Okay Then

Over the past few days, those of you skilled at reading between the lines, as well as those simply skilled at just reading, probably concluded this has not been an easy week for me.

You concluded correctly.

And while I can see the edge of the woods from here, I’m not quite out of them yet, so I’m going to need to keep this brief today.  With that in mind, here’s an exchange I overheard this morning between Lala and L.:

Lala:  (After L. said something particularly clearly.) You’re getting this enunciation thing down pat.

L.:  No, I’m not. (Said with flawless enunciation.)

Give Me Just A Moment

Heroism is endurance for one moment more.

– George F. Kennan

True Enough, But Storm Season Seems To Be Running Long This Year

There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

– Willa Cather

Mission Accomplished

Parenthood (noun) – The process of taking your child out somewhere in the hopes the change of scenery will help them stop being fussy for no reason,  thereby exposing them to numerous itchy bug bites, thus giving them a reason to fuss.

Now Where Was I?

As I was going to say before I got roped into a zoo trip with L. this morning, sometimes its easy for time to get away from us.  Nobody knows this better than a writer who’s been told “I’ll read your book as soon as ______.”  You quickly learn that continuing silence after that statement means that for one reason or another, your book is gathering dust somewhere.

Mr. Phillion, in light of the significant delay since I last mentioned your book,  I wish you to know that your book is indeed gathering dust somewhere . . . in a shipping box in transit to my address as I type this.

You don’t get off that easily, bucko.

At Least The Brain-Baby Has Stopped Kicking

Yesterday was a true (to quote The Tick) “My head feels like it’s . . . like it’s gonna have a baby!” kind of day, and I still haven’t fully recovered, so I’m taking it easy today.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

But I Guess I DID Ask For This, Come To Think . . .

This morning I sat down to write a quick entry about how sometimes it can be difficult to make time for things.

This afternoon I finally got a break from demonstrating that principle for long enough for me to say that I’ll do my best to write that entry tomorrow.

Abbot And Costello Please Note

I want you to know, son, that I never fully appreciated how tricky the “me” vs. “you” concept could be until I watched you playing around with it. Of course if I point to myself and call myself “me,” then point at you and call you “you,” you are naturally going to point at me and say “me,” then point at yourself and say “you.” Since you laugh when you do this, I’m pretty sure you have the basic concept down at least, and that you’re just being funny.

At least, I hope so, otherwise I don’t think I helped matters any when I tried to clarify by saying, “No, I’m me and you’re you, but when you are the one talking, then you’re ‘me’ and I’m ‘you’ and . . . wait a minute . . . Let’s try that again!”

The Difference A Letter Can Make

Some days its like the Universe is deliberately setting you up for a joke.

One of L’s toys has a game where you draw the letter on the screen with a stylus, then it spells out a word for you starting with that letter. Capital B is particularly tricky due to the double semicircles, and is the letter most likely to get him frustrated, so we’ve all gotten used to the toy repeating the letter B over and over again until he either gets it right, gets angry at it, and/or asks for help. At one point over the weekend though, the repetition of the letter B finally stopped, and a word started to be spelled:

“I”

“T”

Must be spelling ‘bite,’ his mother thought.

“C”

“H”

A quick double take later it was determined that L. had gotten frustrated with capital B, but instead of the toy expressing his frustration for him, it was merely dutifully spelling out the word “itch” after he decided to draw the far easier capital I instead . . .

Sometimes There’s Just More Manure Than Others, Of Course

You know what, son? Maybe he/she is a “smug, self-righteous jerk whose sole joy in life seems to be belittling people under the guise of ‘giving them advice to make them a better person,'” but that doesn’t mean there’s absolutely nothing you can learn from them.

Leaving aside the old saw about a broken clock still being right twice a day, good advice is sometimes like a nugget of gold found in a pile of manure. Wash off the manure, and you still have a nugget of gold.