Lala (modeling her bodice): “So . . . what do you think of the bodice for my costume?”
Me: “I think it reminds me that we need more shelf space.”(1)
Happy Halloween, everyone! Don’t take any wooden candy.
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(1) This joke might be too visually based to translate well to text, but I’m going with it anyway.
Before you were born, son, I was reminded ad nauseam that having a child would “change things for me.” Strictly speaking, this was, of course, true, but then, as now, I resented some of the nasty implications of how it might change things.
So let’s talk about the extent of one of those changes, shall we?
This morning I didn’t really have a good idea about what I was going to write here today, so, feeling at loose ends, I wound up eating popcorn and watching Scooby-Doo with you. That is definitely a change from what would have happened under the same circumstances before you were born.
Before you were born, I would have been watching Scooby-Doo alone.
If I don’t wrap up everything else I need to do and soon, then this Halloween my costume is going to be something I’ve never gone as before, “Guy in normal clothes who is handing out candy because he was too busy to get a costume together.”
Rest assured, however, that everyone else in the household has had their costume ready for a month now.
I want to make it clear up front that I am in no way saying this is a male/female thing, but apparently I am lacking in whatever gene causes the mind to shut down from cute overload when observing an almost two-year-old L. placing his hands over the eyes of his stuffed monkey while saying, “L____? L____? Where are you?”, then uncovering the stuffed monkey’s eyes and saying, “Here you are!”
One of the secrets to happy relationships of any stripe is correctly gauging the amount of distance required. For some people in your life this will require little more than them being in another room now and then, while other people will require a distance more properly measured in streets, cities, states or perhaps even countries.
Then there are those for whom the proper distance needed would require the invention of intergalactic travel . . .
Yesterday I told someone that as weird as it was to reach the point in one’s life where one was watching other people grow up, the weirdness didn’t really start until one reached the “other people sure are getting old” point.
Though now that I think about it, the point where one starts hearing one’s favorite songs on the radio being called “classics” is a close second.
I know this because today I saw an ad for a “Sexy Watermelon” costume.
Okay, guys . . . be honest. At this point you’re just sitting around playing Mad Libs starting with the word “Sexy,” aren’t you?
. . . I think I’m so far behind on the race I’m trying to run that I’m actually leading the race that was scheduled to start after my race finished.
(As is frequently the case, I’m exaggerating for effect, but that’s certainly the way I feel today.)
In short, the little one has hit the screaming fits over trifles stage, and I’m doing my best to not join him in that phase.
Current success of goal of not actually falling into a screaming rage when he rages: Pass.
Current success of goal of not feeling like falling into a screaming rage when he rages: Fail.
‘Nuff said.
Today I learned that it’s difficult to focus when one can barely hear anything over the sound of the anger induced throbbing in the veins in one’s forehead.(1)
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(1) I am greatly exaggerating this for the sake of comedic effect, but in all seriousness, I am for no good reason snarling over every little thing right now, and that’s not a good mindset for stream of consciousness writing, so I’m going to refrain for today.
Candles & Curses 