For about 24 hours this weekend, everyone in the house was taking anti-biotics, thanks to Scott's run-in with pink eye. When will it end?
Two amusing kid and language stories. Feel free to skip if you don't find such things amusing.
1. Friday night the Diva was wandering the house tinking on a triangle.
"Oh," I said. "you seem to enjoy the triangle."
"Mo-ther," she said, in exactly the same voice I suspect she'll use at 16 to explain that her new boyfriend's band is post-ska klezmer rather than punk. "It is my percussion instrument."
2. This morning, as I was trying to hold her hair out of her eyes (which we are growing out after this summer's misbegotten pizie cut) with two tiny hair clips, Scott mentioned that I seemed to be obsessing about their placement. He left the room, then, and I kept fussing.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked the Diva.
"I will be as soon as mom stops obsessing my hair."
And for those scoring at home, Mooch is one step closer to ending his life. This morning after I obsessed the Diva's hair, I put a big chunk of meat in the crock pot (no, this isn't a euphemism). I left the kitchen before I got the lid on. When I returned, Mooch had the entire front half of his body in the pot so that he could lick the roast. The temptation to shove him the rest of the way in, duct tape the lid on and set the thing on "high" was very great. Damn cat.