Bad sign: You inform people that you are not feeling your best today by announcing that you shall be “unconscious-ing” soon.
An even worse sign for me: After saying such a thing, I actually thought, “Oh, good! Now I have something to write about when I ‘re-conscious.'”
Even with the most minor of life’s little battles, the quiet time before it begins always feels profound.
Though “resolution” might be too strong a word in this case, this year I’d like to spend more time in a hammock.
I suspect I have already made abundantly clear my feelings regarding the girls’ love of dressing up the dog, but if you need clarification, suffice it to say that I don’t approve, but I recognize that my approval is not required. Even so, as I watch the dog prance around (and seemingly happily so, I will reluctantly admit) in a frilly canine “party dress,” I remind myself that it really could be worse.
At least she’s not wearing the dress that makes her look frumpy.
My son had a rough morning today, so I was trying to cheer him up, but I prefaced what I was about to say with, “Now I’m not trying to come across like a Pollyanna, but . . .”
“Who?” he asked me.
So I explained she was a character from a book, and tried to come up with an on the spot example of what I meant. What I came up with was, “Pollyanna was the type of person that if her arm got ripped off and eaten by a bear, she’d say ‘I’ve always wanted to feed hungry animals!'”
Today as part of our first day back to school following the break, my son and I were discussing ancient civilizations and the importance of rivers when he asked me if I wanted to hear a joke.
I told him I wanted to stay focused on what we were talking about, but he assured me it related, so I (reluctantly) told him to go ahead.
“As I learned from The Mister Peabody Show,” he announced, “sometimes even the Queen of ‘De-Nile‘ needs to let out her inner ‘Tigris.'”
In recent years I’ve started playing online games with my son from time to time, and this afternoon, to make up for being busy most of the day, was one of those times.
It’s always a frantic run from one battle to another with very little talking (because there’s almost no time to type anything and I’ve never set up any sort of voice chat since we’re in the same house), little to no planning beyond “Get them!”, and (to my way of thinking) an unnecessary amount of time running and jumping around.
In other words, recently I’ve realized that most of the people I’ve played online games with over the years were under ten years old.
May your new year be filled with a pantry and refrigerator so overstocked that it’s occasionally mildly irritating when you’re trying to find something specific.
Happy New Year!
(And if anyone ever gifts you one of those bottles sealed with a plastic cork, don’t repeat my mistake of trying to open the damn thing, and just throw it away. Seriously.)
As a follow-up to last week’s “dog in a dress” post, while I remain unconvinced of the girls’ argument that “she likes it,” I will concede that Isa doesn’t seem to protest the treatment. On the other hand, I am personally pleased to note that Isa has made her feelings abundantly clear that she draws the line at wearing bows in her fur.
