Ok. Just making sure.

How's The Punk?

Fine. We went downtown to the Summer Fair Thingy. She jumped around in the inflatable jumpy thingies and slid down the inflatable slide thingie and got a free cookie. Then we got her a balloon which she lost 4 1/2 minutes later. Then we went to the library and played in the kids' room there for a while and colored. Now she's trying not to drowse on the couch, having chowed down on a cheese sammich.

Oh, totally. You deserve some kind of prize for that. I used to end up going on non-nerviews. Because basically the ADA says they have to see me, not give me a break. And it's funny how often after they see the body attached to the voice, they decide to promote from within. Or something. Funny in the "die, you bastards, die," sense.

Okay, this is for all the other stay at home parents of toddler-age children out there.

Emeline loves "Max & Ruby". I'm scared.

Max is plainly evil and Ruby is dumber than a barrel of dirt. Every goddamned time she tries to get Max to do something, he'll purposely fuck it up, and then Ruby will inevitably start over and leave whatever Max used to fuck it up in the first place right next to him!

Ruby! Get a goddamned clue in your head! If the fucking rabbit has taken sherbet into the bath twice, he will do it a third time unless you chain his arms together and destroy all the sherbet in the house!

Fuck!

...

Okay, so...I need a job.

Deep breaths, MM, deep breaths.

Step away from the kiddie TV, MM.

And remember, it could be worse. It could be...Oobi.

t hands MM some sherbert

It could be teletubbies ... one of them is gay, you know.

My mom just called to tell me that she'd already talked to my grandmother and told her to make some extra food for me since I was going there tonight (in order to pick them up from the airport tomorrow morning).

I told her I had already called her and told her not to, since I wasn't eating dinner there. There's a pre-race marathon dinner I'm going to tonight.

"Ah, the marathon people are feeding you, huh?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Do you have to pay for it?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Then why are you going?"

Rather than explain that training for this half-marathon has been a life-changing experience and I wanted to be part of the communal pasta party, that I wanted to see some of my fellow running mates and get some contact information to keep in touch in case we didn't see each other on race day, that the coaches would be giving last-minute tips, that the meal was designed to be digested over the next day and give me the proper energy for race day...I politely, calmly, without malice but with only the slightest hint of exasperation, said, "Stop complaining about everything I do."

There was silence for a few seconds, and she said, "Okay, that's fine, you just get to [your grandmother's] when you get there." And...it wasn't the snappish, defensive, right-about-to-hang-up-the-phone tone I normally get. We continued the conversation in a civilized manner.

...is this progress?

Sounds like progress to me, bub.

WOO! Progress!