Harsh Realities

Posted on by

Today, on our way home from day care, Stella and I were marveling at the fleeting sunshine we were being blessed with. The skies have been vomiting rain for about a month straight now and we have all about had our fill.

Stella has been particularly aware of the distinction between, as she puts it: sunnyandhot (all one word) or waaaaaiiiiin. Of particular interest to her is what she can do when it is sunnyandhot versus when we have waaaaiiin. Today, for instance, as we stepped out into the sunlight, she alerted me that it was sunnyandhot and that she can put on her bathing suit and play in the backyard. To which, I had to delicately explain that it isn’t that kind of sunnyandhot yet. And in trying to keep the conversation moving so as to not allow her too much time to realize the ultimate unfairness of it all, I proceeded to explain that we need to buy her a new bathing suit anyway because her other one is too small.

Whew.

About two stoplights later the questions begin:

“Why is my bathing suit too small?”
“Well, because you are getting bigger.”
“Why am I getting bigger?”
“Because that is just what happens. When you get older and older you also get bigger and bigger.”
“Why?”
“It’s just what happens.”
“But why, mommy?”

It is at this point that I realize I am out-matched in this conversation. I think advanced interrogation specialist trainings must be conducted by by 2-year-olds. I am picturing myself in an empty room with a bare lightbulb being shined in my face.

“Well, you get bigger and bigger all the time. One day you will be big like mommy.”
“My no want to get bigger.”

I did my best not to take this comment personally.

“None of us do, Stella.”

Where everything old is new again.

Posted on by

I usually don’t do this kind of thing, but…

I stumbled upon this site through my daily blog-travels and couldn’t keep myself from sharing. (If you are interested enough to look through, I suggest first reading the ‘About’ section to get a handle on things.)

The Daily Mumps

A photo, a title and some pithy commentary. Turning your family blog into a comic strip is pure genious. So much done with so little – from both a design and content perspective it makes me remember just how great this medium can be…

…and that all my procrastination on re-tooling this site is not doing any of us any good.

One step forward, one step back.

Posted on by

We were so pleased that Stella learned to – and actually enjoyed – shucking and eating edamame. The downside, however, has been that we can no longer get her to eat a green bean in it’s entirety. She meticulously picks out the tiny bean(s) and leaves the rest behind.

Urban Wildlife

Posted on by

You’d think that by living in the middle of the city that we would be pretty much void of any real animal wildlife. The actuality is that, although from our vantage point there is asphalt as far as the eye can see, we have an active and varied mix of nocturnal mammalian activity within our neighborhood. [I think it is important to clarify at this point that I am NOT referring to the drug dealers, thieves and other misfits that cruise our neighborhood after dark.]

Nevermind that we are overrun with cats aplenty – on any given night of the week we are guaranteed that we will see either a skunk, possum or raccoon. We even have a humming bird that has continued to visit us this winter regardless of how ridiculously awful the weather gets.

So a few months back when all three of us watched a possum skirt the perimiter of our yard we didn’t think much of it. That is, until we watched it continue it’s way over to the house, then disappear underneath it. Now is the point in the story where I reveal just how little I think of possums and their oversized-rat-like selves. Raccoons and skunks are cute. They are both troublemakers – but they get away with it much better because of their ability to have sweet little pointy faces with large waddling bellies, or amazing dexterity that rivals that of a toddler. Possums on the other hand are not cute under any circumstance, and after getting to listen to their horrid screetch-like sound ALL NIGHT LONG I am no more inclined to cut them any slack. It is bad enough that I will occasionally be standing in the shower and hear and/or feel the oh-so-pleasant scratching at the underside of the tub. DO YOU KNOW HOW CREEPY THAT IS? But to be kept awake all night by the sounds of unhappy possum was another thing entirely – especially when the idea popped into my head that the sound I was hearing could quite well have been possum birthing ritual. Ick. Steve said he seems to think that he thought two possums “fighting” in our backyard a couple of nights ago, so I don’t quite know what to make of it all.

All I do know is that we need to hermedically seal the perimiter of our house so as to keep it from turning into an inner-city wildlife sanctuary. And, pronto.

As for my biased opinions on possums, I think the only thing that might – just might – make my cold heart soften a little would be a new installment from Janell Cannon. But I can’t make any promises.