Cole has a lengthy last name. Glad I don’t have that problem. He has taken to signing his name “Cole B.S.”
Lest you think I am a bad mother, I have told him nicely and more graphically, that this is not a good idea. He does not care.
Every time I see it I laugh and cry a little.
I went through a phase of signing my name Eliana the Great, especially in the front cover of my books. Lest you worry, this phase ended long ago. NOT last year. Really.
My father did many things, but he did not cheat. Cheating required skills that Pop did not have, like the ability to whisper and make at least one good friend. Pop didn’t have friends, which he believed were things meant for women and children, as were holidays and happiness–and cheating. A real man didn’t need all that. All a man needed was a gun and a woodstove and maybe, if things got bad, some Vicks VapoRub. The man put it on everything: heads, chests, sore muscles, flank steak. But he did not cheat.
Might I recommend buying the latest issue of Creative Nonfiction That’s where you can find this delightful essay, titled “The Wishbone” by Harrison Scott Key. The whole thing is as good as the opening. I love it. Can’t say it enough. The whole issue is really strong…issue 48 if you are so inclined.
After much hullabaloo, I took away the bin of weapons from my children.
When did we become people who have so many weapons that they need a separate container to hold them all?
In my defense, weapons is a broad category–swords, light sabers, plastic saws from the tool set that are only used as weapons, a butterfly net with a long weaponish handle…you get the idea. The favored cleaning job for my boys is to corral the weapons.
There’s not much else to say. I have a white trashcan like object full of weapons in my unfinished shower. Every time I use the bathroom, I think of how odd motherhood is.
Do you ever have these moments?
Fifth grade. I got in a fight. My only fight ever. A girl called me an egg head. I hit her. I narrowly avoided suspension because we had a fill-in principal that week.
What I mostly remember is my dad sitting me down to talk about it, in the basement, and him trying to take it seriously but clearly being amused by my explanation.
A child in my house keeps waking up at 6am so that he can read, which I’m guessing is the impetus behind this blast from the past.
Dear readers, most of whom are not known for their violent tendencies, have you ever hit anyone? A girl in church volleyball slapped my sister Liz when we were young teens. We had a special family night, complete with a disapproving mother, about how to properly through a punch, after that one. Good times.
For our anniversary several weeks ago, Todd bought me a typewriter. I’d been loosely looking for one for a while and it was a fun, unexpected gift.
More unexpected is that Cole is fascinated by this contraption and how you don’t have to look at a screen and push print–the words magically appear when you push the button. It is very funny. What isn’t funny is how hard you have to push the keys to make an imprint. I typed a letter to my granny and my fingers hurt when I was done. I have no idea how anyone ever wrote a whole book that way.
Thanks to his older woman friend Elise, Owen is currently entranced by the terrible cartoon of My Little Ponies. My concern is not the pastel color palette–it is that the show makes me want to rip out my eyeballs.
Cole has begun Harry Potter. I have not read them. I hate fantasy or magic and all that, but I am reading them as well. So far it hasn’t killed me. He’s so happy (read the first one all the way in two days) that I need to be supportive. We bought the whole set though and it makes me tired to look at. The things I do for these midgets…
They are happy at the moment. It is a phase but a welcome one.
