Stuff + nonsense
I’ve about reached my knowledge impartation capacity
In the past few weeks, Noah has done the following things:
– Questioned me eagerly about the translation of Roman numerals
– Begged to play the “plus game” wherein I posed equations like “What’s 13 plus 7?” … and then he would SPELL THE ANSWER
– Quizzed me on the different parts of the body in Spanish. (I know one—brazo, which until just now I thought was spelled braso. No, wait, hang on…I also know… boca. That’s about it. And I just confirmed these two with L while typing this up.)
– And also, and maybe the most disturbingly, corrected me on my scientific facts. During a conversation in which he was asking me why helium balloons float, I decided to pull out my Very Grown Up Knowledge of Things and made the comparison of ice cubes in water, which was solid and well-played. But then I took it a step too far and started talking about people floating in space (LIKE ICE CUBES. HI I HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE. I CAN DO SYINCE GUD.) and Noah politely listened until I was through and then said. “Yeah. Plus, there’s no gravity!”
HA HA OH RIGHT HA HA HA HA omg.
I sincerely thought there would be more years between Birth and Smarter Than Parents. Not so, it seems.
More blathering on about the horrors of bedtime
Seriously, you guys, bedtime. What is up? It takes for-EH-ver to get our two (adorable, precious, cherubic, obv.) children to just pipe down and power off these days. The whole sharing a room is not helping matters, I gotta say. One is almost asleep, the other is out of bed fifteen times in five minutes. The first one wakes back up two minutes after the second has finally stayed in bed for more than 30 seconds. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. A few nights after spending an hour or hour and a half getting them to finally go to sleep, Rosie woke up with a night terror. Uh, no thank you, Universe. Night terrors totally blow. She thrashes around and smacks me away violently while yelling “I WANT MOMMMMMMYYYYYYY! I WANT HER! I WANT MOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYY!” And you know what? I got nothing at that point. I’m out of ideas. Plus, it’s ONE IN THE MORNING. If it were a reasonable hour, maybe I’d think to say something clever like, “You want Mommy? I’ll go get her! I’ll be right back!” and then run out, throw on a different shirt and run back in. But no, instead I just hold her thirty-pound body out at arms’ length and say “I AM YOUR MOMMY! I AAAAAMMM YOUR MOMMMMMYYYYYYY!”
I am kind of tired.
Dog Days Are Over
I love this song a lot. So much so that I alllllllmost want to take up running, just to be able to pound the pavement with it blaring in my ears.
Eh. I think I’ll just keep listening to it right here on the couch with this mint chocolate chip ice cream.