Please bear with me as I Get Things Done In Real Time. I'll be back to my posty-commenty self upon the 8:30 AM click of the school bus door on August 27th.
In the meantime, to answer some questions from the previous comments:
Don't kids make you feel all warm and mushy inside like that?
Yes, my children seem to go out of their way daily to make me feel all warm and mushy. And I try to reciprocate. For example: Upon first waking, my daughters give me snuggly hugs and then immediately proceed to express their urgent need to eat, as well as their wonderment that I can't make food magically appear two seconds after their request. I kiss them sweetly and then give prompt and explicit instructions on how they can get their own food, if they so choose, I'm not the mystical Short Order Cook Mom of myth and legend. A few minutes after our break fast, I suggest that if they can't keep their adorable pitter-patters to a dull roar, I'll toss them in the backyard and lock them out till lunch time. I'm very warm and mushy when telling them this, so, I suppose, they get it from me.
From apathy lounge
Was that a sigh of resignation? Or contentment?
I believe that the sigh was one of resigned contentment. Or maybe it was contented resignation?
On second thought, I'm sure it was one of the first of many "yet more proof that I was found in a basket among the reeds" moments for her.
My sister was like that. Even to this day, she shakes her head (lovingly) at my mother's witticisms and then insists that she was adopted. My sister, not my mother. This false claim is born of some increasingly adorable yet pathetic attempt on my sister's part to fool herself into believing that she'll be the only female member of the extended family to not develop some variation of My Grandmother's Laugh.
My Grandmother' Laugh sounded something not unlike a hyena playing a tuba.
All the women who share my grandmother's DNA have eventually evidenced this genetic...gift. Although, I'm pretty sure that this family particularity would Hulk Smash any nature vs. nurture arguments in favor of nurture. Any adopted members of our family just aren't getting off scot free with a dulcet giggle.
Anyway, my sister also used to claim that her real name was Cordelia, so there you go.
My sister has a vivid inner life. And a lot of goats.
From T With Honey:
What kind of extra traffic have you seen from being featured on Blog Nosh?
Enough to make me very happy indeed. I'm thrilled when even one new reader finds me, but Blog Nosh has pointed quite a few new hits in my direction.
AND Blog Nosh is looking for submissions!
Finally, from my friend Kath.
Did you get Prima on video?
Wait...are you asking to see brag video of my kid? Oh I couldn't. No, really. But thanks for asking.
(Ignore my whooooooohooooo's. I blame my grandmother.)