Even In Australia

Despite my best efforts, I just can’t find a good way to spin my mood for most of this week.

Some weeks are just like that.

Housecleaning Thoughts From The Closet

Shesh, Mom, I know you wanted all this old crap of mine out of your garage, and I know I agreed to take it, but what I can’t figure out is why I agreed to junk up my . . .

Cool!  I didn’t know this was in here!

Oh . . . right . . .

One Way Or The Other, This Will Make More Sense In Time

Sorry for being mysterious, but out of the blue today my son said something was going to happen on June 16th, and I wanted to publicly record that date.

I’ll tell you on or around June 16th how right or wrong he was.

Today I Experienced Both

In the spirit of made-up words like “hangry,” I’m introducing a new word into my personal vocabulary:  “Rushtrated,” the feeling of frustration born from being rushed.

Edit:  As was pointed out within minutes of me posting this, the potential applications of this word go far beyond just family outings, so I’ve deleted that part of the definition.

My Current Rank Is “Belongs In Another Room”

If you want to really know where you stand in your child’s estimations, just wait until a grandparent is around.

An Excerpt From My Morning Conversation

The sad truth of the matter is that sometimes you just don’t get a good option, only a choice of bad ones, and the best you can do is pick the one you hope you can live with the easiest.

He Said While His Son Was Waiting For Him To Wrap Up So They Could Go To The Park

A four-year-old trying to be patient is like a dog trying to talk, and it’s unreasonable to expect eloquence in either case.  Better to just appreciate that the trick is being attempted at all.

And Even The Less Important Ones Are Rarely Anything Akin To Pleasant

For whatever reason, the most important wake-up calls also tend to be the most painful.

And If His Story Is Being Told On Netflix Or HBO, I’ll Bet He Lasts For At Least Two Seasons

Nothing quite like sleep deprivation to give you odd dreams when you do get the chance to sleep.

Before I awoke this morning I was dreaming I was chatting with all these nice people of differing backgrounds who didn’t seem to have anything in common on the surface.  Further conversation revealed, however, that aside from the details of what exactly made them nice people, the only other memories they had were of their good friend who was more dramatic, heroic, and/or interesting than they were in every way.

As one they realized they were nothing more than background characters destined to die to give pathos to the story of the main character.

Naturally offended by this, they started brainstorming ways they could avoid their fate, but before they could get far, one of them was attacked by a couple of deadly, yet seductive, succubi.  (He was the cheerful womanizer character whose role is to die ironically in a fantasy/horror story.)  Armed with the knowledge of his true status though, he began to . . . crassly explain and demonstrate what he was willing to do to . . . distract his attackers, and how letting him live just a “little bit longer” would be more interesting not just for this scene, but in all future scenes as he continued to .  . . ahem . . . “fight” for his life in increasingly outrageous ways.

There was a moment of stunned silence from the rest of the group, then one of them looked at him askance and asked “Really?”, to which his response was to flash a heavy metal hand sign and gleefully point out that he was “Still alive, aren’t I, baby?”

Which, Ironically Enough, Perfectly Captured My Feelings Toward The Morning

There’s no two ways to put this, last night was a particularly rough night on the household.  When the child can’t sleep, the adults too tend to go sleepless, and I can’t honestly tell you who got it worst, but I feel terrible today.

So in an attempt to lighten the mood, when I got up again after Lala took point on parental-style duties, I greeted her with a draggy “Hey, you,” a greeting I promptly repeated to the dog sleeping on the couch.  Then I walked over to the table which was still bestrewn with children’s craft supplies, started to draw something on a piece of paper, stopped, selected another sheet of paper, drew a letter “U” on it, and said “Hey, U.”

This got the mild chuckle from Lala that I was going for, but the real funny part of this story to me is why I set the first piece of paper down.  As I started to draw a “U” on it, I saw L. had already drawn a letter on that paper.

An “F.”