When I was a freshman in college, I took a women's studies class. At the time, I remember being a little taken aback by how much the study of women centered on the ways men were wrong - almost as though we are more defined by other people rather than ourselves - but being a bubble headed 18 year old I obediently sucked up the professor's rants and regurgitated them in the appropriate papers and essay questions. I did very well in that class.
About a week ago I took Tre in to see his allergist. According to the office records, we were about eight months overdue for a check up. Whoops. Since we're in the office every single week for shots, it's hard to imagine they need to see him MORE.
Can I just tell you how much I hate food? I'm not sure I can do it justice, because the passion with which I hate food is mirrored by the passion with which I love food. When I'm not knocked up. However, right now, food is a trial. And a burden. And a Very Bad Thing. A burdensome trial of A Very Bad Thing. To be exact.
Tre stomped out the door, cutting off the last few golden words of at least a paragraph of wisdom. As the THUD of the door echoed in the empty room, I said to Clay,
Today is Max's birthday. He's ten, or as we like to say, a double-digit midget.
The boys went back to school today. That is, they went back to Monday school, the one day a week enrichment program they go to in order to
keep us all somewhat sane give them a different classroom experience. This morning was much like any other Monday school morning - we bickered and snarked our way out the door, running ten minutes late, even on the first day. We are NOT good at the whole "get out of the house at a set hour in the MORNING" deal. Sometimes I tell people I homeschool because it's easier than finding all their shoes before the school bus comes - and I'm only sort of kidding.
First of all thank you, everyone, for your comments. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy to hear from all you lurkers and old friends. And warm and fuzzy is a huge improvement over exhausted and queasy, lemme tell you.
I was sweeping, and a small Lego brick skittered across the floor, dislodged by my broom. I bent down to pick it up, sighing. I wiped dust off the glossy blue surface and looked at it. It was one of the tiny ones, a single dot on top for wedging in the bottom of another brick. It was one of the legion that lurks in every corner of my house.I thought about the Legos in the couch, and under the couch. Legos lined up on the ledge, waiting to be taken back downstairs where they live. A Lego that turned up, inexplicably, in the silverware basket of the dishwasher. Legos on the piano.
For my summer vacation I went to Washington state, to celebrate my in-law's 50th wedding anniversary.
Thing are just plain off-kilter around here. This morning Jennie was the first one in the house awake. She was in the shower before anyone else was out of bed. Anyone with a 16 year old girl living in your house understands why I rolled over and muttered to Clay, "honey, wake up. It's the apocalypse."