Okay, Maybe It's a Little True...

The other day, I opened my laptop to find Andy's email open, with this goofy forward from his brother, Greg:

When everybody on earth was dead and waiting to enter Paradise, God appeared and said, "I want the men to make two lines. One line for the men who were true heads of their household, and the other line for the men who were dominated by their women. I want all the women to report to St. Peter."

 
Soon, the women were gone, and there were two lines of men. The line of the men who were dominated by their wives was 100 miles long, and in the line of men who truly were heads of their household, there was only one man.
 

God said to the long line, "You men should be ashamed of yourselves, I created you to be the head of your household! You have been disobedient and have not fulfilled your purpose! Of all of you, only one obeyed. Learn from him."
 

God turned to the one man, "How did you manage to be the only one in this line?"
 

The man replied, "My wife told me to stand here!"

I read it, thinking how stupid it was, surprised that Greg would find it humorous, let alone bother to forward it.  Then I forgot its existence.

Until yesterday. 

I was cooking dinner when an incredibly annoying honking horn entered my consciousness.  Andy investigated and stated it was my neighbor's old car that was still in their driveway.  The neighborhood kids had been in the backyard next door and one of the kids 'checked to see if it was locked' setting off the alarm.  Our neighbor had been notified and was heading out with the keys.

After several more minutes of constant honking.  I looked at Andy and said "You know, it's been going on for a while. If Jackie's not able to get it to shut off with just the key, someone needs to go out there and disconnect the battery." 

So out Andy and his crescent wrench go.

After I got dinner in the oven, I walked over to see how it was going.  The first words out of Jackie's mouth upon my arrival?  If my husband had just gotten rid of this thing last week like I told him to...

"No, stand in that line."

Let Me Hear Your War Cry!

What?  This stuff doesn't happen at your house??

Last week, I am awakened from blissful slumber in the middle of the night by the sound of my husband doing his best Braveheart immitation.  (I actually likened it to that scene in Return of the King when Aragorn says, "For Frodo,"  then runs headlong into a phalanx of Orcs at the Black Gate.  But I digresss....)

I go from sound asleep to still asleep but on my feet, running, and yelling "What? What?!" while following my husband, in full battle cry exiting our bedroom.  Here is his sequence of events:

0.0 microseconds - Andy awakens to the sound of HRH screaming. 

0.1 - Mind immediately processes "HRH is having a nightmare."

0.2  - Localizing sound...HRH is sleeping in Gremlin's room...sound not coming from Gremlin's room!

0.3 - Clearly, HRH is being dragged from the house by a kidnapper and is screaming in terror!

0.325 - Every microliter of adreneline empties into bloodstream.

0.4 - Eject from bed, issuing war cry to alert kidnapper to his approach with intent of kidnapper dropping HRH.

0.5 - Formulate plan while running down hall: Will bodily throw kidnapper down flight of stairs then land on top of him and proceed to pummel him until dead.


1.0 - Arrive at top of stairs where HRH is standing at the safety gate, alone, still asleep, and screaming.

1.5 - Processing...Child is not being kidnapped.  Child is sleepwalking, came up against the safety gate and could not compute.

2.0 - Hugging child. Adrenaline still flowing like oil into the Gulf.

2.5 - Second, totally confused child emerges from bedroom to find out what all the screaming is about.

3.0 - Still piecing it all together, Mommy ushers everyone toward our bedroom to calm everyone down, try to return to sleep mode.


3.5 - Best guess is Daddy will be prepared to sleep by Thursday.

WWSD - Dipshit Friday

I'm sharing a similar thought with Sarah, in her Trenches of Mommyhood, "If a blogger blogs but every other blogger is at BlogHer, will anyone read it?" 

So, as I sit in my kitchen *not* at a bar in NYC, I thought I'd live vicariously by linking to two of my favorite bloggers, one of whom (Sarah) is also *not* at BlogHer but with whom I have shared a drink, and one who is, Jean, Queen of Stimelyand, rodent aficionado, and friend with whom I had dinner at BlogHer '09. One of Jean's newest, funniest, and (IMHO) most brilliant ideas is Dipshit Friday, in which we lay it all out there and share one of life's blunders.  Shall we begin?

Every year, Andy's family plans a week together on Cape Cod.   Nearly every year, we have rented the same house. It's a lovely cottage with plenty of private space for us, the boys, and my mom, who enjoys her own little suite on the first floor away from the chaos that is my immediate family.  One of its best features is a gorgeous deck right off of our 2nd floor bedroom, with a fantastic view of the beach from the side and the river and salt marshes in the back. The Cape tradition started when everyone was in town for Andy's and my wedding, 10 years ago and subsequently, our anniversary frequently falls during our vacation week. 

A few years back, my mom kept the kids so Andy and I could enjoy a nice anniversary dinner, which we did along with a bottle of wine.  Upon returning to the house, we decided to share a romantic drink on the deck, in the moonlight.  Things progressed nicely and maybe a half hour later, Andy and I reentered our bedroom through the open door to (ahem) continue celebrating our anniversary only to find....every surface of the room covered with flying bugs of every description!

For the next hour, we two dipshits jumped across the bed, swinging beach towels, ducking dive-bombing mosquitoes, itching like mad, and spraying anything aerosol at the disgusting (and quite resilient) creatures.  Let's just say that the mood died long before the last of the bugs did and I left Andy to fight the good fight, choosing to sleep on the family room couch.

I was awakened the next morning by my rather confused but smiling mother who admitted that, judging by the racket coming from the ceiling of her bedroom, it definitely sounded as if we had very much enjoyed our anniversary...

Ten Years

+

=

Love You, Babe.  Happily.  Ever and After.

Marital Advice Monday *

Nearly a year and a half ago, I wrote this post all about when Andy and I went away for the weekend for our 40th birthdays. It was the first time in our parental life that we had together left the boys for two whole nights in a row. It was heaven. And we haven't done it since...until last Friday night.

News Flash! All that stuff I wrote about spending time away being important for a marriage and a soul? It's still there!  We're in a pretty meh place right now.  Compared to most, we're good and for that, I am eternally grateful.  But the day-to-day of winter/school/marriage/house/vitamin D deficient/job uncertainty/parenting still weighs and wears on us.

Last Friday, we shipped the kids off to Nana's where new toys, undivided attention, and late bedtimes awaited them, while we strolled off to Foxwoods for a 21-hour, anti-family vacation.  There, we didn't have deep discussions about our future; what school districts we need to look at, what needs to be done to our house and our debt ratio before we try and sell.  We didn't discuss the next phase of Andy's career or my education.

We had drinks in our hands within 10 minutes of checking in.  We ate appetizers for dinner at The Hard Rock Cafe.  We people-watched, played nickle slots and roulette, and joked about inconsequential things.  And you know what?  Underneath it all, our smiles are still there. 

And so, here is my advice to you:  Find a willing grandparent, aunt, uncle, friend, or mailman on whom you can foist your beloved children.  Leave extra food out for the cat.  Pack it up and head out of Dodge.  Everything will be there when you get back.  And maybe, just maybe, you'll get your groove back, too.


*title lovingly bastardized from my friend (and BlogHer '09 roomie) KC's hysterical Medical Advice Monday posts.

55 Miles. Each Way.

Signs your husband needs a shorter commute.

Actual conversation at our house:

Andy: Today, on the drive home, I pretended I was The Transporter.

Christine: Like the movie?

A: (smiles) Yeah...

C: So you were driving like a maniac.

A: No. I was just driving normally.

C: Were you pretending you had someone in the trunk?

A: Nah. I was just The Transporter if he was just going somewhere regular.

C: Like Starbucks?

A: But I could have turned it on at any minute and none of those other idiots on the road knew it...

C: What else do you do when you're driving?


Editors Note: I changed the date on this post to give it a second go. It was previously posted last week, the morning of 'the event.'

The Rhetorical Husband

1. Do we have milk?
(Hmm. If I had bought milk, where would I put it?)

2. Is this today's paper?
(Let's look at the top. Just below the words, The Boston Globe, what's right there?)

3. Do you know where I took off my watch?
(...?)

4. Do you want me to give Gremlin his bath?
(No! Please. Let me.)

5. Do you know if it's supposed to rain today?
(Well, my trick knee is throbbing...)

6. Do you know where the boys' shoes are?
(See #3)

7. Picks up phone and reads caller ID aloud: 866-222-1000?
(I'm gonna go with "telemarketer"...)

8. Should I have the boys wear their raincoats?
(Is it raining?)

9. Are you watching this?
(Uh-huh...)

10. Are you awake?


What questions do you answer (or ignore)?

To-Worry List

Am I consistent enough?
Am I impatient?
Am I kind enough to myself?
Am I strict enough?
Am I taking myself too seriously?
Am I taking them too seriously?
Am I too hard on myself?
Am I too hard on them?
Am I too strict?
Are they developing friendships the way they should?
Are they happy?
Are they spoiled?
Are they too physical?
Did I read to HRH more than I read to Gremlin?
Do I change their sheets often enough?
Do I expect too little of them?
Do I expect too much from Andy?
Do I expect too much of them?
Do I expect too much of them?
Do I show enough patience?
Do I spend too much time on the computer?
Do I worry too much about how others perceive us?
Do I yell too much?
Do they eat enough vegetables?
Do they fight too much?
Do they have enough alone time with us?
Do they realize how much they are loved?
Do they spend enough time with Daddy?
Do they spend too much time on the computer/video game?
Do they watch too much TV?
Do we have enough rules?
Do we model behavior correctly?
Have I established clear behavioral guidelines?
He doesn't know all his letters, HRH did at this age.
How do I teach them empathy?
Is he too sensitive?
Should I force him to give up the pacifier?
Should I give them chores?
Should I give them vitamins?
Should we teach them more about religion?
What do I do when I reach the end of my rope?
What do their teachers think of me?
Why can't he play independently?
Why can't I admit I need help?
Why do I feel like I've failed if I get help?
Why do other moms seem to have it more together than me?
Why is this so hard?

Now what?

How About a Little Context?

Thanks everyone for your comments, words of encouragement, questions, and even your disagreement regarding my last post. For those of you just judging, thanks for stopping by, move along now.

Because I have no brain space for another topic at this time I thought it might help if I provided a little context for those of you just tuning in. Here's a bulleted list (cause that's the way I roll) of our reasoning. I would have alphabetized or categorized it but, you know, I'm not rigid or anything.

• She is COLD. By all accounts, including her fellow teachers.
• Any and all attempts to reach out to her have been utterly and completely rebuffed.
• She's got a 3 month old and a 3 year old. We all know how hard that can be and as a mother, I sympathize. As the mother of my child, if you can't handle the kids, stay out of the classroom.
• HRH does nothing in school besides busy work - pages and pages of rudimentary work sheets (Last week's homework was to trace the letters of the alphabet).
• She's done nothing to break them up into groups based on reading/academic level.
• HRH is constantly being given timeout for truly minor infractions such as talking in the corridors or touching a friend.
• One day, she forgot about him during one such time out and he sat at his table for the entire free period while the other kids were playing around him.
• The day we pulled him out, he reported that someone had crumpled up a tissue and thrown it on the floor. Mrs. Smith told the entire class that unless someone owned up to it, the entire class would not have 'free time.' HRH eventually confessed, not because he did it but because he thought he might have done it.
• His entire class was made to keep quiet for a day because Mrs. Smith had a headache.
• HRH's out of school personality has changed dramatically. He's having constant meltdowns over nothing, doesn't want to play with his friends after school, and is fighting constantly (up from most of the time) with his brother.
• His reading skills have deteriorated since starting kindergarten.
• Last but not least, he's developed a stutter.

Again, thank you all for your insights. Trust me when I tell you this decision was not made in a vacuum. We did discuss moving him to the other kindergarten class and/or talking to the principal however, she's not going to change her entire style of teaching because I complained, the other kindergarten teacher is brand new, so we didn't even have anecdotal history to go on, and we did not want him to be 'the kid whose parents moved him.' Plus, some of the assignments sent home are coming from both kindergarten teachers, so I'm not convinced the other teacher would be teaching at a higher level.

We were very fortunate in that his preschool just started a kindergarten this year. After speaking to the teacher (who was HRH's last year's teacher, under whom he THRIVED) and the director, we were able to move him into that class (at twice the cost...). We need to start back at square one planning for next year and this option definitely created the least upheaval in his life. On the contrary, the last three months would be the blip.

For the past two mornings, HRH has woken up enthusiastically, gotten dressed and ready eagerly and cooperatively, and went to school with a huge grin on his face.

Life's problems are not so easily solved, nor will we immediately jump to fix every bump. But this was something we felt strongly enough about to make the changes. And we're standing behind them.

I Think We Made a Bad Call

I've regaled you all before with my misgivings about HRH's kindergarten experience. I think we may have the nail in the coffin on St. Somewhere's. Here is an email (their preferred method of communication) I sent to his teacher two weeks ago. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent:

Dear Mrs. Smith:

If possible, I'd like to arrange a meeting between you and my husband, Andy and me rather than simply the TeacherEase update outlined in Mr. Madden's Bugle email of 10/3.

Below are the topics I'd like to discuss:

- HRH's transition to kindergarten/St. Somewhere's
- Kindergarteners' daily schedule
- How the individual subjects are taught
- HRH's social development
- HRH's educational plan/goals
- In-class volunteering opportunities (for me)

I apologize if this comes across a little "rigid". I was a Project Manager in my previous life and tend to think in bullet points. Andy and I look forward to meeting with you. Ideally, a half hour prior to school would work best for us however, we will of course make ourselves available whenever works best for all.

Best regards and thank you,

Christine Manic

Here is her response:

Mrs. Manic

I am not offering conferences at this time unless there is an issue. HRH has adjusted nicely to Kindergarten and is doing well. I will contact you when conference times will be available.

Have a wonderful afternoon.
First Name Smith
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I spoke at length to his last year's teacher, whom we love and whose opinion we highly value. She was very close to tears when I told her of HRH's "treatment" at the school and truly livid about the letter above. Andy is on board and he and I are making immediate efforts to remove my boy and right what was apparently a very bad call on our part.

How have you and your kids done with transitions?

Blacklisted by Jordan's Furniture

With no less than the fate of the free world and the ALCS hanging in the balance, I've been a very absentee blogger of late. To extend my lazy streak but keep you coming make up for it, I'm regifting (Indian giving?) a post I gave to Merlot Mom back in August, during her trip to Japan. I promise to return to our regularly scheduled programming possibly as soon as tomorrow.


Scene: 7:30 am. Approximately 12 hours after Manic Mommy and Daddy have emptied the living room of the following:

• One oversized, incredibly heavy, and entirely abused living room couch
• Its little sister, the soon-to-be-former love seat, same condition
• Under-couch detritus
• Embarrassingly large pile of under-couch detritus
• 3x3 square coffee table; gouged, scraped, stickered, and colored
• Matching end table with the drawer handled removed. In surprisingly good shape, given the fate of the its compatriots

Jordan’s Furniture Delivery Guy arrives at front door to be greeted by Manic Mommy, looking like a million bucks in grey t-shirt and pink pajama bottoms, hair back in a headband. She did put a bra on.

MM (huge smile – she’s getting new furniture!): Hi!

JFDG: Hi. My name is -

HRH (fresh on the scene, addressing JFDG): Do these look like clothes? They’re really ‘jamas.

JFDG: Oh, very nice. They’re SpongeBob. (back to MM) Hi, my name is Ariel and –

HRH: I also have a pair of baseball ‘jamas. And they look like clothes, too.

JFDG (cheerily): Oh, you like baseball? Who’s your favorite tea-

HRH (points to furniture care kit box in JFDG’s hand): What’s that? (runs off before answer)

JFDG comes in. He and MM discuss placement of furniture.

RC (enters living room wearing pajama t-shirt and underwear): I have a ‘mote control car. My Nana bought it for me for doing poops in the potty. Do you want to touch it?

HRH (not to be outdone): He has two remote control cars now. One from Nana and a monster truck one that Mommy bought when he wore big boy underwear for a whole day!

JFDG: Blank stare.

Leaves to get furniture.

JFDG II (having clearly been warned, remains silent, eyes averted) enters and begins removing French door from hinges.

RC: My Daddy has a hammer. And it’s loud too. Bang! BaNG! BANG!

JFDGs begin carrying in furniture/dodging little boys.

MM (attempting normal service-person-type conversation): Gee, it’s really muggy already. I thought it was supposed to rain all day today.

With each piece…

HRH: Once we had thunder and lightning and that tree over there…

…they are subjected…

MM: Guys, please stay out of the men’s way. Get that remote control car off the new table!

…to more…

RC: I have Diego underwear (sits on floor and spreads legs, knees bent). Want to see?

…of the same…

JDFG: Anyquestions?Canyousignhere?Thanksbye!

Manic Mommy gazes lovingly at pristine, matching, un-destroyed new living room…and barely hears him. Yeah, whatever, dude.

Do You Recognize This Face?

Dear Boys:

Do you know who this is?

It's Mommy. No, really. It is Mommy.

This weekend, while you were making gingerbread men and reading "Gingerbread Friends" with Gram, Daddy and I found our smiles.

We went to a special place in the sky called The Mount Washington Hotel. Just Mom and Dad. No, just Christine and Andy.

We didn't bring the 20-minute conference calls that morph into 2 1/2 hours, or the possibly-totaled Trailblazer, or even the kindergarten transition anxiety (Mommy's, not yours, HRH). We even left the wifi, the Vice Presidential debate, and the $700 billion bail out package at home. We knew it would all be here when we got home -- and it was.

Rather, we slept, and read, and ate, and drank, and talked, and lived.

Mom and Dad LOVE being your parents. There is nothing more important to us than doing that well. But we have been neglecting Andy and Christine lately. And it's shown. In the way we behave toward each other and the two of you. And certainly in the way we treat ourselves. This weekend, while we were here, we remembered to be kind to ourselves. And we remembered our smiles.

I hope we'll be seeing them a lot more.

The Potty Whisperer - A Fable

You know how our brains forget the pain of childbirth as a way of ensuring the propagation of the species? There are some other things that our brains hide from us because if we remembered the trauma, we'd never willingly go through it again. For me, it's potty training. I suck at it. It's been two weeks and one day and as I look at RC dancing around in yet another pair of Diego big boy underwear, I think it might be okay to talk about without fear of breaking the spell.


Two Thursdays ago, as I was stepping into the shower HRH screeched upstairs at his most ear-splitting decibel that RC had just peed on the living room rug. Same shit, different day or something like that. I stood in the shower trying to calm down, taking deep yogic breaths, and reviewing my options.

I could-. Tried. Failed.

Maybe if-. Tried. Failed.

What about-? Tried. Failed.

Post shower and no more prepared to deal, I went into RC's room and grabbed two pair of 'big boy underwear' from his drawer. I stomped into the living room (avoiding the pee spot) and held up both pair. "Is it going to be Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Speed Racer?" Huh? "Because I'm throwing all your diapers away. We. are. done."

I then proceeded to take every diaper in the house and toss it in the trash. I wasn't enthusiastic, I wasn't encouraging, I didn't begin to address the rug incident. And I would brook no argument. I resigned myself to never entering a bathroom alone until we were done, packed up seven or eight changes of clothes, and left the house. The boy went about six hours without peeing before finally giving in - in the potty.

Initially, I thought my timing was way off. We were leaving the next day for Storyland. But wait! Daddy would be along for this ride. And so it was, like so many other projects in our marriage, I started the ball rolling and my husband, God bless him, carried it through to completion! He nagged, he cajoled, he sat on the lip of the bathtub and read endless books and offered encouragement. And in the end, my boy was trained! He got his bike last Saturday.

My husband, The Potty Whisperer.

Because I'm the Mommy (and the new classics)

- Apologize to your brother.
- C'mon, I'll take you back to your bed.
- Did you do poops?
- Did you flush?
- Did you look under the couch?
- Did you wash your hands?
- Dinner!
- Do you have to go poops?
- Doggies bite, not boys. Are you a doggie?
- Don't touch that. It has germs on it.
- Drink your milk.
- Eat that in the kitchen.
- Fine, we just won't go to ________.
- Get down from there!
- Get. back. in. bed.
- God puts the baby in mommy's belly.
- I am not the maid.
- I love you up to the sky
- If we have good behavior, we can talk about a prize.
- If you do that one more time...
- Inside voice! (better when you scream it!)
- It's chicken. You love chicken.
- It's not morning yet.
- No, it's too early for a Popsicle.
- No, not today.
- No, time out is not over yet.
- No. You can't wear that to school.
- Please put that in the trash.
- Put the cushions back on the couch.
- Seatbelts on.
- Stay where you can see me. What if a stranger took you?
- Stop doing that to the cat.
- Stop doing that to the dog.
- This is not a restaurant.
- Three more bites and then you can be done.
- Time to get in the tub.
- Time to get out of the tub.
- Try and do peeps before we go.
- Turn the TV down.
- We'll see.
- We're going to get ants.
- What did I just say?
- Where are your shoes?
- Where did you leave it?
- Why would you think it was okay to do that?
- Your shirt is inside out.
- You're old enough to dress yourself.
- Yes.



What are your classics?

Dinner without Crayons

Andy's on his way home from dropping off my niece/babysitter. She (along with the rest of her family) just moved from five minutes away to 25 minutes away. Quite a different story. But the end result is the same: Andy and I had a date!!!!

We went to The Barking Crab and for those of you who linked over 'cause you were curious (admitted 'linking around' slut, here), when they say 'casual', they mean it. It's a paper-plate kind of place that the Board of Health has investigated more than once. But it's actually on a pier on Boston Harbor with boats parked beneath. How much better does it get than that on a cool summer's evening following a thunderstorm?

Well for starters, you could ignore the "parents of small children" aroma we give off and not sit us in the kiddy section. Actually, that is complete sarcasm - yes, we were in the kiddy section but no, I didn't mind. I'm so in tune with being the mommy, that the slow withdrawl is probably the best option. I can see the bare feet but I don't have to be the one yelling to put. the. crocs. back. on.

After dinner, we took a walk along Boston Harbor and ended up in Fanueil Hall. Definitely a tourist trap/meat market at its finest. We got a seat in an outside place and people watched/talked.

A couple of thoughts on tonight's evening:

- I love going out on a date with my husband

- I love going to some of the 'old places'

- I would not be 21 again for all the money in the world.

I am approaching (slouching toward) 40 years old, I am married to the person I should be married to, with the children (and the dog...and the cat) I was meant to have, living where I should with the friends, and the life, and the 'stuff' I should/need to have.

I look at these women and know they want what I have. I say this not in superiority; I say it in gratitude and honesty.

Scenes (to and) from an Italian Restaurant

Scene 1: Mommy's car. The eight minute drive to meet Andy at a local Italian restaurant.

HRH (age 5): RC? Do you beat me up because you want to be like me?

MM (springs like a cat, sensing an opening): You know, RC, HRH does peeps and poops in the potty...

RC (age 3): Sure, HRH. I want to be like you. (what.ev.)

HRH (this, he can understand): Oh! Okay! When you and I have some private time, I'll show you so you can be more like me.

RC (already losing interest in the topic): Okay.

HRH (mentoring-ly): RC, do you want to sing the ABCs?

Manic Mommy smiles slyly...brotherly love and potty training.

RC (in perfect pitch): A B C D...I don't like you...

Manic Mommy sighs...

~~~~~~~~

Scene 2: Upon arriving in parking lot where Daddy is waiting to point out the spot next to his car.

HRH and RC (excitedly): Daddy!

Daddy: Hi Boys!

RC (as Daddy extricates him from the car): Daddy! We beat you here!

~~~~~~~~~

Scene 3: Upon arriving home in Daddy's car as Manic Mommy extricates RC from his carseat.

RC (enthusiastically): Mommy, I like Daddy better than you!

MM bites tongue...almost bedtime

Going to Hell in a Laundry Basket

Lest you think I have only been ignorning all of you as we transition from school schedule to summer schedule, I give you exhibit A: This is our playroom loveseat, rendered completely unusable for its given purpose. Need a clean t-shirt, hon? Oh, I did a bleach wash. Go check the basement...

Happy Mother's Day!!

No, it's not a typo. My Mother's Day present arrived today. I'll give you one guess as to what it is: Right now, even as we speak, I am blogging from my front porch!!

After much cluelessness on my part, random fishing expeditions into our desktop, technical discussions with any neighbor unlucky enough to be outside at the same time as me (waves to Chuck and John!), a chat session with a very nice Indian tech at Linksys, and eventually, a quick trip to Best Buy for a new wireless router, my stunningly beautiful new Dell Latitude and I are doin' it wirelessly!

Um, it's a little chilly out here. But Andy dragged the boat out front and is working on the final touches so that we can, at long last, hit the shallow river we can walk across, if necessary open waters in That Kintner Boy just in time for Father's Day. So I want to be with him. Outside. In the cold. Blogging.

For those of you who really want to know, for Father's Day, Andy is getting a new bilge pump! See? The romance around here? It just. never. ends.

Happy Father's Day to all you Daddies, first timers and old timers. May your children sleep in and may you wake to the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon.

One Liners

Overheard in our little Cabina Contenta:

Andy: Why don't I make us two more Gin and Tonics?
MM: Have you seen the week I've been having?
Andy: Yeah...
MM: Do you really think it's a good idea for me to begin tomorrow with a hangover?
Andy: Point taken. Water?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Andy: I can't find the remote.
MM: Well, RC did get into the fireplace today. Did you check there?
Andy: Nope. Just graham crackers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Bossy's Ten Word Tuesday Challenge. Life Out of Control Edition:

RC: fish food, and water and, Marshmallow Fluff, oh my!

Why Can't I Find the Time to Blog?