Why Pay a Sitter?

People wiser than me have suggested I remove this or post a disclaimer . . . we really did not lock the child into the carrier.  He and his brother were playing around and pretending that Elliot was the world's largest cat.  They called me in to see and I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of pics while Elliot made faces, or pretended to be a cat.  It was really quite funny ... so don't call CPS . . .

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Apparently they're using a new tactic to teach kindergartners not to litter. I just learned that littering can harm animals, like polar bears and tigers . . . I'll be sure to keep my yard picked up. No sense endangering the neighborhood polar bears and tigers.

Cretans

So somehow the dinner table conversation tonight turned to how driving habits differ greatly from country to country. And my husband, helpful as ever, told the boys to "ask mom about driving in Greece" which of course they did, and which of course is another post entirely. In brief, since they certainly didn't need all the details, I told them how I'd been hit by an angry Cretan while driving in Crete. Elliot's eyes got all big and he asked, with all sincerity: "Did you die?"

Oh how that child brightens my day.

PS I must really post my Grecian memoir, but whenever I go back to my writings (sent out in about 10 email segments, way back before blogger), which at the time I thought were oh, so witty, I feel compelled to edit, because, it really needs a lot of work.

PPS I'm also considering transcribing all my missionary letters and journals and perhaps providing excerpts here, but that is another daunting task that I may feel compelled to edit. Why is that?

PPSS Why you ask? I think it hearkens back to my prepubescence--my first journal ever contained epic songs of devotion to Michael Jackson--stickers, dots, hearts and all the angst of a young girl head over heels in love with a young pop star. When I found that journal a couple years later (and I had matured to a large poster of George Michael, shirtless, on the back of my bedroom door) I was mortified and compelled to destroy every last page of childhood devotion. To this day, I wish I'd kept that journal. I think I would have found great humor and grand opportunity for self-degradation in it's pages.

PPPSSS Some times I pull out my other teenage and young adult journals and poetry book and reminisce my adolescent angst, imagining what life might have been had I chosen a different path (like perhaps, the life of a solitary poetess). The horrid and deeply felt poetry of unrequited teenage love still brings tears to my eyes. I felt shallow things sooo deeply back then. Perhaps I'll publish the poetry collection under the title of "Songs of the Fat-Girl, unrequited love of the young and obese". Hey, that's kinda catchy. I'd buy it.

PPPPPSSSSS Where was I? Oh yeah, damn Cretans.

Words, Words, Words

At dinner tonight as we recapped the days events, we were apprised of the vocabulary situation in Kindergarten.

Elliot: The short version of Anastasia's name is Ana, which is a palindrome.

Oh, and in case he hasn't informed you yet, "Ch" and "Th" are digraphs.

Don't open that box . . .

I have fully experienced why it is called Pandora. While to date I've mostly listened to my "Train" station, or "Sting" or "U2" or various jazz and classical type stations, all of which are recent enough, emotionally distant enough or have written stuff recently enough that I have not been fully sucked into the Pandora's Box time warp. But today . . . today I created a "New Order" station. I had no idea just what I'd done. I've spent the morning mired in New Order, Depeche Mode, Aha, The Cure, Erasure, Talk Talk. And soo much more in the way of adolescent angst. I had no idea this music carried so much emotional connotation for me. It's like it's 1990 all over again and I'm reliving every dance, concert and late night drive of my junior high and high school experience . . . it makes it a bit hard to concentrate on work when I find myself mentally experiencing an aerobics routine we were forced to create for 8th grade gym class to the tune of "Taaaaaaaake Oooooooooon Meeeeeeeee! Taaaaaaaaaaake Meeeeeeeeeeeee Ooooooooooooon! . . .