Water saturates
ceiling under our bathrooms
Home ownership: Wheeee
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
dirty laundry
Warning: The title will be the best part of this entry, I fear.
Erin tagged me to answer the following questions about my laundry habits. As she pithily spake -- world, prepare to be astounded! And, likely, a little disgusted:
1. In your home, who does the laundry? I do mine and Lizzy's. Matt does his own. We don't want his boy germs tainting our stuff, ya know. (just kidding, dear!)
2. Do you sort your laundry? Yes. You'll know the folks who don't because their entire wardrobe is gray, right?
3. If you sort, how many different color/fabric type groups do you sort it into? Whites, brights, blacks, sometimes a fourth category of not-so-white, not-so-black and not-so-brights. Scarily, I occasionally seem to have enough yellow items to justify a medium-sized yellow load, if all are dirty at once.
4. Do you hand wash anything? Swimsuits.
5. Are there any articles of clothing that you send out to be cleaned professionally? On a very rare occasion only. I try to avoid owning anything that requires it.
6. If you have any clothes cleaned professionally, is that drycleaning? Matt sends a lot of professional work clothes to the dry cleaners. I will occasionally toss a summer blouse into that pile, but they've NOT gotten stains out so often that I'm put off counting on them to do any good.
7. At home, what detergent do you use? Whatever. I'm a fan of the no dye/no scent, but not militantly so.
8. What whiteners/brighteners do you use? an occasional glug of bleach in the whites.
9. Do you use any fabric softeners? A dryer sheet per load.
10. How do you handle stains? spray and wash, if I catch them. If not -- oops.
11. Do you use different water temperatures for your different loads? Yes -- usually just cold or warm, unless something ... well, let's just say I have a kid, all right? Stuff happens. You don't count on 'warm' to do justice to barfy sheets, is all I'm sayin'.
12. Do you use a tumble dryer, or do you hang your clothes to dry? Most everything is tumble dried. Some of those fuzzyish blankets that seem almost dry after a wash cycle, I just take out; and bras get hung to dry. Well, and a few other items -- tops I shouldn't have washed in the first place, dresses.
13. In your home, who folds the clothes? Me. When I don't pluck them straight out of the 'done but not folded' pile. (Matt folds his own stuff, of course) Perhaps this would be a good Lizzy training exercise... Fold clothes with Mommy! We'll whistle while we work, for good measure.
14. Where do you fold your clothes? (i.e., in the laundry room, at the kitchen table, etc.) I cart the clean stuff upstairs and dump it on the floor, the bed or a chair until I can get to it. (again, if.)
15. Who puts the folded clothes away? Whoever washes it, puts it away.
16. Do you have a certain day of the week you consider ”laundry day”? No. There are certain bellwethers, though -- all the comfy underwear is dirty; all of Lizzy's preferred apparel (dresses) are dirty; etc.
17. About how many laundry loads do you do per week? three or four
18. Do you iron? Almost never. I did for the first time in years a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure the skirt looked any different for my efforts.
Scary story -- last weekend, when we were in Austin, TX, my mom (who irons all my dad's shirts, and always has) pulled out the ironing board in the motel room. As she's unfolding it, Lizzy asked her what it was. I silently died a thousand deaths.
My parents tried to raise me right -- they really did!!
Erin tagged me to answer the following questions about my laundry habits. As she pithily spake -- world, prepare to be astounded! And, likely, a little disgusted:
1. In your home, who does the laundry? I do mine and Lizzy's. Matt does his own. We don't want his boy germs tainting our stuff, ya know. (just kidding, dear!)
2. Do you sort your laundry? Yes. You'll know the folks who don't because their entire wardrobe is gray, right?
3. If you sort, how many different color/fabric type groups do you sort it into? Whites, brights, blacks, sometimes a fourth category of not-so-white, not-so-black and not-so-brights. Scarily, I occasionally seem to have enough yellow items to justify a medium-sized yellow load, if all are dirty at once.
4. Do you hand wash anything? Swimsuits.
5. Are there any articles of clothing that you send out to be cleaned professionally? On a very rare occasion only. I try to avoid owning anything that requires it.
6. If you have any clothes cleaned professionally, is that drycleaning? Matt sends a lot of professional work clothes to the dry cleaners. I will occasionally toss a summer blouse into that pile, but they've NOT gotten stains out so often that I'm put off counting on them to do any good.
7. At home, what detergent do you use? Whatever. I'm a fan of the no dye/no scent, but not militantly so.
8. What whiteners/brighteners do you use? an occasional glug of bleach in the whites.
9. Do you use any fabric softeners? A dryer sheet per load.
10. How do you handle stains? spray and wash, if I catch them. If not -- oops.
11. Do you use different water temperatures for your different loads? Yes -- usually just cold or warm, unless something ... well, let's just say I have a kid, all right? Stuff happens. You don't count on 'warm' to do justice to barfy sheets, is all I'm sayin'.
12. Do you use a tumble dryer, or do you hang your clothes to dry? Most everything is tumble dried. Some of those fuzzyish blankets that seem almost dry after a wash cycle, I just take out; and bras get hung to dry. Well, and a few other items -- tops I shouldn't have washed in the first place, dresses.
13. In your home, who folds the clothes? Me. When I don't pluck them straight out of the 'done but not folded' pile. (Matt folds his own stuff, of course) Perhaps this would be a good Lizzy training exercise... Fold clothes with Mommy! We'll whistle while we work, for good measure.
14. Where do you fold your clothes? (i.e., in the laundry room, at the kitchen table, etc.) I cart the clean stuff upstairs and dump it on the floor, the bed or a chair until I can get to it. (again, if.)
15. Who puts the folded clothes away? Whoever washes it, puts it away.
16. Do you have a certain day of the week you consider ”laundry day”? No. There are certain bellwethers, though -- all the comfy underwear is dirty; all of Lizzy's preferred apparel (dresses) are dirty; etc.
17. About how many laundry loads do you do per week? three or four
18. Do you iron? Almost never. I did for the first time in years a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure the skirt looked any different for my efforts.
Scary story -- last weekend, when we were in Austin, TX, my mom (who irons all my dad's shirts, and always has) pulled out the ironing board in the motel room. As she's unfolding it, Lizzy asked her what it was. I silently died a thousand deaths.
My parents tried to raise me right -- they really did!!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
weekend update
Lizzy and I went to Texas this past weekend. We took a quick trip -- flew out Friday morning, flew back Sunday night. The itinerary was devised before I decided I'd be taking her -- it was a bit more rigorous than I would've ideally chosen to put her through. But it all worked out well. Thanks in large part to Continental, which unexpectedly came through with four on-time flights. Yay Continental! We had to wait for 20 minutes the first time because the flight crew slept in, but United has re-set my standards for airlines to such low levels that I was just thrilled and happy to make all connections and be able to sit with my daughter on all flights. Really, airlines -- I don't ask much.
I'll probably wait 'til later to pontificate on weddings -- I've been wanting to do that -- but suffice to say, my cousin had one -- the oldest child of my dad's brother -- and it was short, but nice. A quick wedding doesn't surprise me, but the two-hour reception was a little odd. Still, to each his or her own.
My parents were there, too -- it was great to be able to see them without flying all the way to Alaska. (which is a way cool state. just harder to get to.) We drove around Austin a bit; ate in a few restaurants; swam in a couple of hotel pools. Lizzy has now decided that SHE LOVES swimming. As recently as last summer, she was afraid of water. Go figure. So we splashed around the hotel pool one morning at 7:30 a.m., trying not to wake up the other hotel-staying folks. An hour, a few dozen splashes to the face and a couple knees to the sternum later, I was resorting to begging and threats to her to get out of the water.
I'll probably get in trouble for this, but I have to say: If any of you can tell me what's so special about Texas, I'd love to hear it. I love my aunt, uncle and cousins, and love to visit them, but after three trips to the Houston area and now one to Austin, I haven't found that much to write home about. Obviously, the weather is wretched. Goes without saying. The people do seem nice. But there's just nothing ... terribly winning about it, for me. I remember San Antonio's River Walk being incredibly cool when I was 8. So there's that. But Texas as a whole is pretty far down on my 'states that are cool' list. Though they are possibly No. 1 in state pride, and absolutely atop the list of 'states in which you can find products the shape of their state.' No doubt about that one.
Friday, August 17, 2007
anyone know a good mechanic?
Our little Ford Focus has been a pretty good car. It was well cared for in its former life. And it can't help that it's just a two-door. It seems pretty happy to serve, otherwise, as long as you don't want your air too chilled. But who has need for that in the summertime in the D.C. area, anyway? Seriously, if we're not out and about between the hours of 10 a.m. and 6 p.m., we're okay. And we don't mind sweating a little on the weekends.
But FF seems to have reached that Certain Age where it needs more TLC than I'd care to give it, strictly financially speaking. Last winter, it really, really wanted to be kept inside overnight. Good thing we acquired a garage in January, though we didn't manage to carve even a Ford Focus-sized space out of our stored flotsam until, oh, late February.
It just had its 90,000 mile checkup, people. Shouldn't it be good to go for awhile?
Yesterday, while driving to work, the guts (and the remaining wisps of coolish air) just kind of ... died. We managed to work the gutless car into our parking garage, and coaxed it down Hwy. 66 to Tysons Ford, the folks who usually look after it. The same folks, incidentally, who told us about a month ago that (after the car had sat in their shop all day) they hadn't been able to find a problem with the a/c unit ... well, actually, it's been too hot for outside work, so they hadn't yet tried.
And yet, whenever there's a problem with the car, I run back to them. Despite the fact that they repeatedly make me feel like an idiot. Which, true, when it comes to cars, I am. But I think there are ways to retain a respectable attitude toward a customer.
Last night, when we dropped the car off at 6:45, as we were headed out to cross the street to the mall to drown our sorrows by purchasing frivolous goods and consuming 'food'-court products, I heard the mechanic call to an auto-repair underling: "Move that car as soon as you get a chance. It's parked in front of the showroom." The showroom! Dear heavens! You're KIDDING me. Are you telling me that someone left their 2000 Focus where those late-Thursday shoppers for shiny new Mustangs might SEE them?! Stop the presses. This is egregious.
For real. I hate being a car owner, I hate taking my car to Tysons Ford (yes, Google, if you missed the first two references, that's TYSONS FORD, of Vienna, Virginia -- enemy to those who want respect and/or competent service). And I hate the depths to which my expectations of customer service have sunk since moving to the East Coast. I guess I was spoiled in Seattle -- yes, I knew it at the time, too. I just didn't know quite HOW spoiled.
But don't get me started on that tip again. You've heard it plenty from this corner.
I just tried calling Tysons Ford (of Vienna, VA. That one), angling for a report on my car.
Keep in mind that, last time I took it in , they hadn't looked at it all day because 'the weather was too hot.'
me: How's that 2000 Ford Focus coming along?
them: The one with no power?
me: Uhhh, yeah. Probably.
them: We're looking at it right now. Actually, we've been looking at it for about an hour. The problem's turning out to be a lot harder to find than we expected.
me: Oh. Grrreat.
(Matt and me, playing the conversation along after I relayed the above to him via e-mail:)
(Matt, being me): That's what you said about my a/c.
(me, being them): Oh, no! A totally different situation. That time, we didn’t even look at it. This time, we actually ARE. You’ll be able to tell because you’ve already racked up $130 in charges from plugging it into our computer – which, incidentally, told us nothing useful.
I was extra annoyed at the car's timing -- though a Thursday-night breakdown gives Tysons TWO days (they don't work on Sundays) to figure it out, and only ONE commuter day to utterly inconvenience us -- because I was looking forward to another '64' meeting with some church friends. Now, '64' isn't really about regurgitating anything that one has found of interest in the past couple of weeks to see what others thought of same, but I had a few things that I wanted to ask about, should, you know, the conversation lag -- most notably the video we watched at church the previous Sunday (which seems to end by touting an offensive Web site -- I don't believe that part was included at church! Please disregard), as well as this news story, and this column.
Bummer.
But FF seems to have reached that Certain Age where it needs more TLC than I'd care to give it, strictly financially speaking. Last winter, it really, really wanted to be kept inside overnight. Good thing we acquired a garage in January, though we didn't manage to carve even a Ford Focus-sized space out of our stored flotsam until, oh, late February.
It just had its 90,000 mile checkup, people. Shouldn't it be good to go for awhile?
Yesterday, while driving to work, the guts (and the remaining wisps of coolish air) just kind of ... died. We managed to work the gutless car into our parking garage, and coaxed it down Hwy. 66 to Tysons Ford, the folks who usually look after it. The same folks, incidentally, who told us about a month ago that (after the car had sat in their shop all day) they hadn't been able to find a problem with the a/c unit ... well, actually, it's been too hot for outside work, so they hadn't yet tried.
And yet, whenever there's a problem with the car, I run back to them. Despite the fact that they repeatedly make me feel like an idiot. Which, true, when it comes to cars, I am. But I think there are ways to retain a respectable attitude toward a customer.
Last night, when we dropped the car off at 6:45, as we were headed out to cross the street to the mall to drown our sorrows by purchasing frivolous goods and consuming 'food'-court products, I heard the mechanic call to an auto-repair underling: "Move that car as soon as you get a chance. It's parked in front of the showroom." The showroom! Dear heavens! You're KIDDING me. Are you telling me that someone left their 2000 Focus where those late-Thursday shoppers for shiny new Mustangs might SEE them?! Stop the presses. This is egregious.
For real. I hate being a car owner, I hate taking my car to Tysons Ford (yes, Google, if you missed the first two references, that's TYSONS FORD, of Vienna, Virginia -- enemy to those who want respect and/or competent service). And I hate the depths to which my expectations of customer service have sunk since moving to the East Coast. I guess I was spoiled in Seattle -- yes, I knew it at the time, too. I just didn't know quite HOW spoiled.
But don't get me started on that tip again. You've heard it plenty from this corner.
I just tried calling Tysons Ford (of Vienna, VA. That one), angling for a report on my car.
Keep in mind that, last time I took it in , they hadn't looked at it all day because 'the weather was too hot.'
me: How's that 2000 Ford Focus coming along?
them: The one with no power?
me: Uhhh, yeah. Probably.
them: We're looking at it right now. Actually, we've been looking at it for about an hour. The problem's turning out to be a lot harder to find than we expected.
me: Oh. Grrreat.
(Matt and me, playing the conversation along after I relayed the above to him via e-mail:)
(Matt, being me): That's what you said about my a/c.
(me, being them): Oh, no! A totally different situation. That time, we didn’t even look at it. This time, we actually ARE. You’ll be able to tell because you’ve already racked up $130 in charges from plugging it into our computer – which, incidentally, told us nothing useful.
I was extra annoyed at the car's timing -- though a Thursday-night breakdown gives Tysons TWO days (they don't work on Sundays) to figure it out, and only ONE commuter day to utterly inconvenience us -- because I was looking forward to another '64' meeting with some church friends. Now, '64' isn't really about regurgitating anything that one has found of interest in the past couple of weeks to see what others thought of same, but I had a few things that I wanted to ask about, should, you know, the conversation lag -- most notably the video we watched at church the previous Sunday (which seems to end by touting an offensive Web site -- I don't believe that part was included at church! Please disregard), as well as this news story, and this column.
Bummer.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
more photoage
Hey Tara -- it doesn't take much prompting from me to brag on my daughter. :) I just don't trust my judgment, where she is concerned. But, since you mentioned how lovely she is -- thanks! -- I had to throw a couple more photos on here of her and her wonderful daddy. Taken at a fabulous birthday party we had down the street about a month ago. It was a "Go Diego Go" party, so we found a Dora swimsuit and little grass skirt for our little girl. It's all about the matching!
This is now one of my favorite all-time photos of the two of them. Oh, that hair. (Lizzy's, that is.) (HA!)
Matt and I are currently selecting sticks with which to beat away the boys in a decade or so.
I'm sure it will seem like about 10 minutes.
caption contest
What is Matt thinking in this photo? (taken at a wedding three weeks ago -- he was the best man.) Leave a comment and let me know what you think.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
lizzy -- puppetmaster
Gee -- it occurs to me that this title could convey lots of meaning about the way things work in our household. However, this time, I mean it literally.
(sorry. I'm too lazy to remove the redeye.)
I've struggled a bit with what to read to Lizzy at bedtime. What does she need? I have lots of help determining what she wants. I (foolishly -- I've since discovered used book stores) purchased a 26-book set of Sesame Street alphabet books. We haven't read them in probably two years, but they had a good run when she was about 2. I read her Dr. Seuss' ABC book when I was on maternity leave. Not much since (though I offer it once in awhile). I figure, I want reading to be fun for her -- so I generally let her choose what we read. And she's a slight bit opinionated, if you hadn't noticed.
I worry, though, that I'm missing some crucial opportunity to help her learn to read. No, I don't care what age she does learn, though we must be getting close to when she's sort of supposed to. (Parent freakout alert: Lizzy starts kindergarten in TWENTY-SIX DAYS.) But Lizzy wants to read books full of danger and romance; humor and pathos. Or something like that. Currently, we're on a Sweet Pickles tear, with occasional princess interludes.
A couple of years ago, Lizzy started 'reading' the books to us. (mostly Disney stories -- 101 Dalmatians, for instance, was a big fave.) After just a couple of readings (and lots of questions), she knew what was going on, including liberal use of key phrases from the text. She especially liked reading to an audience, and would flip the book around (like her teachers did) so all could see the pictures.
She's always been pretty good at narrative. Recently -- two weekends ago, I believe -- she told Matt and me that she wanted to put on a few puppet shows for us. "Just five," she declared. Well, okay. It's not the television, and it's not being outside in the brick oven-like heat, so we were good with that.
She then proceeded to make me feel a lot better about letting her read all those books that won't be terribly helpful on the reading front, but that have clearly helped her realize the components of a good story.
I'll admit, her first two puppet shows were about a princess awaiting a prince (or a policeman puppet, which had to do), or a cat awaiting the long-awaited love of a dog puppet. But she would open the scene "Once upon a time, there was a lonely kitty," and then present the dilemma. "She had always wanted a doggy to marry." And it would all proceed from there. She hadn't mastered the idea that you could put one puppet down and put on another, so they were all two-puppet performances. And she insisted on poking her head up during the show. "One day, a doggy came along. He said, 'hey, kitty, would you like to marry me?' The kitty said, 'Oh, yes! Yes, I would like that very much!' And he kissed her on the cheek (puppets kiss), and they got married and lived happily ever after. The end." In one, she even had the happy couple ride off into the sunset to the castle, which is rendered on the back of the 'stage' in the puppet theater. Which, by the way, Matt constructed for her out of some kind of furniture box when she was about a year old. It's amazing. A real work of art, and of love.
The other three skits were a little different -- she wanted to use different puppets for each show, so one person was very hurt, and the doctor puppet had to save him or her. Marriage (and love) weren't absolutes throughout the show, thank goodness.
Matt and I were blown away. It's amazing what that wacky young'un will come up with next.
(sorry. I'm too lazy to remove the redeye.)
I've struggled a bit with what to read to Lizzy at bedtime. What does she need? I have lots of help determining what she wants. I (foolishly -- I've since discovered used book stores) purchased a 26-book set of Sesame Street alphabet books. We haven't read them in probably two years, but they had a good run when she was about 2. I read her Dr. Seuss' ABC book when I was on maternity leave. Not much since (though I offer it once in awhile). I figure, I want reading to be fun for her -- so I generally let her choose what we read. And she's a slight bit opinionated, if you hadn't noticed.
I worry, though, that I'm missing some crucial opportunity to help her learn to read. No, I don't care what age she does learn, though we must be getting close to when she's sort of supposed to. (Parent freakout alert: Lizzy starts kindergarten in TWENTY-SIX DAYS.) But Lizzy wants to read books full of danger and romance; humor and pathos. Or something like that. Currently, we're on a Sweet Pickles tear, with occasional princess interludes.
A couple of years ago, Lizzy started 'reading' the books to us. (mostly Disney stories -- 101 Dalmatians, for instance, was a big fave.) After just a couple of readings (and lots of questions), she knew what was going on, including liberal use of key phrases from the text. She especially liked reading to an audience, and would flip the book around (like her teachers did) so all could see the pictures.
She's always been pretty good at narrative. Recently -- two weekends ago, I believe -- she told Matt and me that she wanted to put on a few puppet shows for us. "Just five," she declared. Well, okay. It's not the television, and it's not being outside in the brick oven-like heat, so we were good with that.
She then proceeded to make me feel a lot better about letting her read all those books that won't be terribly helpful on the reading front, but that have clearly helped her realize the components of a good story.
I'll admit, her first two puppet shows were about a princess awaiting a prince (or a policeman puppet, which had to do), or a cat awaiting the long-awaited love of a dog puppet. But she would open the scene "Once upon a time, there was a lonely kitty," and then present the dilemma. "She had always wanted a doggy to marry." And it would all proceed from there. She hadn't mastered the idea that you could put one puppet down and put on another, so they were all two-puppet performances. And she insisted on poking her head up during the show. "One day, a doggy came along. He said, 'hey, kitty, would you like to marry me?' The kitty said, 'Oh, yes! Yes, I would like that very much!' And he kissed her on the cheek (puppets kiss), and they got married and lived happily ever after. The end." In one, she even had the happy couple ride off into the sunset to the castle, which is rendered on the back of the 'stage' in the puppet theater. Which, by the way, Matt constructed for her out of some kind of furniture box when she was about a year old. It's amazing. A real work of art, and of love.
The other three skits were a little different -- she wanted to use different puppets for each show, so one person was very hurt, and the doctor puppet had to save him or her. Marriage (and love) weren't absolutes throughout the show, thank goodness.
Matt and I were blown away. It's amazing what that wacky young'un will come up with next.
Monday, August 06, 2007
apparently, I think it is All About Me.
I wouldn't normally think I have a major problem with this particular phenomenon -- those of you who know me well are welcome to inform me otherwise -- but I believe in things being thrown in my general direction when necessary.
Yesterday, I saw the following two things.
This one is a really cool three-minute film we watched (and then discussed) at church. In short, from my memory:
In response to 'what is the meaning of life':
"People are life. It is all about them." Our connections to other people are what matter.
"And the real question you should be asking is: 'What is the meaning of people?'"
A deep message, nicely delivered. The other message in the movie was that we edit the messages we receive to fit our own circumstances. Of course, this can be good ('how does this pertain to me?' and then, 'how can I better myself, or allow myself to be bettered, as a result of this newfound awareness?'), and of course, it can be bad. ('how can I twist this message to suit my own needs, or convince myself that it doesn't pertain to me?') Etc.
By the way -- is it bad if I find that lead angel guy kinda hot?
Also, in the spirit of editing, I'd like to tweak one of my "contributions" to the discussion, for those who were there: I don't actually like 'happy' endings, per se. But I do like 'hopeful' endings. Endings that, much like, say, The Lorax, leave room for something better, or some kind of redemption. It might not be all that it was, but the situation might still be saved to some degree. We are older but wiser, and there's still time to act. Good might still come. Endings that leave nothing but despair ... ugh.
Hee. I like how, in the credits, under 'special thanks to', Jesus is the first name listed. Hadn't noticed that yesterday.
The second thing I saw was when I was reading the Sunday comics -- an unlikely activity for me these days. I used to read them, er, religiously, but just haven't found space in my day for such unnecessary pursuits over the past few years.
Are these occurrences merely coincidence?
The irony of all this is, either way -- whether these messages are something I was meant to hear, or not -- I'm making it all about me.
Ain't it the way.
Yesterday, I saw the following two things.
This one is a really cool three-minute film we watched (and then discussed) at church. In short, from my memory:
In response to 'what is the meaning of life':
"People are life. It is all about them." Our connections to other people are what matter.
"And the real question you should be asking is: 'What is the meaning of people?'"
A deep message, nicely delivered. The other message in the movie was that we edit the messages we receive to fit our own circumstances. Of course, this can be good ('how does this pertain to me?' and then, 'how can I better myself, or allow myself to be bettered, as a result of this newfound awareness?'), and of course, it can be bad. ('how can I twist this message to suit my own needs, or convince myself that it doesn't pertain to me?') Etc.
By the way -- is it bad if I find that lead angel guy kinda hot?
Also, in the spirit of editing, I'd like to tweak one of my "contributions" to the discussion, for those who were there: I don't actually like 'happy' endings, per se. But I do like 'hopeful' endings. Endings that, much like, say, The Lorax, leave room for something better, or some kind of redemption. It might not be all that it was, but the situation might still be saved to some degree. We are older but wiser, and there's still time to act. Good might still come. Endings that leave nothing but despair ... ugh.
Hee. I like how, in the credits, under 'special thanks to', Jesus is the first name listed. Hadn't noticed that yesterday.
The second thing I saw was when I was reading the Sunday comics -- an unlikely activity for me these days. I used to read them, er, religiously, but just haven't found space in my day for such unnecessary pursuits over the past few years.
Are these occurrences merely coincidence?
The irony of all this is, either way -- whether these messages are something I was meant to hear, or not -- I'm making it all about me.
Ain't it the way.
Friday, August 03, 2007
our newest frivolous obsession
Is this HBO show.
Matt and I go around the house singing "It's Business Time" to each other, or variations thereof (it's dinner time, it's workout time, it's time for trash, whatever), far too often. The song's a bit racy, but at least it's not as bad as the last song I linked to.
Matt and I go around the house singing "It's Business Time" to each other, or variations thereof (it's dinner time, it's workout time, it's time for trash, whatever), far too often. The song's a bit racy, but at least it's not as bad as the last song I linked to.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
juice for thought
Lizzy’s analytical little mind is churning at full speed these days.
Last night, we found ourselves watching the last 2/3rds or so of the newest “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” the one starring Johnny Depp.
Lizzy watched with us. I try to steer clear of movies that aren’t expressly for kids – I don’t really feel this one is, though I suppose you could argue that point – but since she started out asking for more “Back to the Future” – thanks, Matt! When did she see THAT?!! – I figured we’d be better off at the chocolate factory.
As I feared, she was pretty concerned about the welfare of the kids that left the tour. At first, she wanted to “be” Veruca Salt, but about the time little Veruca was being carted to the dumpster by a hundred little demon squirrels, she decided that maybe she didn’t want to be anybody in that movie. Good call.
Her reasoning skills are starting to shine especially brightly when it comes to manipulating us. She said, “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight! I’m afraid after watching that movie. Besides, Mom – you don’t like to sleep next to Daddy because he snores.” Hard to argue with that logic.
After the movie, she had lots of follow-up questions, mostly about Violet Beauregarde: “Is she always going to be blue? If she turned into a blueberry, how come her head was sticking out? Did it hurt when they ‘juiced’ her?” I tried to answer the questions, but also said, “You know, honey, it’s a movie. It’s make-believe. It’s not real.” Which she’s told me before, too, about things, so I know she grasps that concept..
Looking at her little face squinch up in concern, I pondered the fabulously ironic bit of the movie (obviously originally a book) in which the Ooompa-Loompas sing about how parents shouldn’t allow their kids to watch TV.
What do you get from a glut of TV?
A pain in the neck and an IQ of three
Why don't you try simply reading a book?
Or could you just not bear to look?
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no commercials
(believe me – we read to her PLENTY, also.)
Last night, we found ourselves watching the last 2/3rds or so of the newest “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” the one starring Johnny Depp.
Lizzy watched with us. I try to steer clear of movies that aren’t expressly for kids – I don’t really feel this one is, though I suppose you could argue that point – but since she started out asking for more “Back to the Future” – thanks, Matt! When did she see THAT?!! – I figured we’d be better off at the chocolate factory.
As I feared, she was pretty concerned about the welfare of the kids that left the tour. At first, she wanted to “be” Veruca Salt, but about the time little Veruca was being carted to the dumpster by a hundred little demon squirrels, she decided that maybe she didn’t want to be anybody in that movie. Good call.
Her reasoning skills are starting to shine especially brightly when it comes to manipulating us. She said, “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight! I’m afraid after watching that movie. Besides, Mom – you don’t like to sleep next to Daddy because he snores.” Hard to argue with that logic.
After the movie, she had lots of follow-up questions, mostly about Violet Beauregarde: “Is she always going to be blue? If she turned into a blueberry, how come her head was sticking out? Did it hurt when they ‘juiced’ her?” I tried to answer the questions, but also said, “You know, honey, it’s a movie. It’s make-believe. It’s not real.” Which she’s told me before, too, about things, so I know she grasps that concept..
Looking at her little face squinch up in concern, I pondered the fabulously ironic bit of the movie (obviously originally a book) in which the Ooompa-Loompas sing about how parents shouldn’t allow their kids to watch TV.
What do you get from a glut of TV?
A pain in the neck and an IQ of three
Why don't you try simply reading a book?
Or could you just not bear to look?
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no
You'll get no commercials
(believe me – we read to her PLENTY, also.)
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