I'm a full-time Business Development Specialist living in Northern California with my husband (JohnnyLogic), who is an IT Technician, and our son Cole (born 10/05).
By the time I post this, my (work) week will be finished. Sure, there's a lot more that I need to get done here this week, but it ain't gonna happen. There's always next week. At least, until there isn't... But I'm fairly positive that next week will come, and with it the chance to slack off some more get some more work done.
Until then, play nicely. No hitting, scratching, hair pulling, or name calling. Don't watch too much tv and go to bed on time. And eat your veggies.
I'll be playing hippie in the sunshine with my son, my guitar, live music, and lots of beer.
This morning I had to go get a filling. It's been a while, thanks to my parent's prudent bonding of my teeth as a child and decent oral hygiene ever since. I arrived at 8 and was told that I didn't have an appointment.
Wait... what?
Oh- sorry! The appointment is at 10:20. Come back then.
Fine.
So I arrived at 10:10 for my appointment. And waited. And waited. And what happened next? Yup- I waited.
Whatever. I got to see pictures of Portia and Ellen's wedding and listen to the man in the operating room next to me snore as he was under sedation.
Then they came to numb me. I got topical first and then, after about 10 more minutes of waiting (and more snoring from next door), the dentist came to give me the shot. And? She's awesome. I was freaked out (I HATE NEEDLES), but I closed my eyes, breathed deeply (she even complimented me on my "beautiful breathing"), and it was over with hardly a pinch.
However, when she was finished, it looked like I had lost a brief fight with a pole.
(Taken from my Blackberry all sneaky-like, because I wasn't supposed to have my phone on at all. Eeep!)
Do you see that lip? I didn't intend to come away from the dentist looking like I'd had collagen injection. I told the dentist that I was on to her- she was trying to turn me into a Muppet. She looked at me a little oddly.
It felt like they had surgically attached a vienna sausage to my face where my upper lip should be. At one point during the filling process, she kind of flapped my lip, while at the same time the guy next door started snoring again. I was doing my best not to shake with laughter as she was trying to drill, thinking that that probably wasn't entirely conducive to the process. Or to being able to keep my teeth.
Anyway, now, 6 hours later, the swelling is gone. At one point I was ready to rip my lip off because I kept feeling an itch there that I could not scratch. It was making me insane! But now I can talk and scratch like a "normal" person once more. Hurrah. And perhaps I'll be able to keep my teeth for at least one more day.
(** I actually really like going to the dentist. Except for the needles.)
The stress builds up and I start to lose it over all of the things I can't control, and so I take back control over those things I can.
The chaos had gotten to be too much. I could overlook it when I was feeling okay, but when everything else went crazy, my ocd took over.
So yesterday I cleaned. I organized Cole's room, I scrubbed all of the baseboards in the house, I de-nastified the shower, I washed all of the bathroom rugs, I did several other loads of laundry, including the towels that had been sitting there forever, I picked everything off of our bedroom floor and vacuumed the crap out of it. When the vacuum started to smell funny, I even turned it off and pulled out every piece of hair/string/floss that had been wrapped around the beater bar. I scrubbed the toilets- even the backsides.
And last night, for just a little while, I sat in my newly very clean room and played my guitar, exploring bits of the "Guitar for Dummies" book I got for a dollar from the library on Saturday. And I felt really good. No headache- the only pain was from my fingertips re-callousing and the bruise on my ankle that I got from smacking into the rocking chair. No guilt- I worked so hard that I was more than deserving of a break. No sadness- my house was clean, my family was healthy and happy. Just me, my guitar, and the tablature for Neko Case.
And it was good.
This is a short week for me. I'll be trying to leave with Cole Thursday morning for a 4-day music festival in the mountains. I'm taking my guitar.
You know how sometimes you just need to say something or write something, and once you have that out of your system suddenly the world doesn't feel so much like you're trapped 100 meters under water and your head is seconds away from imploding? Thanks for giving me that space yesterday.
When I left work at the end of the day, the hilarious universe still had a few more tricks left for me. Cole and I had to go to the store where he proceeded to act like an asshole, and capped the trip by trying to bite me three times. I also had to field a phone call from my mother, which is something akin to playing hot potato with a goddamn grenade these days. We never know who will explode first! Fun for all!
I got home, made a craptastic Boboli pizza, made John give Cole his bath, and then tried to put Cole to bed. He fought me so much on brushing his teeth that, after several warnings about the consequences, I finally said "OK! No books, no songs, the lights are going off and it's time to go to sleep. Goodnight." and closed the door behind me. After he screamed "WAIT MOM!" for several minutes, I went back in and told him that he should remember what happened tonight because it will happen from now on when he fights me. I said that if he wants book and song time at night, he has to let me brush his teeth without the fighting. I'm done with that bullshit (I did not say "bullshit" to my child). And then I kissed him, told him I love him, said goodnight and sweet dreams, and walked out of the door again. Again he screamed "WAIT MOM!" for minutes, but that time I didn't go back in. He finally realized that I wasn't coming back and went to sleep.
John and I watched Buffy and then went to bed.
This morning, I woke up first, got up right away, and took my shower. I got dressed, made coffee, and was sitting and reading my book when I heard Cole's door open. I went to greet him with a hug and kisses, and he happily hugged and kissed me back, even kissing my cheeks like I do to him. Then he climbed into his "house" (two laundry drying racks with a blanket over the top) and made me Superman pancakes and fed them to me. They may have been made from dog hair and imagination, but they were delicious, and so filling!
Then I took him to school and laughed with his teacher and drove to work and read emails and drank water and talked to people and did my job.
I'm sorry, but I have to write it or... I don't know what.
I've had a headache for the past 2+ weeks, with no breaks except when I'm asleep.
Today I woke up badly. I was off. Not that I'm a morning person to begin with, but it was worse.
I went to the bathroom, only to discover that I'd gotten my period when I had woken up in the middle of the night to pee. I stared at it, unbelieving, for full minutes. Not only did I not want to see it, but it wasn't even supposed to be here until Saturday. It caught me off guard.
Cole fought me about every little thing after John left for work. Let's put a diaper on. NO! Time to get dressed. NO! Put on your shoes. NO! Wait... YES! (He does love those shoes.) Let's go to the car. NO! You can't take the lion flashlight into daycare. YES I CAN! You have to take off your Batman cape, too. NO! Please give me a hug. NO! Can I have a kiss? NO!
Endless.
I headed over to Quest to get my blood drawn for tests, which also meant that I hadn't had anything to eat or drink yet. I sat in the unfriendly waiting room on the awful, stained chairs trying not to think about needles. When my turn came, the band on my arm really hurt, though the draw itself was quick and easy. For once.
I went to get coffee where the clerk was doing hard sales for domatcha to every. fucking. customer in line ahead of me. It took ten goddamn years for me to get to the counter. She was so fucking chipper that I was ready to punch her happy face in. But I was nice. I held it together.
I got to work to hear that my supervisor had been calling for me. That's never good. Why he didn't call my cell, I'll never know. When I listened to his message, it was clearly an attempted guilt-trip, telling me that something I produced hadn't met his expectations. I've since seen it, and I don't know how I could have done better with what I was given.
I've been pestered today by the people I dislike the most here. One won't fucking leave me alone. The other decided that he'd do his best to break down another of my coworkers- a guy who is the least deserving of that kind of treatment of almost anyone I know. And sure, it didn't happen to me, but I got to hear every stupid word. That was fun.
I need a break. I feel like quitting, but I can't. I can't do that to my family. But I also feel like I'm headed toward a breakdown. I sit behind the closed door of my office and try to sob as soundlessly as possible. I feel broken. I feel strained. I feel weak. I feel sick. I feel sad. I feel like I'm in mourning, but I don't know what. I don't know how far I flex. I don't know my limits. I don't know my breaking point.
I don't know how I'd break; with a bang or a whimper?
Based on the comments on my previous post about what I should tell Cole, I clearly need to grow the fuck up and gain a little maturity for my own self about genitalia. I assume most people know this about me, but I am terribly, horribly, completely-over-the-top self conscious. It's BAD. Like, sometimes I can't actually pay attention to conversations because I'm so concerned that I might smell or have something in my teeth. I do not normally enjoy myself around other people, mostly because I do not really enjoy myself.
So to have to talk to Cole about something about which I am embarrassed in a way that, hopefully, doesn't convey to him just how mortifying it is? Is huge. Cole is unendingly observant, and fully willing to point out just how red my face is turning.
But I know it has to be addressed some time, and probably soon. With this pottying thing (which is going SO WELL! He even TOLD us that he needed to pee! HUGE STEPS, people!), the places where pee comes out are sort of in the spotlight. I also don't particularly take huge measures to hide my naked self from him. Not that I run jiggling around the house all the time (the bouncing is kind of uncomfortable), but I like to be able to walk around in my own bedroom and bathroom freely, no matter the state of my attire (or lack thereof).
But it's really this vagina thing that's getting to me. Boobs didn't phase me. We call them "babas," because he asked about them so early that he couldn't really say the word "breasts" (heck- he probably can't quite say it now). But here's the thing about boobs- everybody likes them. I mean, don't you? You don't exactly get the same kinds of jokes about boobs that you do about vaginas. In my life, apparently, I have taken those "jokes" to heart (not that they've even been made about me, but still...).
I also have my very own, special mixed feelings about my own vagina (fuck- I even have a hard time admitting that I have one, though I think you've all figured that out for yourselves by now). How weird is it that I have a problem teaching my son that word, but I have no problem admitting to near-strangers that Cole ripped the crap out of me coming out and that my stitches looked (or so the nurse said- I didn't look) like a smiley face? Hi! I'm smiley-face crotch and I'm happy to see you!
I'll give you a moment to stop gagging.
(And see- there I go again. Assuming that you'll be disgusted because it involves a vagina.)
So here we go- Self? Dear Danielle? Darling 29 (on Wednesday!) year old woman? KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF AND ACT YOUR AGE. Vaginas are not disgusting, yours included. It's just a part of your body and will remain so no matter how much you try to disown it. EVERYONE already knows you have one! Most of them still are willing to talk to you! You talk to other women all of the time without giving ONE SINGLE THOUGHT to the state of their vaginas. They have a similar lack of concern about yours! So fucking get your head straight (possibly try to fish it out of your ass first) and teach your son what you know is right. It's one little word. Don't further the vagina disrespect.
And, in the future, realize that it shouldn't take comments on your dumb blog for you to do what is right.
Copy the following list. Bold those you've eaten and italicize those you never want to try.
1. Venison 2. Nettle tea 3. Huevos rancheros 4. Steak tartare 5. Crocodile 6. Black pudding 7. Cheese fondue 8. Carp 9. Borscht 10. Baba ghanoush 11. Calamari 12. Pho 13. PB&J sandwich 14. Aloo gobi 15. Hot dog from a street cart 16. Epoisses 17. Black truffle 18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes 19. Steamed pork buns 20. Pistachio ice cream 21. Heirloom tomatoes 22. Fresh wild berries 23. Foie gras 24. Rice and beans 25. Brawn, or head cheese 26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper 27. Dulce de leche 28. Oysters (Blech) 29. Baklava 30. Bagna cauda 31. Wasabi peas 32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl 33. Salted lassi (but I didn't really like it much) 34. Sauerkraut 35. Root beer float 36. Cognac with a fat cigar 37. Clotted cream tea 38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O 39. Gumbo 40. Oxtail 41. Curried goat 42. Whole insects (A Ladybug or two) 43. Phaal 44. Goat's milk 45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth $120 or more (I wish) 46. Fugu (not willing to risk my life for food) 47. Chicken tikka masala 48. Eel (OH YUMMY!) 49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (But I didn't especially like it. I'd be willing to try again) 50. Sea urchin 51. Prickly pear 52. Umeboshi 53. Abalone 54. Paneer 55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal (NEVER AGAIN) 56. Spaetzle 57. Dirty gin martini (That's the way to make it) 58. Beer above 8% ABV 59. Poutine 60. Carob chips(I actually really like them. You just can't expect them to be anything like chocolate) 61. S'mores 62. Sweetbreads 63. Kaolin 64. Currywurst (If it says "wurst," the chances are that I won't want to eat it) 65. Durian 66. Frogs' legs 67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake 68. Haggis (Does anyone ACTUALLY like this?) 69. Fried plantain 70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (Intestine? NO.) 71. Gazpacho 72. Caviar and blini 73.Louche absinthe (Also not so much with the brain frying) 74. Gjetost, or brunost 75. Roadkill 76. Baijiu 77.Hostess Fruit Pie 78. Snail 79. Lapsang souchong 80. Bellini 81. Tom yum 82. Eggs Benedict 83. Pocky 84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant 85. Kobe beef 86. Hare (I've had rabbit- is that what they mean? Rabbit is yummy) 87. Goulash 88. Flowers 89. Horse (Probably- I was in France) 90. Criollo chocolate 91.Spam 92. Soft shell crab 93. Rose harissa 94. Catfish 95. Mole poblano 96. Bagel and lox 97. Lobster Thermidor (I freaking HATE lobster. Barf) 98. Polenta 99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee 100. Snake (Rattle, in fact)
I was able to bold more than I anticipated. Now I really want some indian food. Or bagels. Or rabbit. Dang- I'm just really hungry.
Last Sunday (I originally wrote that as "Sinday" which I find utterly hilarious), my Grandmother called, as usual. She calls my parent's house every Sunday night, and usually the phone makes the rounds and we all get a chance to say a quick hello.
Last Sunday, though, my father took the phone (it's his Mom) and closed himself in his room. When he came out, he had already hung up. I knew something wasn't quite right.
It turns out that my Grandmother has been having heart attacks. She went in for some pain in her arm and, upon running a few extra tests, the doctors discovered that she has had more than one heart attack in the recent past... and she never realized!
My Grammy will be 87 this month. I was already afraid for her, and now it's even worse. When will the next one come? Will it be worse? What if, as stubborn as she is, she tries to blow it off?
Ive been campaigning to move her up here. She lives in Arizona, though, and moving to California would rob her of her community, her support network, that she's worked all these years to build up. Add to that the disgusting state of health care in this town and... Let's just say "Not likely." If she was in need of great help or unable to fend for herself, it would be different, but I'd never wish those things on her just so that I could have her near me.
I also wish I could visit her more often, but flights to Phoenix aren't the $40 they used to be. And now that Cole is old enough to need a seat too? A trip to visit becomes a seriously expensive proposition.
So I send pictures and emails. I keep in touch how I can. It's not the same, but I'm at a loss of what else to do.
She's just been on my mind a lot lately, understandably, I suppose.
Cole walked in on me the other morning as I was climbing out of my shower. Before I grabbed my towel. He pointed at my... um... "lower half" and said "What's that?" Erm...
This isn't the first time this has happened. The first time he asked, I told him "that's just mommy" and he was willing to let it drop. This time, however, that explanation didn't sit so well.
"This Cole's penis, Mom. That you penis?" "No. Mommy doesn't have a penis. You and daddy have penises." "Daddy have penis?" "Yes." "That mommy's penis?" "No, babe. Mommy does not have a penis." "Mommy not have penis?" "No, baby. Mommy doesn't have a penis." "Then what that?" "That's just mommy. Hey! Want to watch a movie?!"
So yeah. I avoided it. I was mere seconds away from saying fuckit and giving him the "Girls have vaginas and boys have penises" line, but all I could imagine was his daycare provider's face when he yelled that one out in front of all of the kids the next day. I'm not ready for that.
But, at the same time, I don't want to lie to him. Nor do I want to give him silly names for body parts. I want to be unashamed that I have a vagina. Not that I want to flaunt it and give him details about the inner workings of the female anatomy (not yet anyway, though I do think that all men and women should know these things before being sexually active), but I don't want to treat "vagina" as if it's a dirty word, either. Why am I being such a chickenshit?
So I'm turning to you. Have you gone through this? How did you handle it? Any tips for what to say to his daycare provider when she's pissed that Cole's been leading lectures on anatomy?
Last week, John and I received a little financial windfall. It was completely unexpected and, considering we've pretty much been staying out of major debt (I don't count our mortgage or student loans as real debt- if I did, I'd go crazy...ier), it was kind of burning a hole in our pocket. We hadn't been planning what we'd do with extra money because we never expected to have any.
It wasn't enough to do something huge with, like take an awesome vacation or replace our roof, but we also felt like doing something fun. I mean, we hardly even go out to eat anymore. Money around here is for paying bills and buying groceries most of the time. It was kind of nice to have the ability to be frivolous for once.
So we bought a tv.
The tv we had was purchased in about 1999, I think, as a christmas present to me. It was a 27" or so, tube tv, and was starting to show some signs of its advanced age. To be fair, I think it was holding up pretty well for a 9 year old tv.
The tv we purchased, and have been enjoying since Saturday evening when we got a bug up our butts and drove over an hour to get to the nearest Costco, is a 32", HD, plasma job. We got a really good deal on it according to all of our research.
And we were really excited about it and, like I said, have been really enjoying the beautiful picture.
Except... I still feel kind of dirty for using the money that way. I've had serious buyer's remorse ever since. I look at the backyard and think "we could have saved up to get real-live grass instead of dog urine soaked dirt and dead weeds." I imagine giving Cole's savings account a money injection like we've never been able to give. I think about replacing the roof and buying new fixtures and getting a dryer that actually dries.
I think about all of these practical things and I feel like a total asshole for spending money on something we so obviously didn't need.
And then I try to get over it because it's a done deal. Easier said than done, though.
What do you think? Is it morally reprehensible to spend a windfall on something fun? Am I right to want to kick myself whenever I think of it?
If $500 (that's not what we got- it's just a nice number) dropped into your lap right now, what would you do with it?
But first- an aside. WOW, y'all! You rock on with your furious, protective selves! I was afraid I was going too far with the kneecapping, but apparently I'd barely even brushed the surface of doctor-directed rage out there. SWEET! I knew you loved me. But I'm also just a little afraid of you now...
Cupcakes. I love cupcakes. In fact, one of my favorite moments at BlogHer was while having cupcakes up in Isabel Kallman's room (who may be one of the nicest, most gracious hosts I've ever met). Those were some good cupcakes, only improved by the fact that they looked like little boobies. So cute!
But cupcakes, in general, are good shit. I prefer a good cupcake to a slice of full-sized cake any day. Perhaps it's all in my head (that happens a lot), but they just taste better.
I am a subscriber to Bon Appetit magazine, and I love it. In the last issue, among many other as-yet untried (but delicious sounding!) recipes, they had one for Key Lime Cupcakes.
Oh HELL yes!
I wanted to make these as mini-cupcakes, but I don't actually own a mini-cupcake pan. Oh- pardon me a second *cough*birthdayonAugust20th*cough* Wow! Tickle in my throat. I apologize!** Anyway... So I made do (sigh) and made 12 regular sized cupcakes as the recipe says to. However, I did not add the green food dye. I have a problem with adding unnecessary ingredients to my cooking. It just seems wrong.
Despite my omission, these cupcakes were some of the best I've had IN MY LIFE. They are moist and dense, yet still manage to be fluffy and light-tasting. The frosting is equally delicious, though next time I think I will cut down on the butter. It makes more than enough frosting for all 12 cupcakes. In fact, I think I may have to bake more just to use the frosting up. Can't let it go to waste! I will say that I did nearly double the amount of lime juice in the cupcake batter. It didn't hurt the consistency any, and I like lime a lot, so... why not?! Next time I may try to add a little coconut milk into the frosting. Mmmm... Lime and coconut...
Huh? Wha...? I am NOT drooling. Shut up!
Run! Make them! I think they'll make you happy. Just turn your head when you add the butter- that way the calories don't count! Delicious, invisible, fat calories... Mmmm.....
**I don't really want mini-cupcake pans for my birthday. I can buy those for myself relatively guilt free. What I DO want, and cannot buy for myself without feeling the burning guilt of a thousand catholic grandmothers, is something from here. I've been drooling over certain pieces for DAYS now. SO GORGEOUS. Not that I expect to ever get anything, but a girl can dream...
Cole has suddenly (at least, it seems like it to me) learned his ABC's and developed an interest in singing them (he used to yell for me to be quiet whenever I tried. Little bum.).
Last night, as I was putting him to bed, we sang through it twice. Each time, right after he got through the "ellemenohpee" part, he pointed to his diaper-region and announced "Mom! This my Pee!"
Do you all remember earlier in this year when I had to see a clinic doctor because I was starting to get shingles again? Right- it was bad.
So yesterday I started feeling the all-too-familiar twinge of an imminent urinary tract infection. I used to get them a lot, years ago, but haven't had one in a very long time. Still, that feeling isn't one that you easily forget.
Sadly, my NP only works on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it turned out that my OB/GYN had decided that this week would be just perfect for her vacation. How lovely for her.
So I drove down to the clinic again because it was the only place where I knew I wouldn't need an appointment and I was NOT going to wait another night to get meds for this.
And can you guess what happened next? That's right- I got the same fucking doctor.
This time, I thought I should mention that I might be very newly pregnant just in case it would make a difference to what medication he'd prescribe. He looked at my chart and told me that the nurse had run a pregnancy test ( I told her NOT to), and that I wasn't. I told him that there's no way it would have shown up in a pee test because it would be that early. I am not one or two days past my period, I am one or two days past likely OVULATION. There's no pee test in the WORLD that would pick that up. I just want to be on the safe side.
He literally huffed and ROLLED HIS EYES at me.
Excuse me, motherfucker? Isn't this MY BODY we're talking about? Gosh- I'm SO sorry that I caused you to think for a couple more seconds before writing my prescription. I'm sure that was very taxing for you. Oh and one more thing? FUCK YOU AND YOUR SCHLUMPY SHOES.
So I got to the pharmacy and, after having both prescriptions filled, I briefly explained to the pharmacist what was going on and asked if the drugs were safe. He told me that the antibiotics were totally fine, but that I should try not to take the other because it can cross over to a fetus.
Yeah. You heard right. Not only did he roll his fucking eyes at me, but he then went ahead and totally ignored me.
So what do you all think I should do? Should I find some way to complain, or should I just drive over in a ski mask and kneecap him?
Cole is fascinated by planets, which I think is awesome. We discovered recently that, thanks in part to the fact that we hung planets from his ceiling, and part due to his love of The Magic School Bus, he knows the names of 5 out of 9 (yes, we still believe in Pluto in this house) planets of our solar system. He'll even sing you a song that goes kind of like this:
"Jupiter has a red spot and Earth is where we live."
His new favorite thing at bedtime is to go through and name the planets one by one. Over and over and over and... well, he's 2.5- you get the picture, I'm sure.
I rarely talk about my work here. I'll tell you right now that I'll never talk about it in specifics (despite most of my readers knowing me in real life and already knowing where I work) until the day I'm ready to quit. So probably never (as annoying as it gets sometimes, it's a damn good job, especially for this area). But I have to vent for just a moment this morning.
You see, I do business development, a large part of which , for my company anyway, is putting together proposals. A proposal recently came up that I didn't think was that great of an opportunity, but I put it through the review process anyway. It would have been due on Monday.
Two days ago (already too late to do a proper job, in my estimation) I gave someone here a list of arguments for why we shouldn't bother going for it. He was still pushing for going forward, but hadn't officially given the okay yet.
This morning I got a call saying never mind, with EXACTLY the list of arguments against that I had given TWO DAYS AGO, and given as though they were original to him.
What am I, stupid?
Whatever. I'm fine with the outcome- less stress for me!
I never get more compliments on my jewelry than when I wear this necklace. I'm not really sure what's so interesting about it, but I've always really loved it, too. I knew I wanted it the second I saw it. Luckily, it was only $5 at a flea-market type place. Sometimes you find the best stuff there. More often you find total crap, but it can occasionally be great.
So, y'all know that John and I don't have tv in our house, right? When I say that we "watch shows," what I really mean is that we watch Netflix-ed dvds of shows. We are perfectly happy with this arrangement most of the time.
There are a few things I miss, though.
You see, I have an obsession with dancing movies and shows. I have for as long as I can remember. Not musicals, so much, but dancing. Think Simply Ballroom. Even the really shitty ones like all of those where the girl goes in as an underdog, but then works really hard and the lead guy notices her and dumps the previously-lead girl, and then there's some kind of big performance and the girl realizes that this guy is a fucktard and dumps him and is all Woman Power! WOoo! You know those ones? I eat that up.
And I know I've missed a lot by not being able to see So You Think You Can Dance or Dancing With The Stars, because I KNOW I'd love them if I ever got the chance.
Thank you, YouTube. And CURSE YOU! For now I am itching to watch videos when I really need to be working.
So, I'll get back to work, but I leave you with my favorite of the day.
Cole got a hold of a pump-action Nerf ball-shooter a couple of weeks ago. There were no balls inside, but it was fun enough, apparently, to go around "shooting" things*. As he did so, he also did his own sound effects. He'd point the shooter at something, pull the sliding part back, and say "Psst!" He pointed it at a few things before turning the shooter on himself. Then he looked up at me and said "Mom! I Psst myself!"
How could I not laugh?
He told me to stop being funny.
*We do not like shooting, and we do not like guns. HOWEVER, there is NO stopping little boys from making absolutely anything into a gun of some sort. Ask any parent of a boy: eventually, they always find a way. Even a stick can be a gun. Or toast.
(P.S.- I may have posted this before, but my archives are all crapped up at the moment, so I can't go and check. I mostly wanted to record it for posterity... or something.)
