Hobson's Choice
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Huh?
So I thought, okay, the world is back to normal. No one is surprised to see pictures of Taco Bell restaurants and "E Coli Scare" on the tv screen. Makes a lot more sense than spinach, which was a major crisis in this household.
Turns out it was green onions at the Taco Bells.
Is nothing in the vegetable world safe? Green onions worse than Mystery Meat? For years, I have laughed at all my mother-in-law's warnings about vegetables and e. coli. I promised to do penance and listen to my elders in the future.
Oh, and to scrub my vegetables.
2:30 p.m. - 2006-12-06
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Name That Blog!
My blog needs a better name. When I first started doing this, there weren't too many MamaBloggers. Also, I was way more sleep deprived than I am now; I could no more have thought of a cool blog name than I could have remembered my own social security number.
But now I look around at all the cool blog names, and I want one, too. Just like I wanted the pierced ears and Barbie dream house that everyone had.
So comment, dear readers, comment. Tell me what to call my blog.
(And now, even though we are keeping the rest of the house a little warmer this winter, my office still doesn't have heat. My fingers are getting numb, and it's time to stop blogging)
7:47 p.m. - 2006-12-05
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The ancient '60s
E. likes to tell stories about Polly Ocket in the bathtub. She's a little Polly Pocket doll from a Happy Meal, and her name is Polly Ocket.
This is how last night's story began:
"It was a long, long time ago. Before there were dinosaurs. Before there were people. Even before Baby Jesus was born. It was 1966."
I giggled. She did have to revise because how could she explain the presence of an elephant, dog, gorilla, and Polly Ocket if it was that long ago?
"There were just a few, just a few animals."
7:44 p.m. - 2006-12-05
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Pride
It takes relatively little to make me feel competent as a mother and main household caretaker. For example, if I remember to buy toilet paper before we run out, I consider myself a domestic hero.
I would like to report that there are twelve fresh rolls in the house, and we still had two left.
7:42 p.m. - 2006-12-05
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How windy is it in West Virginia today?
The basketball goal in our backyard blew over this morning. That's how windy it is?
1:03 p.m. - 2006-12-01
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Oh, please, can we talk about death some more?
You can be pretty sure that it is not going to be one of your favorite conversations if it begins with the sentence:
"Why can't your eyeballs move when you're dead?"
Yes, you are going to be living up to your parental duties by having the umpteenth conversation about death with your four-year-old. When I got my job at the preschool and inherited some elderly goldfish (old age being probably about 2 weeks, but in this case is a massive 3 years!), there were some concerns about the fish and their longevity. I made the comment that I could talk about death with preschoolers until the cows came home. It didn't bother me, no sir. I did an internship with Hospice; I've been in the room when someone died; I grew up going to funeral dinners regularly.
Only it turns out that it's a little more difficult when you're talking with your own child, and you're kind of hoping that it'll be a while before she figures out:
(a) she's going to die
(b) you're doing to die
(c) not everyone who dies is 90 plus year old grandmother or aunt.
It turns out that you would like to steer this conversation, and post-mortem eyeball movement is not where you'd like to start. Especially when the conversation goes on to ponder:
(a) where dog heaven is and what it's like;
(b) the implications of Nana's declaration that she will be going to Dog Heaven when she dies;
(c) whether dog heaven is "black as a room with no lights on;
(d) what it feels like when your heart stops beating and your lungs stop breathing; and
(e) whether it feels like holding your breath.
And this may be especially difficult if you feel an ethical and moral burden to answer "I don't know. Nobody really knows." The only question that I personally felt quite certain about was that death does not feel like holding your breath; since that's not a particularly comforting answer, I went with my old standby, "I don't know. Nobody really knows."
4:34 p.m. - 2006-11-30
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