Posts from — October 2007

We’re driving to church.

THWACK.

Me: What was that?

Lorso: Probably an acorn hitting the roof of our car.

Me: Or maybe one of the half empty water bottles rolling around in our back floorboards depressurized and popped or something.

Lorso: Yeah, maybe.

- Silence -

Lorso: Or maybe it was space trash!

Me: ?

Lorso: You know, something that was floating in space that was big enough to make it through the fiery entry of the atmosphere and not get entirely burned up. They say that a piece of space trash as small as a postage stamp, if it fell on your car, could completely shatter the windshield! Cool, huh?

- Silence -

Me: Or maybe it was an acorn.

Outside my window, it looks like this:

Seeya.

Atlanta is currently in the worst drought in 170 years, and with our water and sewer bill this month came a sheet of helpful indoor and outdoor water conservation tips. One such tip said:

“Each toilet flush uses approximately 1.6 to 7.5 gallons of water. Do not flush the toilet unnecessarily and consider not flushing after each use.”

In other words, they are suggesting – nay – encouraging us to LET IT MELLOW IF IT’S YELLOW.

All this time I thought we were just being lazy and disgusting, but it turns out we were actually being conscientious conservationists!

Mellowers unite!!

Technically, we’re not supposed to have favorites at my job. But I simply cannot stick to that rule when there are kids like these:

- A stylish little girl with a haircut way better than mine (and probably more expensive than mine) who sounds like Scarlett O’ Hara when she wants something. “Maah paaaassy! Maah juuuuice!”

- A little girl who looks like an albino basset hound (in a freakin’ adorable way) with an old lady with a twist name whose parents seem like grunge rockers. She calls me Mommy. I let her.

- A cherubic little girl with big blue eyes and ringlet hair who lines up all the baby dolls and then sits down, lifts her shirt, holds their faces against her belly, and “breast feeds” them all one by one.

- A little girl who looks like a blonde pixie bulldog. Again, in a cute way.

- A giant chub of a baby boy with ham hock legs who has the most gorgeous skin you’ve ever seen and eyelashes so long they fan me off when I’m hot.

- a 14-month old little girl who walks like she’s drunk and falls down more times in one day than I’ve fallen down in my whole life. She also wears glasses. 14 month old sized glasses! Yes, it is as cute as the picture you have in your head.

- A not quite two year old girl with big blue eyes (what is it with the big blue eyes – they kill me) and a shock of blonde hair who speaks Swedish. She teaches me Swedish while I change her diaper every day. She points at her arm. “Arm,” I say. “Floofenflocken,” she says. Or whatever.

- A doe-eyed little girl whose “lovey” (the thing that she carries around to comfort her) is a book. Hop on Pop, specifically. It’s had to have the spine duct taped, and most of the pages are toast, but she luuuuuuvs it. “Pop?” she says with a teary voice when she’s upset. “Pop?” And then she clutches it to her chest in relief when it’s fetched.

I’m reminding myself of these things today because every Thursday seems to reach a new ring of Hell at the PMO and I want to dwell in the good. Not the stinky, snotty, chaotic, awful, badness of it all.

That is all.

Outside Panera Bread, Bug and I sit eating lunch. Bug notices a large person in a chicken suit walking up and down the sidewalk next to us and, understandably, asks why is there a chicken down there?

There’s a chicken so that people will notice that store and maybe go in, I say.

Oh, says Bug.

But why do people want to go in there? He is still pondering.

To buy cheap party crap, I say. (Ok, I might have actually said “to buy stuff for parties”)

By the way, I say. That man is dressed up like a chicken because Halloween is coming up and people like to wear costumes for Halloween. What do you think you might want to be for Halloween? You can wear a costume to school!

Blank stare. Blinking.

Liiiiike, um, you could be the Cat in the Hat, because Daddy has a red and white striped hat you could wear that looks like the Cat’s! Wouldn’t that be fun?

Noncommittal grunt with eyes still glued to the giant waving chicken.

Or you could be a ghost with a white sheet on your head! Or Bob the Builder, or a pumpkin, or maybe-

Mommy, I think I will be a chicken. Because then I can grow up and be a chicken. Like that big chicken.

Sigh. At least I know where to get the costume.