At one point, my sweet innocent son explained to someone "this is the plain eggnog, and that one is for alcoholics."
Square miles on Chichagof: about 2000
People on Chichagof: 1100
Freakin Huge Bears on Chichagof: 1600
Now see, don't you feel educated?!
Well, the little-Bear-who-is-not-so-little has just come and stuck yet another body part into my face so that I can kiss it better.
The other night Hubby and I were talking, and the subject turned to a particular relative of ours whom I'll call Marge (because that is not her name). ☺
He looked at me very seriously. "No peepee door," he agreed, pointing.
I know I’m supposed to leave comments about how cute the kids are…but sometimes I just can’t, because some kids are not cute.
I can make his favorite dinner and wear his favorite color and get the kids to bed early, but unless I actually say "hey baby, I'm feelin frisky tonight" then I can't take it personally if he settles in with his book.
Wolf spent most of his time climbing the piles of snow at the edges of the field (where the plows pile it up) and then 'skydiving' off them onto the field.
Bear mostly wandered around picking up chunks of snow and sucking on them.
When a 2 year old has an 8 year old brother, he gets a head start on learning about stuff like super powers and bazookas.
I'm going to read the entire book. (And if I one day suddenly stop blogging, you may assume that I died from the experience.)
Hubby made the excellent point that if someone is too dumb to be able to read the directions and understand that one line means no and two lines means yes, well, they’ve got no business having kids.
I feel lousy this afternoon. And a little bit nauseous.
I just don't like the idea of public nudity, even when I'm dead.
This is my life, how could I be content with mediocrity?
As a child, I had a lovely mental picture of Heavenly Father. He was huge, and He sat on a big white throne nestled in puffy clouds. There were birds and flowers and angels and books all around him.
Long ago, before much of anyone bothered with things like bathing or changing their clothing, everybody stank a bit.
All you lower 48-ers, eat your hearts out. ☺
I was awakened by him standing over the edge of my bed, peering into my face at close range. "Mommy," he explained, "you have a nuggert, I'm gonna get it for you," and without further ado he stuck his finger into my nose
Unfortunately, this has led to the not-infrequent recurrence of what happened today: we collect a large pile of stuff that needs to be packed, and then Hubby turns serenely to me and says "you can get that all in, right?" and goes on his way...
The short version of it all is that I believe (and have heard quite a few birth stories which vindicate the belief) that most women get the labor they expect. It may not be the labor they planned for, it may not be the labor they wanted, but at least to some degree it was probably the one that they expected.
Remember diapers are to catch poop, not to win beauty contests; it's ok if they look a little funny.
The real irony is, if either one of us was going to be a handcuff-myself-to-a-tree sort of activist, it probably would have been me.
I am only one, but I AM one.
I cannot do everything, but I CAN do SOMEthing.
And if I am too lazy or selfish to do the things that I can do, well, shame on me. And if I take some small pride in doing the small things I can do, well, I think that's probably healthy.
Imagine the impact we might have on our culture's concept of birth if little children of both sexes grew up comfortable with birthing! Imagine if not only the future mothers, but also the future fathers, and the future doctors, midwives, and nurses all had witnessed a birth (or several) prior to adulthood
In other words, for many women, giving birth is the one time in her life when she is being true to what she is--when she is actually doing something as nature intended--and that can be a powerful (and empowering) experience. It is her chance to be a WOMAN rather than another androgynous clone.
Don't expect to have time to grab stuff if your house catches on fire, you will probably have to just run as you are (so don't sleep in your underwear!!).
I'm tired, I'm sore, I'm cranky, and it's entirely possible that I'm losing my mental acuity at least a little bit (remember how I keep waking up confused at still being pregnant? Yeah, that...)
I'm not saying that great gifts cannot be purchased items, just that the greatness of a gift is not correlated to its cost.