Neighbors across the way are having a kids party. They rented an inflatable castle and set it up off to the side on the lawn. It's bright green and purple.
Mind you, this is an apartment complex, so you don't usually see stuff like this. Hordes of kids running around, giggling and yelling and they are SO CUTE.
I did my shopping. Stupid neutrogena discontinued my face lotion.
I made a really weird salad for my hell picnic. Not my thing, but my mom swears buy it and gets rave reviews at potlucks: nectarines, green chile, crab and lime juice. I don't really like crab, but whatever. Either they'll like it or they won't.
I really don't want to go. But it would look SO BAD. So I have to.
I need to do laundry, but I don't wwant to. Maybe tomorrow morning.
Ya know, if you puff it up enough, maybe you can get a job at FEMA.
Except that I don't meet the other qualification for a FEMA job: A big, fat check to the GOP.
I had one college paper that started with a quote from Antigone followed by this quote from Bloom County:
Foreshadowing - a literary technique, not entirely uncommon around here.
—Oliver Wendall Jones
And that led me to remember the time I got punny with my freshman lit class in college, and titled a paper on a Wordsworth poem about the River Wye "Misty Water-Coloured Memories of the Wye We Were." I never punned for a college paper again.
Last semester of college I named all my papers after root vegetables: Turnip, Parsnip, Rutabaga.
My big "capstone paper" on a failed federal attempt to preserve a patch of tallgrass prairie was titled "Buffalo Grass, Won't You Come Out Tonight?"
I'm still annoyed that I didn't get any extra credit for filking a song for class last fall.
Oh, so she started Kindergarten??? She did well, I take it?
I don't have the details as yet, but yes, she likes school and is only disappointed that she cannot attend the Big Kids School with her brother and sister.
To be fair to the little guy, he mostly tries to kill me in other ways now, like having an allergic reaction to his MMR vaccine. The Great Escape was two years ago. Most of the time when we think he's gone, he's just blinvisible.
Well, it's good to know he can adapt and try new ways to shave years off of your life. Child allergic reactions = high parental stress.
Child allergic reactions = high parental stress.
The reverse works, too. Watching my mother have an allergic reaction to morphine was far more terrifying than (white fonted for squick factor)
having my toes chopped up by a lawn mower
.
I don't have the details as yet, but yes, she likes school and is only disappointed that she cannot attend the Big Kids School with her brother and sister.
This is the only year I will ever have all three of them in the same school, at the same time, unless the schools change or we move (neither are likely). Chris only goes for 2.5 hours, though.
Well, it's good to know he can adapt and try new ways to shave years off of your life. Child allergic reactions = high parental stress.
Yep. My plans to punch him in the nose on his 25th Birthday continue apace.
Oh, aurelia. And even though the white font must have also been horrifying, I think in many ways, it's harder to watch someone you love have something horrible happen to her/him.
I think in many ways, it's harder to watch someone you love have something horrible happen to her/him.
This is true for me for everything from ordinary head colds on up. I can't even imagine dealing with a sudden scary crisis in a loved one who is not me.
