Independence Day, Urban-Dwelling Kids' StyleIndependence Day, Urban-Dwelling Kids' Style
I am not a phone talker. I do not know when this happened, but I'm pretty sure it was somewhere in between the 3 a.m. long phone calls in college and having three children. Specifically trying to entertain, feed, clothe, educate, mediate, and hide in the bathroom from three children.
Somewhere along the line there I contracted a horrible, terrible, no-good, very-bad disease called Phone Phobia. I blame it on the aforementioned children; however, I admittedly have no fine-tuned research basis for this assertion. I love my phone because I can text to my heart's content and because of its uber-organizational skills. I'm not so fond of that button up there (see picture, top) in the shape of a handset.
That's really all I have to say. Informative, isn't it? Oh, the reason this all comes to mind is because I finally made myself return one phone call this morning that I have been putting off for days. A presumably good phone call which will presumably actually lead me in positive financial gains...a phone call which presumably will further some random career aspirations...
...the interested party was not home and I got to leave a message. Phew!
Now I can put my terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad Phone Phobia off until interested party calls back.
I'm pathetic, really.
Somewhere along the line there I contracted a horrible, terrible, no-good, very-bad disease called Phone Phobia. I blame it on the aforementioned children; however, I admittedly have no fine-tuned research basis for this assertion. I love my phone because I can text to my heart's content and because of its uber-organizational skills. I'm not so fond of that button up there (see picture, top) in the shape of a handset.
That's really all I have to say. Informative, isn't it? Oh, the reason this all comes to mind is because I finally made myself return one phone call this morning that I have been putting off for days. A presumably good phone call which will presumably actually lead me in positive financial gains...a phone call which presumably will further some random career aspirations...
...the interested party was not home and I got to leave a message. Phew!
Now I can put my terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad Phone Phobia off until interested party calls back.
I'm pathetic, really.
Bee in Flight
It's Pollen Time around here, and if this photo doesn't prove it,
just look at my kids' runny noses. Then you'll understand.
Broken Web
Kinda disappointing. I really wanted to shoot a spider on
this web.
Runaway Max
He really wanted to run into the water after the
"cack-cack cucks". see footnote 1 We're having this Max
running off and away predicament frequently. Wake me up
when he turns four.
Dad's Little Fisherpeople
Nothing much to say about this one. The photo really tells
the story. It might be one of my favorites.
Trail of Tears
"It's toooooo long!" "My feet hurt."
"I HATE mosquitoes!" "You said we could get
ice cream!"
The End.
Footnote 1: translated "quack quack duck". Did you get that one?
It's Pollen Time around here, and if this photo doesn't prove it,
just look at my kids' runny noses. Then you'll understand.
Broken Web
Kinda disappointing. I really wanted to shoot a spider on
this web.
Runaway Max
He really wanted to run into the water after the
"cack-cack cucks". see footnote 1 We're having this Max
running off and away predicament frequently. Wake me up
when he turns four.
Dad's Little Fisherpeople
Nothing much to say about this one. The photo really tells
the story. It might be one of my favorites.
Trail of Tears
"It's toooooo long!" "My feet hurt."
"I HATE mosquitoes!" "You said we could get
ice cream!"
The End.
Footnote 1: translated "quack quack duck". Did you get that one?
Me: Girls, you need to go downstairs and start picking up your room.
Girls: Nooooooooooo! Whine whine whine. Complain complain complain. Ad infinitum, ad nauseum....blah blah blah...you get the picture...
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Seven hundred and fifty hours later, they are finally downstairs doing what they are supposed to.
Except.
I hear singing.
It makes me happy that they have decided to put such a positive spin on a dreaded task.
Except.
As I wander further down the stairs, I realize just exactly what it is they are singing.
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Girls: It's a hard knock life. For us. It's a hard knock life. For us. No one cares for you a smidge. When you're in an orphanage.
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Laugh all you want, but this --coupled with the eight thousand and thirty times I have heard Yes, Miss Hannigan in response to my requests lately-- just tells me that a certain DVD staring a certain curly redhead needs to get back to the library ASAP.
Say something, that is. Remember this post? Remember how I postulated that emotionalism is maybe not the best way to go about solving The Great American Rift?
Just look what happens when emotionalism rules the person. Now, I am hearing a lot of people say, so what? So what if he's gone; that just means he is no longer able to kill babies. That the man who has committed this "murder of a murderer" should now be a hero for advancing the prolife cause. Well, HELLO people, murder is not an act of life, it is an act of death. And not only does it not help people to see the atrocity of late-term elective abortions, it furthers the supposition that anyone associated with a word in which this killer associates himself has little regard for any person in a state of life beyond birth.
I cannot imagine the pain that Mr. Tiller's wife had to feel, seeing him lie dying on a church floor. This family has lost a husband, a father, a son. I sit and wonder about someone deeming my own life not worth living because of my "sins". No matter what his life entailed, his is still a life gone before its time. No one deserves an end like this, be it a 67-year-old abortionist, a 27-week-old-fetus, or even a worldwide terrorist. No one.
And one more word to describe this:
Wow...
Good for him that there's no such thing as negative publicity, right?
Lord save him from being the younger brother of two older sisters, Amen.
Today he came up to me with teal nail polish on all five left fingernails.
Yesterday they thought it would be funny to put a (large) doll's dress on him and a bonnet.
The day before that someone decided he needed to learn about high heels and purses.
Now, I'm all for letting my son show his feminine side--goodness knows the perpetrators show their "masculine" sides often enough--but this poor boy has no clue. Hey, if he grows up and wants to partake in all this silly girlishness (of which I, thankfully, escaped in my own childhood) well more power to 'im. But you gotta feel a little bad for the dude, being paraded around in the fashion akin to a small accessory dog.
He's just so darn cute. I know they can't resist.
Originally posted at Homeschoolin' Mamas
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Tuesday was Field Trip Day. We decided to fit in a little science and a little social studies all in one day. First up was the zoo, which was a blast.
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Tuesday was Field Trip Day. We decided to fit in a little science and a little social studies all in one day. First up was the zoo, which was a blast.
Just look at this sleepy guy!
And his friend, Mr. Not-So-Sleepy.
Giraffe eye. Creepy or cool? You decide.
Ooooh! You totally need to click on Mr. Bluefrog to enlarge the picture for detail. He was SO cool.
These guys, notsomuch. Enlarge them only if nonsqueamish.
Yo. Wuzzuuuup?
You can pick your friends...
Mmmm. Boogers. Yum.
OMGosh! You saw that? I'm so embarrassed.
My big girl was so excited for this day. She took her preparations quite seriously, as well as the whole Sacrament. Sometimes this girl drives me crazy and we clash a lot. But when her behavior is troublesome to me, I at least can rest easy in the fact that she has quite the special relationship with God going on. Priorities, you know.
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