My laundry room door is never shut. Today I saw the doorknob.
The barbie eruption was disturbing. But as a quiet perfectionist, it never, NEVER occurred to me as a child to PLAY with one-legged Kens.
I do not know from whence she came.
(Cell phone quality which is to say: not.)
Gwyn-o in my bed, this AM:
So what’s up with all the barbies in the laundry room?
“I was just playin’.”
WHO plays with a one-legged Ken?
“I do. I care about them.”
You care about them?
“Yes, also the armless, the legless, and the headless.”
The headless? You play with the headless?
“Yes. I call them The Blind.”
(The Coda: “He Sees!”)
Yesterday evening I took Gwyneth shopping for jeans for her new “school uniform.” (jeans, khakis, navy pants/skirt/skort/capris and a polo – which Gwyn pronounced “Lame-o”) and I’m in the dressing room with what appears to be a hormonal teenager.
“I’m NOT a size 12. I’m a 10. A TEN. I won’t wear those. I won’t try them on.” She tries them on. “They make my behind look flappy.”
Flappy? Child. That is not possible. Your behind is adorable. Your skinny long legs – adorable. These just fit your little girl belly better.
“No. I’m a 10.” She throws off 12s and we’re back in the 10s.
Sit on the floor. How do those 10s feel on your tummy?
“Fine. Just fine.”
Can you tuck a polo into them?
“Let me see those other jeans.” She tries the 12s again. She sits. “Okay. I like the 12 slims.”
This is the condensed version. I hate shopping.
“Why do you speed up so quickly?” Gwyn asks as we rip through the parking lot.
I dunno. It’s a habit, I guess.
“You should break it. I broke my nails. I mean, don’t bite them anymore.”
That’s nice. I’m remembering the last time I had a grown-up in the car and he remarked “Probably ought to keep it under sixty in the school zone.” Yeah. I’m sure you’re right. We ride on two wheels around the corner.
“Mom! Stakes are HIGH that we’re gonna crash or somethin’!”
Stakes are high? Well then, all right.
I calmly drive us to the Diet Coke drive-thru. The Blonde One wants a cherry thing and to talk.
“There was this man and he was a stalker. Stalking us in our neighborhood.”
Silence. I look over at her.
“Do you know that word? Stalking? It means watching your life when they don’t have one.”
(Turns out, probably not a stalker, but I’m on it.)
Moment prior to Christmas Dinner:
Kids, I need your help putting food on the table.
Son: I could work in a coal mine.
If tomorrow were a big exam and you just trashed four summary judgment questions, would you have a drink?
Earlier, it was Exam Week Curse. A.S. reminds me to bring an ethernet cord for exams. (Who keeps CORDS anymore?) I can get a cord. But it won’t do me any good as my beautiful Mac has a defective ethernet port which I intended to remedy over break. Whatever. A.S. lets me borrow a computer and it’s all ExamSoftwared up but it’s different than mine. I don’t like the feel. I need my Mac running bootcamp and Vista. So I ponder: Is the cord required or just recommended?
G.D.’s computer, after removing an offensive bit of software causing ExamSoft to lag, denied him access. To his whole freaking computer.
He’s back now and writes me (paraphrased): I’m 99% positive the cord is in case wireless goes out. Don’t sweat it
I’m 99% sure you’re a god.
I am now going to bed, shortly, after a smallish drink and a largish amount of cramming.
Clearly I’m now starting to overthink.
Peace out. (If only.)
I have no time for this. But as I’m studying for finals I keep coming across Notes To Self embedded in my class notes.
I was confused at this point in the lecture.
Not bargained for? WTF?
30(c)(2) An objection must be stated in a … nonsuggestive manner.
[Kramer voice]I’m OUT![/voice]
Spa Envy: 217.555.5555
I had no idea how funny these would be while outlining the semester.