this was for yesterday. I got busy, and although I had mentally composed a post, I was already in bed so I decided to do it this morning. You get a two-fer today! So here's today's random funny: What is up with children and toilets?? Everywhere we go, Charlie has to check out the toilet. She tells me she needs to do wee or poop, even when she really only wants to check out the toilet. Do kids have a rating system? Does a wall flusher rate higher than a regular tank flusher? Does pink soap rate higher than foamy soap? I do know she's freaked out by the air hand dryers - refuses to use them. So really, what are your thoughts on this? I remember my family referring to my sister as "the bathroom inspector", so I'm pretty sure it's a common thing. But it's funny to watch, that's for sure. She has to ask all manner of questions, and inspect everything before we can go. Which is okay, unless it's a smelly toilet. Who wants to loiter in there?? It'...
Come in, sit down. Let's have a chat about identity. Specifically, as it relates to before and after marriage/offspring. Before I got married, I had this life. I had this great apartment, with matching towels, matching dishes, lots of framed photos on the walls, trips to the bookshop that almost always resulted in some novel or other jumping into my basket. I had a cat, who now lives with my mom. I loved beautiful things. Not expensive, necessarily, but beautiful things. I had girlfriends with whom I'd go out to dinner, or shopping, or what have you. I painted pottery. In short, it was fun, and largely carefree (although in a head-in-the-sand kind of way). For the longest time, I felt that getting married and having kids was the end of all that. Forever. I mourned (and sometimes still do) that life, that person, for she was now dead. And in her place was this new person, but I didn't know her. I still don't quite know who she is, and I'm still in a place where I...
All the things I should have said to you must remain unspoken. I have to settle for writing them out here, which is only a poor substitute. I should have written you every day, telling you all about our children, and how wonderful they are. I should have sent you cards and notes, and called you on the phone. Even the most trivial of things would have been of deep interest to you, I'm certain of it. I should have shared my experiences of motherhood with you, and asked for your advice. I should have asked for your recipes for rice pudding, baked corn. I should have asked you what my father was like as a boy, and told you stories of our son, who reminds me of him. I didn't, and now it is too late. I have so many happy memories of childhood; you are in most of them. Time spent at the cottage with the other cousins, going to Vacation Bible School, those plaster of paris fruit molds when we learned about the Fruits of the Spirit. Chef Boyardee pizza in a box, fried squash, sno...
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