How to make up for an afternoon of bickering
After much whispering together, inform me that you’ve both decided to take the entire contents of your “donate” compartments and give it to me for the walk. When the pooled amount is determined to be $10, wait until your brother has wandered off and solemnly pull an additional bill from your “spending” compartment and inform me that “every dollar counts, so take this one, too.”
When I ask how you’d like your donation appear on the honor roll, tell me that “It should say Chickadee and Monkey, OF COURSE,” and after some thought, add, “and we want it to be in honor of your friend Julie, too. So she gets better soon.”
Then rescue me from my rapid melting into a puddle of ectoplasmic goo by remarking, “I bet you don’t want to sell me to the gypsies NOW, do you, Mama!”
Words, side effects, and world music
I cannot believe so many people are interested in my snot. I don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified.
Actually, I’ll pick flattered, because my mother is horrified enough for most of the world. Apparently–much like my use of “suck” as abhored by my old advisor–my usage of the word “snot” is disturbing. My mother would prefer that I use the word “mucous.”
I think the word MUCOUS sounds wet and squishy and like squids might be sliding around in your sinuses, ready to *plop* into your lap at any moment. The word makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It makes me gag a little. On the other hand, the word SNOT doesn’t bother me at all. But it bothers my mom enough to cause her to tell me about how when she was in college, girls weren’t allowed to wear pants. I’m sure it was related, somehow. (Kidding, Mom! I was hanging on your every word!)
So from now on, for the comfort of all concerned, I’d like us all to refer to THAT SUBSTANCE as “nose pudding.”
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My children suck, but you shouldn’t
My advisor in grad school would visibly cringe every time I declared “that sucks,” which is (I confess) something that I seem to say quite often. One day he turned to me in exasperation and said, “Do you KNOW what the derivation of that expression is? I mean, do you UNDERSTAND to what you are referring?”
I grinned at his obvious discomfort. He came from a background in linguistics and this was clearly killing him. “Yes, I am aware. But I believe current colloquial usage trumps the original evolution.”
“Well it makes me uncomfortable,” he said. “I’m old enough to remember when that was an extremely CRUDE thing to say. Is there another phrase you might use, instead?”
“Oh, sure,” I acquiesced. “I’m sorry. ” I thought for a moment. “I meant to say… THAT BLOWS.”
(I don’t think he was too heartbroken when I graduated.)
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I’ve been violated
Hey, know what we haven’t talked about for a while? That’s RIGHT! My BOOBS!
[Don’t you just wish you were me, or at least a fly on the wall for the “Hey, I have to tell you about this website I have…” conversation I had last night? I’m all about full disclosure. Even as I find myself mired in a discussion which I realize makes me sound like a complete freak.
Me: So, I, uh, write about ALL KINDS of things. Like, EVERYTHING.
Him: Okay.
Me: I mean it. Like even stuff most people wouldn’t talk about.
Him: Alright.
Me: Like YEAST INFECTIONS. You might not want to read it. (Thinking to myself: And you might not want to talk to me anymore, either. Did I just bring up vaginal fungus to a man I’m hoping to someday see naked? I think I did. What the hell is wrong with me?)
Him: Ooooooookay….]
So, um, yeah. Where was I? Oh, right! BOOBS!
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Blind but gifted
I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but Chickadee’s therapist had the AUDACITY to go have a baby, leaving us therapist-less for a couple of months. I mean, there are back-up staff available in the event of an emergency. I’m not sure what would constitute an emergency, really. If she burned the house down? Or held up a fellow second-grader with a pair of safety scissors? Threw her brother down the stairs? Started reading cheesy romance novels?
So, every now and then something happens and I’m left wondering if we’re Having An Issue or if it’s just coincidence or I’m overreacting or what. Like, say, right now.
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Enjoying falling
I’m trying this new thing. It’s very revolutionary; I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.
It’s called living in the present. Have you tried it? It’s WILD!
But lord, it is WORK. Hard work. Good hard work, but still. When I’m not living in the past, I’m fretting about the future. This whole present thing does not come naturally to me. At all.
It requires a boatload of motivation, which–at the moment–I have*. We’ll see if it’s enough.
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I should be a movie critic
I mean it. I totally SHOULD be a movie critic, except for the part where I hardly ever see movies. Minor technicality.
But when I DO see movies, I’m always just! so! excited! And I hear that enthusiasm is really more important than expertise, in many things. Perhaps that’s true for movie reviews. Maybe not. You can be the judge. Just so long as you agree that I am right.
This weekend I have already seen TWO movies! This represents an eighty kajillion percent increase over… ummm… every other weekend. So much excitement… I just don’t know. It might not be good for my health. So far, I’m bearing up remarkably well under the strain. However, if by some stroke of fate I end up seeing ANOTHER movie tomorrow? I’m pretty sure it will create a rift in the space-time continuum.
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And the winner is…
Oh my word, that was fun. Y’all are so pretty! And clever!
Honorable “if only you knew how to count the syllables” Mention to my father, for his freeform not-haiku:
clean floors avoid
tripping over iambic pentameters
haikus rule
(Dad wins a lovely “Now I Can Count” board book.)
Honorable “I would love to give you an award but since I know you in real life I’m thinking you should be disqualified on some sort of nepotism clause” Mention to Zuska, for her lyrical haiku:
Ah! Like winter snow,
the dust has made a landscape
so serene. Why clean?
(Zuska wins, um, my admiration!)
And…
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This is what happens when I inhale bleach
I am gripped with spring cleaning fever, even though it’s not spring and I hate to clean. It’s just that every so often I reach saturation on the amount of clutter in my house and become a small tasmanian devil with The Garbage Bag of Doom.
The children do not like The Garbage Bag of Doom, for it signals the end of many of their most significant relationships. I get into this mode, I’m all about shovelling away the random drawings, magazine clippings, happy meal toys, etc. As I gradually uncover actual surfaces, I whip out the Fantastik and wipe down the newly discovered tabletops. And then! It smells nice! And looks nice! And I am happy!
So, in my toxic fume euphoria, I’ve decided to share the joy. Let’s have a contest!
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Secret lives of headless models
Everyone has things that they do to relieve stress, right? Me, I like to shop. But you know, if I shopped as often as I was stressed, I would be broke. Broker than I already am, I mean. Also my already cluttered house would fill up with stuff, I suppose. Like many, many pairs of pointy-toed shoes.
So, I often go shopping and come home empty-handed. Just because. But on busy days, I cannot just go out shopping. I can, however, use my beloved internet to do some virtual shopping! Online! In my pajamas! GOD BLESS AMERICA!
Today I did a little online browsing at a store which I adore and may have also stolen borrowed some graphics from for the purposes of illustration. You know, the latest online retail craze is elaborate and irreverent descriptions to accompany items for sale. (Don’t know what I’m talking about? Check out woot! or Daily Zort.) I’d like to see that trend spread.
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