Short Order

Just popped in for a little Elliotism.  I once told the child he could only have fried eggs on Friday.  Now this is the daily ritual:

Elliot, what do you want for breakfast?


What day is it?


Wednesday?


I'll take two Wednesd-eggs, please, extra runny. 

My Cup Overfloweth

Well, not my cup, exactly, but my bowl.  My toilet bowl to be precise.  Chalk it up--two times in a month that the toilet has overflowed to the point of an inch of water on the floor in the potty alcove before we got a handle on it.  By "we", I mean "I" of course.  Several buckets, many towels, a few tears and cursings later and the bathroom is pine-scented fresh.  And I'm exhausted.  I'm tired of being a grown-up.  I want someone else to deal with the overflowing toilet and the dishes and the cooking and the ants and the weeds, and the lawn and the grocery shopping and the bills and the insurance companies, pest control companies, the doctors offices and the pharmacies and the litter box and the garbage . . . I'll stop, but I could go on.  I really could.  Whining is something I'm very good at.  Oh, and self-pity.  That's one of my many talents.  That and unclogging a toilet.

p.s. Since we're discussing overflowing,  I've lately been struck by the oft-unsung verses of the hymn
How Firm A Foundation:
Verse 4
When thru the deep trials, I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee overflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee, and sanctify to thee,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

Verse 5
When thru fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace all sufficient shall be thy supply
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, thy dross to consume
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.


I hope my river of sorrow doesn't overflow like my toilet, because I still have lots of dross . . .

Nothing Says I Love You

Like the ER.

Matt's birthday is February 14th.  Long ago we decided not to celebrate the retail holiday of Valentine's Day.  But that doesn't stop us from getting out of the house for a little romance and "us" time.  This year, like last, he surprised me with a trip to the Emergency Room.  This time we played it a little low-key and took the minivan and the wheelchair instead of the ambulance.  The nurse told us next time we wanted a date without the kids that he didn't want to be invited.

Oh, and just to keep the romance alive, we decided to visit another ER on Friday.  It's been an exciting week.

Or should I say month.  There was that ER trip on the last day of January . . . just setting the mood I suppose.  Let's see, that makes 5 visits in just over 12 months!  We have to win something for that, don't we?  Is there a frequent ER program?  

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.