N put a bandaid above his lip the other night and declared, "I Big, Big, Jim!"
The he ripped it off and asked, "Where'd Big, Big, Jim go?"
Then he laughed like a hyena and went through the whole routine again.
song: Don't Mess Around with Jim • artist: Jim Croce
Dear HP OfficeJet 4680 All In One,
You suck! I hate you! You are the worst printer I've ever owned! Ever! You are the worst printer I've ever had to deal with and that includes the old dot matrix printers that used continuous paper with perforated edges that were always jamming up, especially when I had to print labels.
All In One? All In One what? All In One Pain in the Neck, that's what! You jam up all the time! For no reason! You loose the connection to my laptop - out of spite!
I don't care that you only cost $99 18 months ago and I've probably gotten my moneys worth out of you. You'd be worthless and obsolete even if you weren't already worthless and obsolete. The color printer I had before you lasted six years and never had a problem. The only good feature you had was your copy feature and even that isn't working anymore.
You're not even worth Freecycling.
Sincerely your disillusioned and frustrated owner,
S and N had well-baby check ups yesterday and when I mentioned to the doctor that S's dime had not, to the best of my knowledge, turned up yet she sent us over to the hospital for an x-ray.
The good news for mommy was that the x-ray didn't turn up any dimes. The bad news for C was that the x-ray didn't turn up any dimes. He was really counting on getting the dime back.
Earlier in the week he'd asked: "Can I bring the dime to school for show and tell?"
"No." I said. "They don't have show and tell in second grade and besides, I'm putting the dime in S's baby book."
I contemplated getting any old dime and just giving it to him and saying it was "the dime," but in the end I went with the truth.
He took it pretty well.
"Your brother had an x-ray of his stomach today and the doctor didn't see any dime in it."
"Oh. Can I have the x-ray?"
song: Brother Can You Spare A Dime? • artist: E.Y. Yip and Jay Gorney
What is it about writing about animals that makes us go on for so long?
I could ask someone to write about remodeling their entire kitchen and the story might break 1300 words, but ask someone to write about pets and I get stories coming in at 1900, 2300, 3800 and even 4,000+ words.
I'm not complaining mind you - and the 4,000 word story is my own - I'm just wondering what it is about animals that makes us - even though we know a picture is worth a thousand words - write a thousand words any way, and then some?
Maybe it's because we know they can't call us up after the story is printing and complain that we misquoted them.
song: House of the Rising Sun • artist: The Animals
It must be a little disconcerting to turn three. To have a rudimentary understanding of birthdays as a day when people clap, sing, and blow out candles on their dessert and yet not to know when your own birthday is.
And then one morning you wake up and your older siblings are in your room jumping about, telling you it's your birthday, and trying to make you wear a funny hat.
It's much harder to be five and to know not only when your birthday is, but to know how far off it is as well.
I know this is true because H has been talking about his birthday ever since he finishing unwrapping his presents on Christmas morning.
"Your birthday isn't until spring," I remind him on an almost daily basis.
"It's almost spring now," he said last night. "The snow is melting."
"Your birthday isn't until after Easter," I said.
Sometimes it pays to be specific.
song: You Say It's Your Birthday • artist: The Beatles
So they were playing the "I Have A Dream" speech on NPR this afternoon and I was in the kitchen crying and the oil repair man knocked on the door to tell me my hot water heater was fixed and he probably thought I was crying because of the $225 he was about to charge be or because I just found out my husband's been having an affair with his secretary. He declined my offer of tea even though he'd been in my unheated dirt basement for almost an hour because it was obvious I was a mentally-unstable housewife.
Then I read a MLK biography to H before bed.
After finishing I said, "Martin Luther King sure was a good peace builder." And H responded:
"Mom. He was a great peace builder."
N continues to out pee S. Yesterday we had to hoof it over to the library from the Mullen Hall playground when he announced, "I do pee pees!" Then we spent 20 minutes in the children's room bathroom, taking off parkas and snow pants, washing hands, drying hands, getting dressed, and washing hands again times two because S, after watching N, wanted to go through the motions.
S likes to stand in the bathroom with N and when N's done doing his business, S likes to jump in and flush the toilet which leaves me saying absurd things like, "those aren't your pee pees! When you do pee pees - you can flush them. Those are your brother's pee pees."
Meanwhile N is gazing longingly into the bowl going "bye bye pee pees."
Sure. He won't say "Nite, nite, Mommy" but he'll give his urine a big send off.
Here's the different between going into the city alone verses going in with your kids: When you're alone and that guy comes around panhandling - you just ignore him; when you're with your kids you still ignore him but later you have to explain to your kids why you did.
song: Brother Can You Spare A Dime? • artist: E.Y. Yip and Jay Gorney
It's potty time! Here's what happens when you potty-train twins.
Both twins sit on separate potties.
One accomplishes his "mission."
Both twins want to pour potty contents into toilet.
Said potty gets tugged back and fourth.
Said potty's contents get spilled on floor.
Both twins want to clean up the mess.
Mommy cleans up mess.
Both twins want to flush toilet.
I hate it when they preemptively cancel school before a single snowflake has hit the sidewalk.
Then again, I hate making lunches and then finding out in the morning that I didn't have to do it.
Why do they call it a vaporizer?
Are the twins going to be vaporized?
The experts say that when you want to talk with a child you should get down on one knee so that you and they will be at eye level.
The problem is that when I get down on one knee to talk to my kids, they mimic me and get down on one knee too.
So what's a just-trying-to-be-a-good mother supposed to do? Lie on the floor and look up at them?
Because C insisted we not take the tree down until today, it's been practically indecent, clad in nothing but its lights, for the past four days.
A sorry sight really since what's more depressing than a mostly undecorated tree dropping needles in your living room?
The tree knows that we don't want it anymore and frankly it doesn't want be here either. We're just two uncomfortable parties sidestepping one another until one of us finally moves out.
song: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do • artist: Neil Sedaka
Tomorrow I will get organized.
Tomorrow I will be the kind of parent who encourages creative play in my children.
Tomorrow I will master the slow cooker.
Tomorrow I will exercise.
Tomorrow I will communicate better with my husband instead of relying on my usual technique of passive aggressiveness which doesn't work anyway.
Tomorrow I will tune my guitar. Tomorrow I will write even though I will not be at writer's group.
Tomorrow I will practice the dance routine.
Tomorrow I will not yell.
Tomorrow I will call the dentist.
Tomorrow I will overcome my fear of telephones.
Tomorrow I will wipe down the moldy bathroom walls.
Tomorrow I will stop dwelling on the past.
Tomorrow I will learn to knit socks.
Tomorrow I will buy oil paints and brushes.
Tomorrow I will read more.
Tomorrow I will make myself more marketable.
Tomorrow I will get some chickens.
Tomorrow I will buy my son skis.
Tomorrow I will learn the 'new math.'
Tomorrow I will make friends with the parents of the kids that my kids are friends with.
Tomorrow I will embrace technology.
Tomorrow I will.