Isaac (5): "Mom, I think I'm a bad kid."
Me: "No, Isaac, you're a wonderful kid! Why do you think you're bad?"
Isaac: "Well, sometimes I say stupid, and stupid is a really bad word."
Me: "It is a bad word, but sometimes even nice people say bad words. Like Dad. He's great, but sometimes he says words he shouldn't say."
Isaac: "Like fuck?"
Me: "..."
Monday, September 29, 2014
milestone
My first thesis-year mailing is mailed off! I know that to 12/13 of you, that makes no difference whatsoever, and this is why I'm posting here instead of Facebook (not that one more who-the-hell-cares post would break Facebook, but I'm trying to be considerate) but nonetheless I'm feeling the need to crow about it. And I have to crow now, before I get my professor's comments back, and she tells me not to quit the day job. (Receiving of such comments will take forever, mind you, because she must be the last person alive using USPS for this sort of thing. Seriously. I had to Print 30 pages of Actual Paper, stuff it in an envelope, write things on the envelope in actual handwriting, stick stamps to it, and drive it to the post office. Where it will be picked up, driven to Denver, and then flown on an airplane to Oregon. I don't know when exactly I developed an allergy to paper, but there is something jaw-droppingly archaic about transporting pieces of it around the country.) Anyway, yay for me!
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Mom of the Year
The differences between firstborns and lastborns:
Alec, at 1, had been the sole subject of approximately 32,000 pictures.
Isaac, at 1, had been the sole subject of approximately a dozen pictures.
Alec, at 2, knew the word 'butt,' and also knew it was a word he was not allowed to say. So he didn't say it. Ever.
Isaac, at 2, loved to walk into the middle of a crowd and scream "BUTTCRACK!" because it got such an incomparable reaction.
Alec, at 3, was sometimes allowed to watch Disney/Pixar movies or educational PBS cartoons.
Isaac, at 3, could name every character on SpongeBob, and could independently find and use his favorite apps on my iPhone.
Alec, at 4, loved organic frozen blueberries, local whole-milk yogurt, and edamame.
Isaac, at 4, enjoyed those too, but was really fond of poorly spelled foods that come out of spray cans, such as Reddi-Whip and EZ-Cheez.
Alec, at 1, had been the sole subject of approximately 32,000 pictures.
Isaac, at 1, had been the sole subject of approximately a dozen pictures.
Alec, at 2, knew the word 'butt,' and also knew it was a word he was not allowed to say. So he didn't say it. Ever.
Isaac, at 2, loved to walk into the middle of a crowd and scream "BUTTCRACK!" because it got such an incomparable reaction.
Alec, at 3, was sometimes allowed to watch Disney/Pixar movies or educational PBS cartoons.
Isaac, at 3, could name every character on SpongeBob, and could independently find and use his favorite apps on my iPhone.
Alec, at 4, loved organic frozen blueberries, local whole-milk yogurt, and edamame.
Isaac, at 4, enjoyed those too, but was really fond of poorly spelled foods that come out of spray cans, such as Reddi-Whip and EZ-Cheez.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Owen, 7, was ssooooo excited to help me bake his older brother's birthday cake. First, he cracked an egg onto the floor. Then he tipped the mixing bowl over, pouring batter down the front of the cabinet.
The dogs have submitted a formal petition that he be put in charge of cooking everything, all the time.
The dogs have submitted a formal petition that he be put in charge of cooking everything, all the time.
Monday, June 2, 2014
more tofurky!
I found it! I found the thing!
What thing? you ask.
Glad you asked, I reply. It's the fake meat thing that is actually edible! And, better yet, it is a tofurky brand of fake meat. Because that's just fun to say. Tofurky. And it sort of reminds me of turducken, though that's probably not what they were going for.
But here, let me end your suspense. It's the fake sandwich meat. Because when you put enough mayonnaise and mustard and cheese and lettuce and avocado in there, you really can't even tell. It's excellent.
What thing? you ask.
Glad you asked, I reply. It's the fake meat thing that is actually edible! And, better yet, it is a tofurky brand of fake meat. Because that's just fun to say. Tofurky. And it sort of reminds me of turducken, though that's probably not what they were going for.
But here, let me end your suspense. It's the fake sandwich meat. Because when you put enough mayonnaise and mustard and cheese and lettuce and avocado in there, you really can't even tell. It's excellent.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
It occurs to me that I need to update the little banner photos off to the side here -->
The little guy in the heart shades is now preparing to enter kindergarten, and will carry out his plans for world domination a week from next Tuesday.
The big guy is now a strapping young man with girlfriends and B.O. and ferocious, parentally-induced eye roll - all, apparently, requisites of third grade.
The basset still looks more or less the same. In fact, I don't think she's moved from that spot since I took that picture. In fact, we reupholstered that couch around her.
The little guy in the heart shades is now preparing to enter kindergarten, and will carry out his plans for world domination a week from next Tuesday.
The big guy is now a strapping young man with girlfriends and B.O. and ferocious, parentally-induced eye roll - all, apparently, requisites of third grade.
The basset still looks more or less the same. In fact, I don't think she's moved from that spot since I took that picture. In fact, we reupholstered that couch around her.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
one is the loneliest number...
I think I'm down to one reader. This is what happens when you neglect a blog, I've brought it upon myself, all that. Fortunately, my one reader is a real person who comes over every so often, and he can berate me in person for my lack of bloggerliness, and apparently it has worked. A bit.
Here we are at the very end of spring break - a spring break that began with my first-ever writing retreat ('writing advance', my one reader kindly called it, and, while I would certainly like to think there was some advancement taking place, I'm pretty sure that for us writer-wannabes, advances are something different that involves money). I must say, as fabulous as the whole thing was, I am still recovering from all the silence. There was a time in my life when I was an abnormally quiet person. Okay, I'm still abnormally quiet, but once upon a time I existed in a near-constant state of abnormal quiet. Now I am a quiet person in a near-constant state of OH MY GOD PLEASE BE QUIET, and, as it turns out, life with all those Murray boys has reset my internal volume control such that when I find myself in a cabin, all alone, with no electricity and snow falling in huge blobs all around, I start feeling like my eyeballs are going to turn inside-out. Luckily the cure for the eyeball thing seems to be the same as the cure for the abnormal quiet thing, and it's the reason I was up there in the first place: write.
In other news, I read great books this month - two books by Adrianne Harun who is fabulous, and the new one - Ocean at the End of the Lane - by Neil Gaiman, from desperate adolescent nerd-crush on whom I have never recovered, and whose writing just keeps getting awesomer so I can justify the two-decade nerd crush - and also Drown by Junot Diaz, latest nerd crush. Sigh.
Here we are at the very end of spring break - a spring break that began with my first-ever writing retreat ('writing advance', my one reader kindly called it, and, while I would certainly like to think there was some advancement taking place, I'm pretty sure that for us writer-wannabes, advances are something different that involves money). I must say, as fabulous as the whole thing was, I am still recovering from all the silence. There was a time in my life when I was an abnormally quiet person. Okay, I'm still abnormally quiet, but once upon a time I existed in a near-constant state of abnormal quiet. Now I am a quiet person in a near-constant state of OH MY GOD PLEASE BE QUIET, and, as it turns out, life with all those Murray boys has reset my internal volume control such that when I find myself in a cabin, all alone, with no electricity and snow falling in huge blobs all around, I start feeling like my eyeballs are going to turn inside-out. Luckily the cure for the eyeball thing seems to be the same as the cure for the abnormal quiet thing, and it's the reason I was up there in the first place: write.
In other news, I read great books this month - two books by Adrianne Harun who is fabulous, and the new one - Ocean at the End of the Lane - by Neil Gaiman, from desperate adolescent nerd-crush on whom I have never recovered, and whose writing just keeps getting awesomer so I can justify the two-decade nerd crush - and also Drown by Junot Diaz, latest nerd crush. Sigh.
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