to go ring the bell.
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I hope I packed enough underwear
Today was a whirlwind of tying up loose ends for work stuff, running last-minute errands, and laundry. Sweet merciful heaven, the laundry. It turns out that you can only sustain the cycle of “run out of clothes, do laundry, take clean clothes out of the baskets on the floor, realize the hampers are full again, do more laundry, wonder why there aren’t any baskets, combine previous laundry into one basket and put new laundry in the other baskets, take clothes out of baskets, etc.” for so long and then, eventually you find yourself staring down the barrel of a trip.
A trip means that everything has to be clean, both so that I can figure out the optimal clothing to bring and so that I can put the laundry away (in drawers! and closets! like a BIG GIRL!) before we leave. Because if I don’t, when we get back, the sight of all that laundry sitting around will rip a hole in my very soul. Or something.
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For sale: vintage church bulletins
I used to be the kind of person who turned her nose up when a car was dirty or cluttered on the inside. Cars are not for accumulating fast food cups! Cars are sanctuaries! They should be clean and orderly and people should be able to get in and sit down without having to move a pile of trash to do so!
And then I had children. They, apparently, exploded in my car.
I’ve discussed before how my kids are weird little trash factories. Why does it still amaze me, the sheer volume of STUFF they leave in their wake?
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Grating
Wow, I learned a lot from that last post. Specifically, from your responses in the comments and some folks’ responses to me, off the blog, about it.
I learned that many of you share my loathing of popsicle sticks. This made me feel warm and fuzzy.
I learned that Karen does not want to hear about me sanding down my feet, and a single joke about topping a caesar salad will cause her to declare that she will never, ever eat any food which I prepare with alleged parmesan cheese.
I learned that Kira will retaliate against foot-grating discussion with a cruel declaration of “I’M CHEWING ON A POPSICLE STICK RIGHT NOW! Ooooh, SPLINTERS!”
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Tag me once, shame on you…
… tag me twice, and I start feeling guilty and actually succumb.
Of course, I’m incredibly late to the party. But now that you know six weird or interesting or bizarre or furry (okay; maybe not furry, but I was running out of adjectives) things about every other blogger out there, it’s time for me to step up. Wacky Mommy tagged me and then Holly tagged me and now I just wish I was more interesting.
*shuffling feet, clearing throat*
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Insert “Flight of the Bumblebee” here
Just because Easter and associated hype and excitement and chocolate WEREN’T ENOUGH, we thought today, the next day, would be a good time to have Chickadee’s last day as a 7-year-old. Just for fun. Or maybe the calendar just sort of worked out this way. Whatever.
Also the child managed to lose a tooth this weekend, and decided to wait to give it to the tooth fairy until tonight.
It’s almost more excitement than I can handle. And tonight Chickadee admonished me to make sure I remember what she’s like at seven, because today is my last chance. She’s been referring to herself as eight for a couple of months now (and if you catch her at it, she admits “Well, ALMOST eight!”) so perhaps the transition doesn’t feel as startling to me. But yes, her last day of seven-ness. Let’s make sure it’s remembered.
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Just quickly
Sorry for the lack of entry yesterday; Easter kicked my ass (in the best possible way, I promise) and I think I was in bed before 10.
I need to share a few things to get us all through this Monday….
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