This boy. I have to shake my head and smile when I look at him. He is my man-child and some days I cannot believe how quickly time has passed. He is brutally handsome, staggeringly smart, and wickedly funny.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I'm dog tired. The dog is, well, dog tired. When I took this picture of me, she glared at me with utter disdain for disturbing her. She is tired and wants only to curl up on her smelly Spiderman beanbag chair to go to sleep. So that she can later keep me awake at 2:45 in the morning with the wet, slurping sound of her licking her smelly Spiderman beanbag chair. I love this dog, but sometimes I just cannot figure her out. Licking something redolent and delicious? Yup. I get it. Licking this beanbag that I can hardly stand to keep in the same room that I breathe in? Nope. Don't get it.
Mmmm...waiting for Lo Mein and Bourbon Chicken. Maggie couldn't wait to eat. Mary couldn't wait to leave. "What's that smell?" she asked in her very subtle, toned-down voice. And by subtle and toned down I mean could be heard two counties over.
The carpool line. I wish I had a dollar for every minute I've spent waiting in a carpool line. I wouldn't be a millionaire, but I would have enough money to keep me in dollar McD's Diet Coke for a long time.
I am pondering how one might go about creating a new--perhaps smarter, less fart-y--dog from the dog hair in my vacuum. I think that there is probably enough here for a toy version. If I did the stairs and upstairs, I'm pretty sure I could replicate her exactly. Pound for pound.
This, apparently, is where socks go to die. The dumb dog doesn't understand why this bothers me. She sees the fact that my children do not know how to take off their socks and put them in the laundry as something akin to hitting the lottery.
Something is wrong with this picture. And no, it's not my first generation video ipod that makes my teenagers laugh because it's like, so, you know, old, dude! (What can I say? I am old. Old works for me.) No, no. The wrongness would be the ear warmers and gloves that I had to wear to run.
I drive by this every day. This sign makes me want to weep. Please, people, for the love of all that is good and right, check your punctuation before you go making a giant sign! I'm pretty sure that the word "weekend's" doesn't need to be possessive.
The lunch I pack for a certain child almost every day. Don't judge. This is a child who likes two fruits--strawberries and bananas--and I have discovered through expensive trials that she will not eat them when they are packed in her lunch. She only eats one vegetable--mashed potatoes--but we don't have those every week, you know. She only eats one kind of meat--store bought chicken nuggets--but she doesn't want them in her lunch. Sometimes she gets mac'n'cheese in a thermos. I have occasionally packed cereal. She used to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but she now declares them 'gross.'
Figuring out how he will manage to read the last few pages and eat his pop tart on the bus before he gets to school. He didn't hear his alarm go off and woke up late. He was laid back about it. As always.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Apparently the date was so important to me that I missed it. Actually, what more likely happened was Daylight Saving Time with all it's promises of evening light and fun and all it's drudgery of weeks of waking in the darkness and body clock confusion.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
1. Preparation makes life easier.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Remember how I was all I love my shiny new computer and I will be writing on it all the time life is happy lalalala? Well, that was before life conspired against me. Two things happened to get in the way of all that shiny, happy writing:
Monday, March 7, 2011
I have officially hit my 25 bottle mark on my wine life list. I am a quarter of the way through. That sounds really bad until you think that it's been since last May or so since I embarked on this particular adventure. And also when you consider that I haven't consumed every bottle on my own. Most of them, yes (LUSH!) but not all. I have had help now and then. So I now give you numbers 11-25:
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Anyone want a dog? No? Are you sure? She's cute. Right now, though, I'm pretty sure that's all she has going for her. Because if I were to put up a sign offering her to a good home, under her picture and the words "I'm cute" the fine print would say:
"I am also very good at finding doors left open even a fraction of an inch and then using my hidden and retractable opposable thumbs to completely open the door and escape to roam the neighborhood. I am not good at closing the door behind me. I am a fast runner. If you plan on coming after me on foot, you should bring along an Olympic sprinter. If you plan on coming after me in the car, I will ignore you until it suits my purposes. Then, when I am good and ready, I'll pretend to be submissive and slink into the car. Then I'll fill the car with the smell of my dog breath because, dude, I can really run fast, yo and that makes me pant. I love this game and am very good at it. I like to play it alot. I also like to play Spitty Ball. This game involves you throwing a tennis ball, me going after it, and then soaking it in my saliva and tossing it back to you. I really like to do this when you are relaxing on the couch after a long day and you are finally in control of the television. I have great aim. My favorite target is your chin. I am very furry and very generous. I like to leave traces of my presence everywhere within your dwelling and on your clothing by leaving behind copious amounts of dog hair. What can I say? I'm a giver. I am superb at chewing on things that will make you scratch your head in wonder and consternation; stuffed animals, Barbies, popsicle sticks, and expensive retainers are just a few of the things that have bent to the mercy of the sharpened spears you call teeth. I also believe that I am a lapdog and if you are sitting on the floor, well then friend, I am sitting on you! I love everyone, therefore I believe that everyone loves me and I greet all with the wagging of my entire body for an absurdly long time. Man, I know how to show when I'm happy. Well, except for the UPS guy. I hate him. I'm really good at making his brown truck run away every time he comes by. Coward. Also, I snore. And fart. Loudly. Seriously, what's not to love??"
Hey, I'm smarter than my dog. I'd put the fine print in invisible ink.