Chez Bud

"Here's your menu. What would you like?" Waiter Bud asked.

"Grilled cheese and ham," ordered customer Sis.

"Grilled cheese and ham it is."

"I want to keep my menu. This is a menu-keeping place."

"Sure."

Mama and I order, all at different tables.

"Here's your peppers. And soup."

"Restauranter [could she possibly have meant "restaurateur?"], where is my grilled cheese and ham?"

"Goodbye, I'm going to the store. We're closed. Here's the check."

I don't think Chez Bud is still in business . . . .

The Art of Museums

"I didn't know that art museums could be fun," Bud announced as we entered the Yale University Art Gallery recently. We had already reviewed all the rules--no touching, quiet voices, stay together--and explained we would see paintings and sculpture, but I think Bud thought it would be a children's museum, the only kind he can remember going to.

We went first to European painting and, after searching for paintings of food or animals, we alighted in front of a painting of bugs. Perfect. There we commenced a game of "I Spy" to the apparent delight (I hope) of other gallery goers. We spied caterpillars, dragonflies, butterflies, and a frog, among others in the still life (I didn't catch the artist or title, bad art historian that I've become) and loudly identified colors and counted things. I think that was enough for Bud though, because again in a stage whisper said that he was ready to go.

So we went to Asian art, where there promised to be three-dimensional works. He was fascinated with a Chinese Han tower, with several stories, people on the different levels, and even a dog in the entryway. He noticed a bird on the roof and flowers at the corners. Sis meanwhile was entranced with a relief of Buddha's giant footprints and a statue of Guanyin. And then they took turns telling the other about their favorite works. "Do you see the dog, Sis?" "Look at the feet!"

But across this gallery were African masks. We should have known better, but with Halloween approaching we took the costume approach. No go. Immediately, using one of his new favorite phrases, Bud said "That's not a good idea." And we made a hasty departure back to the lobby, where we exited to the outdoor sculpture garden for a change of scenery.

When asked their favorite part, did they remember the tower or footprints or even enormous cubes? Nope. "The big elevator," they both said. And Bud spent the rest of the day saying he didn't like the scary masks.

Lest I get discouraged, I should focus on what happened at home a few days later. Sis had found the coloring sheets from Mama and pulled out her mini markers (for the anti-coloring sheet among us--I know, I know. Not creative. But great fine motor practice and good in a pinch. We do plenty of other art). Both she and Bud spent a good amount of time coloring images of airplanes, animals, and trains. Then, Bud wanted to hang his completed work up and so he ran to the magnetic chalkboard and affixed it there. Others followed. "It's a museum," he said. And then he played "I spy." He has since then given tours to me and Mama of the gallery. I almost feel like I should write up some labels. Met, here we come!

In and Out

I've written at length about my time out practices but I've been trying something new, inspired by an article in . . . Mothering? Brain,Child? I really can't recall. But the article rejected timeouts in favor of "time in." It's basically a dialogue between the parties involved to resolve any existing and escalating conflict. For instance, if Bud and Sis are really beginning to argue, to the point that a timeout for one or both looks inevitable, I call a "time in." They now know that means to stop what they are doing and come over so we can sit together. Then we talk. Each side gets a turn, with me just acting as facilitator. Usually, I start with "what's going on?" And then I ask the other kid the same question. Eventually, we discuss "how to fix it" and "what we can do better next time," with a focus on sharing, taking turns, and using words. Nowadays, having gotten the book Hands Are Not For Hitting, I usually reiterate its themes. They like the sound and cadence of the saying. Usually, just talking seems to diffuse the situation and so far we've agreed to take turns to resolve the conflict.

But there is one conflict we are having a lot of trouble fixing: what they say to each other. Bud loves to tell Sis that she has "disappeared," sometimes going so far as to "abracadabra" her. Sis, on the other hand, drives Bud to distraction (and even fear) by roaring or acting like a monster. Neither likes to stop and I don't, as yet, put them into time out for this. And time ins haven't worked for long periods of time. How do you get preschoolers to ignore one another, especially when we as adults don't even do it that well?

Regardless, the new technique must be working, or at least in their consciousness: I've seen them play time in alone!

A Rising Star

My star is in the ascendancy. In fact, for the first time ever, I was a happy thought--#4--for Sis a few days ago. And last night, I was #1! She even wants to sing the bedtime song with me. She made me a picture at Mystic Seaport, working very hard and including my favorite color purple, and then she gave it to me and told me to keep it forever. She just gave me a playdough creation and again told me it was for me and that I should keep it forever. I will (at least the picture) forever.

Mind you, I've been waiting a long time not to be mama non grata (which I think would be a great name for a blog!). I've been her least favorite immediate family member for weeks now, maybe even the whole summer. I haven't taken it (too) personally but I am happy, relieved, excited to be back in favor.

Mama says to enjoy it while it lasts. I am.

-=-=-=-=

Just now Sis said she didn't want to go to preschool: she wants to stay home with me.

Smooth Sailing

We made smoothies today. I was having one of my WW ones (with tons of calcium and protein, perfect for my still veg diet) and the kids wanted their own, having liked the ones at the hotel in Austin. So I threw together some vanilla yogurt, frozen cherries, and a fresh banana and BAM! our first smoothie. Officially, because Sis wanted it to have a name, "Our Very Cherry Banana Smoothie." And they liked it, well enough. Not bad for a first try. Which means the food processor, which had recently been relegated to the basement to make room for the toaster, might get to come back upstairs, especially because no one but me seems to like toast. (And, as a peanut butter addict, I try not to have any more reasons to eat PB than occur normally. I can eat a jar in 2 days.)

-=-=-=-=-

Our Very Cherry Banana Smoothie (because I believe you can write a recipe for anything, and I actually looked up how to make smoothies on the net and in a magazine)

1 1/2 cups vanilla yogurt (this was lowfat)
15 frozen sweet cherries
1 banana, fresh

Combine in food processor/blender. Let kids watch. Server immediately.

Favorites, Do-Over

On the occasion of the recent birthdays:

Sis's List
Tv Show: Caillou
Song: she sings the "Mama loves me" bedtime song with me every night.
Color: pink
Number: 3 (she insists on 3 kisses at bedtime)
Food: chocolate anything; crunchy anything; chicken
Flavor: chocolate
Day of the Week: Saturday, when Mama is home
Ice Cream: chocolate
Restaurant: Mexican "chip" restaurant
Toy/Thing: Shirt, of course; her beloved stuffed bunny Amy; her little plastic animals; her stuffed orca
Thing to Do: paint; play "school"
Place to Go: Mystic Seaport, Seaworld

Buddy's List
Book: The Philharmonic Gets Dressed; Good Night, Chicago; Zchock's book on NYC; Animal Orchestra
Tv Show: not sure really, but he'll watch Caillous with Sis
Song: loves singing the "family song" at dinner
CD: Chanteens CD of sea shanteys from Mystic Seaprt Sea Music Festival
Color: green
Number: 2 (he gets 2 kisses at night)
Food: berries!!!!
Flavor: strawberry
Ice Cream: strawberry (decorated as clowns or in ice cream sandwiches)
Restaurant: probably Friendly's!
Toy/Thing: stuffed orca; sporting goods--baseball, soccer, football
Thing to Do: play baseball; play band/parade
Place to Go: Mystic Seaport


Mommy's List

Book: Pausch's Last Lecture; Radical Hospitality; and just about done with Eliot bio
Movie: Waitress has really stuck with me
Tv Show: Olympics; Shear Genius (until Top Chef comes back)
Song:
CD: my Hildegarde von Bingen (chants) recording
Color: purple
Number: 12
Food: lentil soup (for now)
Flavor: chocolate; tamarind (candy, ices, chutney)
Day of the Week: weekends
Ice Cream: Tamarind ice (both here in town and in San Antonio)
Magazine: Penzey's One for good, simple recipes
Restaurant: I've been craving Indian, and, as always, Bertucci's rolls
Toy/Thing: stamp set; arts and crafts
Thing to Do: nap, read, blog, make cards
Place to Go: church
Saying/Words: much of The Last Lecture has stuck with me, but I regularly remember my WW leader saying, "Forgive yourself. It's what you do next that matters." And that's not just a diet thing.

(Mama is still working on her list, mainly because she humors me and my blog).

Raising the Bar

We were going to make Penzey's "Elfie" cake with apples and raisins yesterday for playgroup, but Miss T was making apple bread pudding (YUM!) and so Sis asked for chocolate. We didn't have enough time for dozens of cookies from my grandmother's recipe, nor the right ingredients for an indulgent chocolate cake (or more manageable cupcakes). So, I thought: bar cookie. Instead of consulting any of my zillion of cookbooks and clipped recipes, I searched the net (really, why do I bother with paper these days?). I kept coming across the Nestle cookie bar recipe and so, in a flash of inspiration, flipped over the bag of chocolate chips I had and used that. It was easier to make the cookies than to find the recipe! And they are all gone, having been very popular. Especially with Sis.

-=-=-=-=-

Nestle's Chocolate Chip Pan Cookie Recipe
2 1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs1 (12 ounce) package semi-sweet chocolate chips (we used milk chocolate)
1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 375F. Grease a 15x10-inch jelly roll pan (I used a plain 9 x 13" glass baking dish, increasing the baking time about 5 minutes). Combine flour, baking soda and salt in small bowl. Beat butter, both sugars and vanilla in large mixer bowl. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each. Gradually beat flour mixture into butter mixture. Stir in chocolate chips and nuts. Spread into prepared pan. Bake 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.

back of Nestle Chocolate Chips bag

Picture Perfect

If you drive by our house, you will notice some changes. No, not a new roof, yet; that's coming (we might get the date today). We have decorated some of our windows with window paint markers. On the side window of the front porch, we painted a rocket ship, astronaut, and planet, plus stars painted by the kiddos and a Milky Way suggested by Bud. If you go around back, to our patio doors, you will see a montage of night and day, with a sun, moon, clouds, stars, bat, and rain drops. Painting the house windows was great fun (the kids are so proud and point them out to everyone), even with only red, black, blue, and white. While we used markers I bought at the store, I'll be tempted to create my own paints next time, by adding dishwasher liquid to regular kids' paints. I'll let you know how it goes.

Go in Peace

Lesbian activist, and California newleywed, Del Martin, age 87, has recently passed away. She is survived by her wife, Phyllis Lyon, 83, with whom she formalized her vows, for a second time, in the first marriage in San Francisco this summer. They had been together more than half a century.

New New Yorkers

An article in the NYTimes recently had me thinking about my first days and months as a New Yorker. Almost exactly 15 years ago, when I left Texas for graduate school in the city. Oh, how terrified and excited and proud I was. Most of my friends and family had never been to NYC, much less lived there. Of course, the majority of them thought I was nuts, but I think my mom, while also terrified (apparently she cried all the way back to Texas), understood.

But oh, those first few days. I'd read a number of guides to NYC, though all tourist guides, not for living there. Someone really needs to write a guide to living in NY for newbies. Somewhere I read not to look at anyone. And if, goddess forbid, you did make eye contact: Don't. Ever. Smile. Practice looking pissed, maybe even slightly crazy, for the best protection. Also, don't chitchat, which means no making pleasant conversation about the weather in the elevator or in line at the store or with any service person (waitress, check out guy, whomever). Always, always keep moving on the sidewalk. Only tourists stop in the middle of a sidewalk. And never look up. Only tourists look up. And never ever ever ever consult any kind of map when you are trying to find your way. Just keep walking. Even against the light. Real New Yorkers don't wait for the crossing light. Only tourists cross when told. Obviously, not being a tourist was the main definition for being a real New Yorker.

Besides these behavioral modifications, many of which I found intimidating and even difficult (like no small talk), there was the sound. And the smell. And the feel that I remember. Oh, how dirty my hands felt all the time those first few weeks. And this was before Purell. I wish I'd known to buy baby wipes. I just felt grimy. Mind you, this was August and so it was hot--the city is skanky in August. That first night we slept in my grad housing, we tried to sleep with the fan in the window to keep us moderately cool but it was so noisy from traffic and sirens that we closed the windows and then sweltered all night.

Navigating the subway was never that much of a problem for me, mainly because I mapped out my route and memorized it before I left. Also, I only ever took the (then) 1/9 or the M104. This was before Google or much internet usage (I didn't even have a computer!!!) so I kept maps of the city stuck everywhere--my room, my backback, my purse--in all sizes from business card (bought near Central Park), to small fold out, to Streetwise NY (from Barnes and Noble). Of course, in the beginning, I was only venturing to well-known tourist places anyway. (Even though that quickly qualified me as not a real New Yorker, but about this one thing, I didn't care. I preferred riding the bus--better view, easier to cope with a delay--but always, always stressed about getting off at the right stop or through a crowded bus. I still stand up too soon.)

And when we walked into the Met for the first time, I cried. And immediately bought a membership. I loved it and it is always, along with Times Square and Grand Central, one of the first places I return to in NYC. It was also a convenient bathroom stop on the way downtown, if need be, I kid you not. Because of my IBS, I know the tricks of finding bathrooms and the best ones to go to. And this was before Starbucks.

Going to grad school provided me an instant network and sense of place in the bustling city, something the youngsters in the article have trouble connecting with. It would have been much harder on my own. And I was never interested in being hip or part of the "real" NY scene, so finding the right club or restaurant didn't bother me. This was before Sex and the City, too, more in the days of that show with Kerri Russell, what was that called? Besides, I was a serious grad student.

The article talks about how new New Yorkers feel when going "home" to their land of origin the first few times. I remember thinking my hands weren't as dirty. And that people walked--when they ever walked!--slowly. And that everyone moved through lines slowly. Especially with all that extra chitchat. And that non-urban grocery stores were soooo much nicer than the urban marts.

Other things I learned:

• Never buy more than you can carry.
• Always have cash for a cab.
• When tipping a cabbie, it's easier to tell them exactly how much you want back (instead of getting all the change and then having to pass the tip back over).
• Don't rely on finding a cab between 5-9 p.m. in Midtown.
• Avoid Times Square 15-30 minutes before curtain.
• Know what you want when you get to the front of the line.
• Don't hang back if there is not an obvious line. And beware of the one line feeds all registers vs. one line for each register. And of course, New Yorkers stand online. Which sounds even sillier now in the internet age.

That's all I can think of now, especially because I don't live there anymore. It was a wonderful run--off and on across 8 years. But, when I go back, I fall into my old habits: I still won't smile at anyone, even if I chitchat more than when I lived there. I think, once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker, even if an "ex-pat" in the suburbs. Where I and the other ex-pats still refer to it as "THE City."

I Scream, You Scream

We had our first experience with a real ice cream truck on Saturday, in the city.

Mind you, we've played ice cream truck before. We have the one that Mama played with as a child, that her parents kept all this time, a real Good Humor truck with all the ice cream bars and coins still intact. And we've ridden and played with the pretend motorized one at the mall. What's not to love with these? You get to pretend to give people ice cream. I've even seen Bud and Sis play ice cream truck with megablocks and wooden nuts and bolts. And they make up fabulous flavors, some real, some absolutely imaginary.

But on Saturday, at Ar-Ma and Ar-Gong's house, as we were loading the car in the late afternoon to come home, I heard that familiar jingle. And, being a huge fan of the ice cream truck myself, from warm days after elementary school to hot summer days on our cul-de-sac, with rainbow snow cones and red/white/blue lemony rocket pops and creamsicle bars to candy offerings such as jawbreakers and gobstoppers, I knew we had to get some.

"I hear the ice cream truck!" And the kids came running down the driveway, never having seen the real thing (which is illegal in our town after a fatality a decade or so ago, I hear).

It stopped far away at the end of the block and we decided to wait til it passed us, giving us ample time to prep the kids and decide. In the excitement, Sis slipped off the sidewalk and scraped her elbow, a nasty boo-boo needing ointment and bandaids. But ice cream made it all better.

It was our turn. And the kids couldn't decide. Bud wanted strawberry, which they didn't have. He got a cherry dip cone, this electric pink-red monstrosity as big as his face. Which was soon covered in pink and red and white. Sis went for a regular chocolate cone, which she licked slowly and meticulously. I had a chocolate dip cone, with memories of Dairy Queen flooding back. Only Goo was game among the others, and he got a cherry dip too. Bud thought it was cool that they matched and insisted on sitting together.

So, having had a delightful day at the beach, then swimming in the kiddie pool at home where we played catch with water balloons (then later, how can we burst a water balloon?), and a BBQ chicken lunch (plus noodles and other good things), we finished the day with ice cream. A real ice cream truck. The stuff memories are made of.

Time After Time

"What time is it?"

"Six twenty-five."

"I don't see a five."

How do you explain a clockface to kids who don't even have a grasp of the length of a minute, an hour, a day, a week, or a year? Much less the esoteric way a six can be a six or mean "thirty minutes." I had trouble reading non-digital clocks for years and am still slow; at least I have my fives multiplication table down. But every night at dinner, we stare at the clock over the patio door and talk about the time.

"What time is it now?"

"It's still six twenty-five."

"But when it gets to the top, what will it be?"

They know that when the second hand reaches the top, the time will change.

"Six twenty-six."

"I see the six."

The same thing happens when I tell them we're going to do something in an hour, the next day, or next week. Mind you, if it's not about an hour away, I try not to mention it at all because they have no idea how long it will be. They just keep asking. Most of the time, I say later. "Later" must seem like an eternity.

Now, the challenge is holidays. They keep asking about Halloween. "After school starts," I say. But when is that, exactly? Next week. Right. And then, when is Easter? And birthday? They at least seem to get the progression from summer to fall to winter to spring, so we try to go with seasons. That's in the spring, after it's been really cold. But then, when it's chilly in the morning, it's winter. Just like when it's dark at night, it must be Halloween.

They are so interested in the passage of time, just as I'm trying to slow it down.

Zoo Animal Toob

First, it was big puffy plastic Fisher Price animals, A-Z and others. Then it was soft little stuffed animals that we bought at various science museums in thematic packs like woodland and jungle. Now, we have a veritable menagerie of little plastic (phthalate-free) animals, again from thematic packages (called "toobs") like sealife and arctic, that we use for everything. We even gave out some for birthday party favors. We build them block houses, take them on model train rides, let them party in our Rescue Center, hide them so we can go exploring and "discover" them, and Sis even puts a few treasured ones in a spare sock to sleep with. Sis is partial right now to the whales and dolphin set, turtle and frog set, panda bear set, and a few woodland critters; she likes to classify them into groups (sometimes sophisticated habitat groupings, sometimes just by color). She particularly likes if there is a mommy and baby (there are "baby toobs" but oddly, some of the babies don't have mommies in the other toob, i.e. we have a baby manatee and otter but no big ones); otherwise, she'll say the baby or mommy is lost and the remaining one is sad. I've taken to buying bigger animals from Schleich just to make families! Bud is all bugs all the time, looking at them through his magnifying jar. The farm set is sadly and routinely ignored. I like the odd little animals: the panda with the bamboo, the otter with the rock, the skunk, the raccoon.

Actually, the animals take me back to my childhood. I had a shoebox filled with plastic animals, mainly the grocery store variety, with 20 farm animals and a fence, definitely not phthalate free. One set of farmyard animals, I know, came from my grandmother's neighbor Mrs. Swanson, whose house I would visit when we went to my grandma's. I don't know where I acquired the rest, probably the traditional shopping trip bribe. My favorite ones were my sea animals--strange and exotic aquatic life that I could set up to make an ocean on my carpet. On other occasions, I would carry them outside or over to my nextdoor neighbor's house and we'd play together. I wonder where the box is now, probably tossed long ago or lost in the fire at my parents' house. But happily, some 30+ years later, I can revisit my childhood games and make an ocean on my carpet, a jungle on my coffee table, and a forest on my couch.

Name Calling and Other Funny Things

"I'm a cereal head!"

"And I'm a yogurt head!"

"And you're a blueberry head!"

This is our new game: if a preference is shown for anything, that person becomes a "head." I'm a "coffee head," a "cereal head," and a "bar [as in Lara or Luna] head." And then yesterday, as we ate at Claire's in New Haven, we noticed that the art on the walls literally showed "coffee cup heads." And so we spent the meal coming up with hilarious "heads." And discussing what it would be like to, say, spill your head or eat what your head was. What if you were a "soccer head?" Would people kick you? What if you had a "soccer head" but "football hands?" Gommie has her own version of this game. She calls Sis "Gigglebox" and Bud "Chatterbox," which has become "giggle head" and "chatter head." And then, related, but not exactly, the kids love to make up their own non-sensical words and names. Apparently, I used to do the same and my parents always say they wished they'd written them down. Well, I'm smack-dab in the middle of the humor and I'm not sure how I would spell any of these names, if I can remember the crazy, multi-syllabled things.

All told, a sense of humor seems to have kicked in over here. The kiddos tell knock-knock jokes. Sort of. They don't really understand the specifics of the humor, or even the structure of the joke:

"Knock, knock. Who's there?"

"Orange."

Hilarious laughter from both sides. Sometimes it's "Boo." Sometimes it's "Goo." I had told them some knock-knock jokes earlier--I forget why--and this is the version of it they remember. I'm sure it's just the beginning. But it's okay, laughing each day keeps the doctor away.

e(vil)Bay

I should know better than to go on internet auction sites. Even when I have a very specific item in mind, I end up either a). finding something else or b). spending more than I decided I would. Both of these happened this weekend.

See, I needed a specific stamp set for a project I'm planning. But it had been retired from the catalogue. I had been told that I might be able to find it on eBay. And I did. So I bid and was immediately outbid. Harumphf.

I was bitten. I bid for another offering of the same set and was looking around. Lo, and behold! Another stamp set that would work with the one I wanted. So I bid. Yesterday, one of the stamp sets auction time came up (pretty sure that's not the right lingo, but I don't know it. I really try not to spend any time there). And about 10 minutes before time was up, someone over bid me. Ooh, that riled me up. I wanted, no, I needed, that stamp set. And so I upped my bid a few dollars, so did they. Just a minute or two left. Then 19 seconds. Should I up again? Was I going to win? Would my computer refresh in time? Confirm bid! Confirm bid!

I won. I was elated. I was jubilant. I was violent. I had crushed the other bidder, who had put in 7 bids in 10 minutes. I had spent $2 more than I had mentally projected (which is peanuts on this site, I know). I was the winner. Ooh, it felt so good. The stamps themselves almost became secondary for a little while. It was all evil.

And so, Mama took the computer away from me.

But she's not here now . . . .

We've Got Mail

There is a small, flip top stationery box on our piano that we check everyday. It is our family mailbox. And almost everyday, Mama has left postcards for the kiddos inside. Always decorated with stickers, these cards have one line questions or comments. Depending on the day, Sis got a "get well soon" and a "can you match the animals?" (there were two of each barnyard stickers on the card). Buddy has gotten "let's sing 'Old MacDonald' tonight" or "what did you see at the zoo today?" The messages are often relevant and look forward to Mama coming home in the evening. There is no mail on weekends.

Sis has started making cards to put in the mailbox for Mama. In fact, we're decorating cards with new glitter glue after lunch. Just in time for evening delivery.

Gold Medal

While the kiddos aren't watching as much of the Olympics now, Olympic fever is still high here, especially for Buddy. Everything is a race: when I drive, we are racing the other cars wherever we are going. When we walk up the stairs, we are racing. Same with any transition from A to B. And it's not that he speeding around, he just likes to say it's a race and then cross a finish line.

And now he's taken up weightlifting. Yesterday, on the porch, he knelt down, picked up his wooden hobby horse (you know, horse head on a stick) with both hands, stood up with it at his chest, then raised it over his head while stepping one leg back. The perfect clean and jerk. Did he even see that competition? Maybe a few attempts. And now he'll weightlift anyting; this morning it was throw pillows.

He had already been practicing the volleyball bump and "put up your dukes" boxing maneuvers. And he loves shouting goal, after we watched a soccer game with a few. He also "calls" swimming, with "jump in, go, touch the wall, YAY!" He was entranced by archery but hasn't figured out how to mimic it.

What's next BMX trike?

Quips and Quotes

"Tea-are-one-in-one-tea what is that?"

"Why."

Buddy had read almost all the letters on my t-shirt: T-R-I-N-I-T-Y.

-=-=-=-=-

"How did Gommie and Pop make you?" asked Sis yesterday.

"Um, love." I said.

And luckily, that sufficed.

-=-=-=-=-

"Why is the sky blue?" asked Bud yesterday.

Um, do you know?

Good things there are websites for these sorts of questions.

But we were in the car.

-=-=-=-=-

We went to the bookstore yesterday. And the kids decided to navigate their own way to the children's section and went running ahead. Other customers looked at me as they scurried off and I walked behind.

"I have it all under control," I deadpanned.

When I caught up, they were playing happily. And the lady already sitting there said that Sis had politely asked to play.

"May I have a turn, please?" she had said.

Wow.

-=-=-=-=-

A less impressive quote at the bookstore, from Sis as well, "I only want a book I can see on tv."

The Man with the Little Penis

Well, at least I assume his penis must be small, because he is driving like a maniac to overcompensate.

A youngish (30 something?) man driving on the highway almost just killed me and the children. I was signaling to move into the left lane and had him clear in my rear view mirror and had checked to see that there was enough space by turning my head around and then moved into the left lane. Instead of letting me into the space that was clearly there, he sped up and then tried to pass me on the shoulder, honking and gesturing, both him and his friend, the whole time. I had to swerve back into the right lane to avoid an accident, despite already having been 3/4 in the left lane.

So, I can only assume he has a small penis. Maybe some incontinence which occasioned his huge rush`and need to pass me.

And in case anyone ever needs to know who this little dick was: Black Range Rover, Connecticut License Plate # 944 WGJ.

Prick.

Happy Halloween

I know, early right? But hey, they already have the candy and costumes in stores, so why not?

My kids have been planning for weeks. I think it must be their favorite holiday. They love being out at night, getting all the candy, and dressing up. It's the latter that has occupied all the recent attention. They are definitely deciding what they want to be. Last year, they decided on Baby and Mama Jaguar this early and stuck with it. But not this year. Jaguar was in the running early on, but Sis alone has considered vet and dentist and pirate since then. Buddy considered dentist too but baseball player is at the top of his list. And I'm sure there will be others before I actually have to make the costumes.

I wonder what I'll be.