Almost as much veggies as meat, it tends to crumble when you try to slice it. But the flavor is well worth it. Besides I've never made a meatloaf that didn't crumble. =)
1 1/2 lbs. ground beef
2 eggs
2 slices of bread, torn into little bits
1 leek, chopped
1 tomato, diced
1/2 green bell pepper, chopped
Kernels from one ear of corn
A handful of fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces
2 Tbsp. molasses
2 Tbsp. catsup.
Gently knead all ingredients together in a large bowl, press into loaf pan. Bake at 350 until done, about 1 1/2 hrs.
Word to the wise: If your ground beef has a high fat content, you'll need need to drain off the grease. And if the meatloaf pretty much fills up your pan, you're less likely to burn yourself if you drain it several times over the course of it's stay in the oven.
And please, please don't substitute frozen or canned corn. The very best part about this dish is the delightfully flavorful crunch of the corn kernels.
11.12.2006
11.10.2006
Mama's Helper-girl
This morning while I showered, Tembo was so helpful. She got me a washcloth... several, actually. I guess she wanted to make up for the fact that mamas can't shower quite as often as they might wish.
She also got me some deodorant.
Old Spice.
And above all, she got me a towel.
And another towel.
And another.
And another.
She kept right on bringing me towels, until the bottom of the shower was about a foot high in soggy towels, and oh, whe was pleased with herself.
And now as I write, hair wrapped in the least soggy of the pile, Tembo nuzzles her nose against my shoulder.
There's a towel on her head, too.
Just like the Mama.
She also got me some deodorant.
Old Spice.
And above all, she got me a towel.
And another towel.
And another.
And another.
She kept right on bringing me towels, until the bottom of the shower was about a foot high in soggy towels, and oh, whe was pleased with herself.
And now as I write, hair wrapped in the least soggy of the pile, Tembo nuzzles her nose against my shoulder.
There's a towel on her head, too.
Just like the Mama.
11.08.2006
Back to the Pharmacist
Right down the street from us is a 24-hr. SavOn drugs. Or CVS Pharmacy. Or whatever it is. It's all rather disorienting. Apparently I should shop at Albertsons (which I don't) because inside every Albertsons is a SavOn Drugs, and SavOn Drugs is very, very wonderful. And why is SavOn Drugs so wonderful? Because inside every SavOn is a CVS Pharmacy. I'm just waiting for them to announce that they're putting an Albertsons inside every CVS Pharmacy, and then it'll all make sense.
But I really don't care what they call it, I just wish they would fill my prescriptions instead of losing them. Apparently "Johnston" is a very confusing last name. It's almost very normal, and that's the problem. Quite typical and mundane... except for that "T." They don't quite know what to do with the "T," but the name is so very normal-sounding, they don't realize just how confused they are. So they look in their computer, find five different Andrew Johnsons in their system, and not a one of them has a prescription waiting.
It's worse with the night staff, and it's worse with Tembo.
"Yes. September. Like the month."
"No, not her date of birth, it's her name."
"Yes, really."
"No, August 28."
"She came a few days early."
It all gets resolved in the end, but sometimes we have to resort to calling back after a shift change.
And every time this happens I swear to myself that I am never doing business there again. And every time we need a prescription, that's where exactly where I go, because it's right down the street, and open 24 hrs., and besides, this time can't possibly be as bad as last time. And every time, it is.
This last was worst of all. No record on their system whatsoever of Tembo's prescription. I spoke with members of 3 different shifts, and nobody could figure it out. But I had two messages on my answering machine verifying that the doctor had, indeed, called the prescription in.
So this morning I called the doctor again to ask her to send the prescription off to a different pharmacy. It turned out, however, that she already had sent it to a different pharmacy. The whole thing was my fault this time. I'd given the doctor the number of a SavOn/CVS/Whatever half an hour away. I had no reason to doubt the competence of this particular pharmacy (aside from the identity confusion, of course)... but it was half an hour away.
So it was that I found myself calling my neighborhood Multiple Personality Pharmacy once again, and asking them to transfer the prescription over from the other location.
I knew it was a mistake, even as I dialed. I was sure of it as the automated phone system informed me that "0" was not a valid option, and I would simply have to listen to a full listing of all possible methods of learning about flu clinic locations and hours in Southern California before they would let me talk to a human being.
I was ready to repent in sack-cloth and ashes by the time the girl on the end of the line was done with her lengthy apology and explanation for leaving me on the line for so long listening to the pandemonium behind the counter. Something about an exploding computer, I think. Anyway, I saw the error of my ways, and was fully prepared to give up and drive all the way to Beach Blvd.... but I'd been through so much, and was so close... I couldn't just give up and let that go to waste.
Oh, I should have. I should have.
When we got to the whole name conversation...
She had a hard time figuring out where to put the "W."
But I really don't care what they call it, I just wish they would fill my prescriptions instead of losing them. Apparently "Johnston" is a very confusing last name. It's almost very normal, and that's the problem. Quite typical and mundane... except for that "T." They don't quite know what to do with the "T," but the name is so very normal-sounding, they don't realize just how confused they are. So they look in their computer, find five different Andrew Johnsons in their system, and not a one of them has a prescription waiting.
It's worse with the night staff, and it's worse with Tembo.
"Yes. September. Like the month."
"No, not her date of birth, it's her name."
"Yes, really."
"No, August 28."
"She came a few days early."
It all gets resolved in the end, but sometimes we have to resort to calling back after a shift change.
And every time this happens I swear to myself that I am never doing business there again. And every time we need a prescription, that's where exactly where I go, because it's right down the street, and open 24 hrs., and besides, this time can't possibly be as bad as last time. And every time, it is.
This last was worst of all. No record on their system whatsoever of Tembo's prescription. I spoke with members of 3 different shifts, and nobody could figure it out. But I had two messages on my answering machine verifying that the doctor had, indeed, called the prescription in.
So this morning I called the doctor again to ask her to send the prescription off to a different pharmacy. It turned out, however, that she already had sent it to a different pharmacy. The whole thing was my fault this time. I'd given the doctor the number of a SavOn/CVS/Whatever half an hour away. I had no reason to doubt the competence of this particular pharmacy (aside from the identity confusion, of course)... but it was half an hour away.
So it was that I found myself calling my neighborhood Multiple Personality Pharmacy once again, and asking them to transfer the prescription over from the other location.
I knew it was a mistake, even as I dialed. I was sure of it as the automated phone system informed me that "0" was not a valid option, and I would simply have to listen to a full listing of all possible methods of learning about flu clinic locations and hours in Southern California before they would let me talk to a human being.
I was ready to repent in sack-cloth and ashes by the time the girl on the end of the line was done with her lengthy apology and explanation for leaving me on the line for so long listening to the pandemonium behind the counter. Something about an exploding computer, I think. Anyway, I saw the error of my ways, and was fully prepared to give up and drive all the way to Beach Blvd.... but I'd been through so much, and was so close... I couldn't just give up and let that go to waste.
Oh, I should have. I should have.
When we got to the whole name conversation...
She had a hard time figuring out where to put the "W."
11.02.2006
If you shop at Costco...
NOW is the time to buy your holiday baking supplies. I just bought a 16 oz. bottle of real vanilla extract for $7, and 7 oz. of saigon cinnamon (the good stuff) for $3.50.
I'm enjoying a scrumptious cinnamon roll right now. I had no idea just how big a difference the quality of cinnamon can make. It makes a big difference. And saigon cinnamon is good cinnamon, warm and bright and intense.
Mmmm-mmm.
I'm enjoying a scrumptious cinnamon roll right now. I had no idea just how big a difference the quality of cinnamon can make. It makes a big difference. And saigon cinnamon is good cinnamon, warm and bright and intense.
Mmmm-mmm.
11.01.2006
Slowly, imperceptibly, the sun has set. Gradually, incrementally, it dawns on me that all is dark. A lone lamp shines out bleakly, a forgotten reminder of early morning's cheerful dark.
My head throbs dully, nothing a cup of coffee and an ibuprofen won't fix.
I wish the soul-ache were so simple.
"Milk. Milk in a cup!" But you have a cup of milk right there. "Milk in a cup with chocolate?"
Unpleasant odors waft up to my nose. Which one needs changing this time?
It never ends, this constant cycle of needs. Milk and stories and honey toast and pictures of helicopters. Apple slices, but don't spit them out, oops, bye-bye apple. Crayons, but only on the paper, oops, bye-bye crayons. And how is it that mopping the floor twice a day just isn't enough?
I know that there was a time when it all seemed to matter, was beautiful and joyous. And I know that time was just a few short hours ago.
I remember that there was a time, but try as I might, I can't remember what it felt like.
The emptiness deepens and swells, until I cannot bear the pressure.
Suddenly I recognize the hunger. My fingers tremble as I pull my flute case down off the shelf. The tarnished silver tubes slip together effortlessly, and I play. The sound is horrendous, but I don't care. To pause, and adjust, and find a tone that I can admire seems a shameful vanity. Later, later. For now, my need is too pressing, and I simply play.
Rippling through the notes, weaving in and around scales and arpeggios, the formless void of my experience takes shape.
"No song! No song!"
I really do sound dreadful.
My son, I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with it. Just a glimmer, but I start to remember. Like a theorem you couldn't quite prove yourself or even recite, but the logic is so compelling, you know that if you read it long enough it will become part of you... like the truth you reason yourself into seeing, in that strange in-between moment when you still see the illusion right there mixed up with the truth...
The music matters, so obviously matters. And the music is life, only smaller, flatter. So if the music matters, then necessarily, life has to matter, and more. I only half see it, but I know it must be so, there is no other way. It has to matter, and more importantly, the way that the music matters has to be the same way that life matters. Just a glimmer, but I start to remember.
What was I thinking? What else could possibly happen when I go for weeks without music?
Isaiah, you are simply going to have to put up with the sound of my flute.
But first, how about a cup of juice and a cuddle and another Arthur book?
My head throbs dully, nothing a cup of coffee and an ibuprofen won't fix.
I wish the soul-ache were so simple.
"Milk. Milk in a cup!" But you have a cup of milk right there. "Milk in a cup with chocolate?"
Unpleasant odors waft up to my nose. Which one needs changing this time?
It never ends, this constant cycle of needs. Milk and stories and honey toast and pictures of helicopters. Apple slices, but don't spit them out, oops, bye-bye apple. Crayons, but only on the paper, oops, bye-bye crayons. And how is it that mopping the floor twice a day just isn't enough?
I know that there was a time when it all seemed to matter, was beautiful and joyous. And I know that time was just a few short hours ago.
I remember that there was a time, but try as I might, I can't remember what it felt like.
The emptiness deepens and swells, until I cannot bear the pressure.
Suddenly I recognize the hunger. My fingers tremble as I pull my flute case down off the shelf. The tarnished silver tubes slip together effortlessly, and I play. The sound is horrendous, but I don't care. To pause, and adjust, and find a tone that I can admire seems a shameful vanity. Later, later. For now, my need is too pressing, and I simply play.
Rippling through the notes, weaving in and around scales and arpeggios, the formless void of my experience takes shape.
"No song! No song!"
I really do sound dreadful.
My son, I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with it. Just a glimmer, but I start to remember. Like a theorem you couldn't quite prove yourself or even recite, but the logic is so compelling, you know that if you read it long enough it will become part of you... like the truth you reason yourself into seeing, in that strange in-between moment when you still see the illusion right there mixed up with the truth...
The music matters, so obviously matters. And the music is life, only smaller, flatter. So if the music matters, then necessarily, life has to matter, and more. I only half see it, but I know it must be so, there is no other way. It has to matter, and more importantly, the way that the music matters has to be the same way that life matters. Just a glimmer, but I start to remember.
What was I thinking? What else could possibly happen when I go for weeks without music?
Isaiah, you are simply going to have to put up with the sound of my flute.
But first, how about a cup of juice and a cuddle and another Arthur book?
10.31.2006
10.30.2006
Imitation
Tembo has learned a lot from her "bubbas." Mostly that's a good thing. They've had quite a hand in teaching her to walk, and talk, and stack blocks, and play with trucks. All this is very wonderful... but alas, their influence isn't always quite so positive.
The other day, Isaiah and I were cuddled up on the couch, reading together. I don't recall what we were reading, but it was great fun. And Tembo wanted that book. There's no lack of fun picture books around here, but Tembo wanted that one. It would only be a few moments before Isaiah and I were ready to move on to a different book, but she wanted it right then.
Whining didn't get our little September-child what she wanted, so she tried a different strategy. Slowly and deliberately, she took her brother's foot into her mouth, and chomped down.
Et tu, Tembo?
Even as September has been learning from her older siblings, though, Isaiah has been learning from us. He didn't try to retaliate, didn't even show any anger. He simply raised one eyebrow, announced "Uh-oh, Timmo," and waited for me to remove the naughty little girl to her playpen.
All in all, I think I'm proud.
The other day, Isaiah and I were cuddled up on the couch, reading together. I don't recall what we were reading, but it was great fun. And Tembo wanted that book. There's no lack of fun picture books around here, but Tembo wanted that one. It would only be a few moments before Isaiah and I were ready to move on to a different book, but she wanted it right then.
Whining didn't get our little September-child what she wanted, so she tried a different strategy. Slowly and deliberately, she took her brother's foot into her mouth, and chomped down.
Et tu, Tembo?
Even as September has been learning from her older siblings, though, Isaiah has been learning from us. He didn't try to retaliate, didn't even show any anger. He simply raised one eyebrow, announced "Uh-oh, Timmo," and waited for me to remove the naughty little girl to her playpen.
All in all, I think I'm proud.
10.29.2006
Strike Two
When the grocers went on strike a while back, it didn't really affect me that much. I simply shopped at the same non-union store as always. It was a little more crowded than usual, but the extra business put the employees in especially good moods. And the strike provided excellent fodder for small talk with strangers in the grocery store. If Californians tend to be a bit aloof, I do believe it is because the weather is so terribly uninteresting around here.
Yes, the grocery strike was not so bad... for me personally, at any rate. I was very glad on behalf of everyone involved when the whole situation was finally resolved, but it just didn't have a whole lot to do with me.
The current situation is another story altogether.
When the garbage men go on strike...
...it stinks.
Yes, the grocery strike was not so bad... for me personally, at any rate. I was very glad on behalf of everyone involved when the whole situation was finally resolved, but it just didn't have a whole lot to do with me.
The current situation is another story altogether.
When the garbage men go on strike...
...it stinks.
10.28.2006
Two things I like, and one thing that annoys and confuses me.
Two things I like:
1. Household cleaners that come in concentrated formulas. Nice and efficient and frugal and all that.
2. Household cleaners that come in spray bottles. Very convenient.
One thing that annoys and confuses me:
Concentrated household cleaners that come in spray bottles. What in the world am I supposed to do with that?
1. Household cleaners that come in concentrated formulas. Nice and efficient and frugal and all that.
2. Household cleaners that come in spray bottles. Very convenient.
One thing that annoys and confuses me:
Concentrated household cleaners that come in spray bottles. What in the world am I supposed to do with that?
10.26.2006
Time Out.
Last night Andy had a bunch of calls to make for work.
Parents aren't always particularly thrilled to get a call from a total stranger, informing them that their child qualifies for state-funded remedial tutoring.
Although the news really isn't nearly so insulting as they might think... under the No Child Left Behind Act, schools can't afford to waste valuable resources on students in the bottom quartile.
At any rate, Andy suspected that calling over the dinner hour might not help matters, but it was 5:30, and the calls had to be made. He thought about waiting until 7, but I vehemently nixed that idea. We did not hire a babysitter so I could sit at Starbucks and twiddle my thums while he made Title I calls. Besides, there's a reason why telemarketers always call over dinner. They're more likely to be home.
So he really was looking a bit guilty when he shut himself into the boys' room to make the calls in peace.
That's certainly how Isaiah interpreted it anyway. As he heard the door click, he grinned up at me.
"Dadder uh-oh!"
Parents aren't always particularly thrilled to get a call from a total stranger, informing them that their child qualifies for state-funded remedial tutoring.
Although the news really isn't nearly so insulting as they might think... under the No Child Left Behind Act, schools can't afford to waste valuable resources on students in the bottom quartile.
At any rate, Andy suspected that calling over the dinner hour might not help matters, but it was 5:30, and the calls had to be made. He thought about waiting until 7, but I vehemently nixed that idea. We did not hire a babysitter so I could sit at Starbucks and twiddle my thums while he made Title I calls. Besides, there's a reason why telemarketers always call over dinner. They're more likely to be home.
So he really was looking a bit guilty when he shut himself into the boys' room to make the calls in peace.
That's certainly how Isaiah interpreted it anyway. As he heard the door click, he grinned up at me.
"Dadder uh-oh!"
10.23.2006
10.20.2006
10.19.2006
Perishables
Yesterday morning I glanced over at the bookshelf and saw a pile of things Andy had gathered up to take to work.
Whoops. So I put his grub in the fridge, and he came home for lunch.
When he opened up the refrigerator, and saw his pocket Latin dictionary on the second shelf, he just smiled and shrugged.
"Well, I guess it's a dead language. Wouldn't want it to spoil."
Whoops. So I put his grub in the fridge, and he came home for lunch.
When he opened up the refrigerator, and saw his pocket Latin dictionary on the second shelf, he just smiled and shrugged.
"Well, I guess it's a dead language. Wouldn't want it to spoil."
10.18.2006
Giver of Kisses
The other day I had a dental appointment. I'd carefully scheduled it for a Monday, because Monday's are Andy's prep day, and thus pretty flexible, and he could watch the wuggies for me.
Except that after I'd scheduled my appointment, Andy's bosses scheduled a meeting in Pasadena, so there goes that bright idea.
It all worked out fine, though, because Justy came with us, and pushed our big, beautiful Wuggy Buggy around shopping plaza. So while I got my teeth poked and prodded and x-rayed, they visited the pet store and big lots and the 99c store and the garage where they were working on bug cars. Bug cars! Nathan got a red truck. Isaiah got a blue truck. Tembo got a dolly. I got the news that I need four fillings and three wisdom tooth extractions, and that not only are they going to drill me, they're going to gouge me, too. (Over $1k for four fillings? Surely I can do better than that... anyone know a reasonable dentist in Anaheim?)
I think I got the rotten end of the deal.
Anyway, the boys like their trucks very much. It's a funny thing... I never would have gotten Nathan the red one and Isaiah the blue one, it's always the other way around in my mind. But oh, they are very happy with this particular ownership arrangement. As I was putting them down for their quiet time that afternoon, Isaiah's truck happened still to be out in the living room. So Nathan shared... for a little while. When he got his truck back, he sighed with pleasure, and announced, "Share the Bubba. But mine. Truck, like it!"
Tembo has been carrying around her little dolly, and oh, she's just as cute as can be. Dadders tried to teach her how to give Dolly huggies and snoofles and kisses, but she hasn't really caught on, and is quite content simply to carry her around in one hand.
Nevertheless, Tembo really does know how much Dolly needs affection. I was sitting on the couch when my baby brought her little baby up to me. Holding her by the feet, Tembo pressed the top of Dolly's head against my mouth, and made kissing noises. So I kissed Dolly's head just as I do Tembo's own, over and over all at once in a great cluster of kisses.
She giggled and giggled. Tembo was thrilled with the game, and I was thrilled with her delight. Because all those kisses that just pour right out of me, that I hardly think about, I just can't help them... it really does matter to her, and in her little mind, what a baby needs above all is kisses. Mama-kisses.
Someday soon she'll figure out that "mama" is a relationship, and she'll start playing mama herself with respect to her dollies. But for now, Mama is simply and only a person, and I am the giver of kisses.
Except that after I'd scheduled my appointment, Andy's bosses scheduled a meeting in Pasadena, so there goes that bright idea.
It all worked out fine, though, because Justy came with us, and pushed our big, beautiful Wuggy Buggy around shopping plaza. So while I got my teeth poked and prodded and x-rayed, they visited the pet store and big lots and the 99c store and the garage where they were working on bug cars. Bug cars! Nathan got a red truck. Isaiah got a blue truck. Tembo got a dolly. I got the news that I need four fillings and three wisdom tooth extractions, and that not only are they going to drill me, they're going to gouge me, too. (Over $1k for four fillings? Surely I can do better than that... anyone know a reasonable dentist in Anaheim?)
I think I got the rotten end of the deal.
Anyway, the boys like their trucks very much. It's a funny thing... I never would have gotten Nathan the red one and Isaiah the blue one, it's always the other way around in my mind. But oh, they are very happy with this particular ownership arrangement. As I was putting them down for their quiet time that afternoon, Isaiah's truck happened still to be out in the living room. So Nathan shared... for a little while. When he got his truck back, he sighed with pleasure, and announced, "Share the Bubba. But mine. Truck, like it!"
Tembo has been carrying around her little dolly, and oh, she's just as cute as can be. Dadders tried to teach her how to give Dolly huggies and snoofles and kisses, but she hasn't really caught on, and is quite content simply to carry her around in one hand.
Nevertheless, Tembo really does know how much Dolly needs affection. I was sitting on the couch when my baby brought her little baby up to me. Holding her by the feet, Tembo pressed the top of Dolly's head against my mouth, and made kissing noises. So I kissed Dolly's head just as I do Tembo's own, over and over all at once in a great cluster of kisses.
She giggled and giggled. Tembo was thrilled with the game, and I was thrilled with her delight. Because all those kisses that just pour right out of me, that I hardly think about, I just can't help them... it really does matter to her, and in her little mind, what a baby needs above all is kisses. Mama-kisses.
Someday soon she'll figure out that "mama" is a relationship, and she'll start playing mama herself with respect to her dollies. But for now, Mama is simply and only a person, and I am the giver of kisses.
10.14.2006
Productivity
Today I did a boatload of laundry, compared consumer reviews to decide upon the best blender and the best water filter for our money. I carefully planned out the menus for a weeks worth of nutritious, economical meals, and made out a meticulous shopping list.
But now that it's six o'clock, I remember what I haven't done.
Decided what's for dinner.
But now that it's six o'clock, I remember what I haven't done.
Decided what's for dinner.
Good news/Bad news: Is a tantruming toddler sufficient reason for using this emergency exit?
Last night, I had cause to discover first-hand just how very un-quadruple-stroller-friendly Barnes and Noble is.
That is the good news and the bad news all rolled into one, because despite it all, I still like Barnes and Noble, and I adore our new stroller.
And, well... I'm sure that the boys will love their slightly damaged Thomas the Train book.
Thank God it's not a slightly damaged American Girl doll.
Our next outing will be to the zoo.
That is the good news and the bad news all rolled into one, because despite it all, I still like Barnes and Noble, and I adore our new stroller.
And, well... I'm sure that the boys will love their slightly damaged Thomas the Train book.
Thank God it's not a slightly damaged American Girl doll.
Our next outing will be to the zoo.
10.11.2006
Contrariwise
Nathan has discovered the joys of "no."
Sometimes this is played out in the dreaded two-and-a-half tantrums, where he wants what he wants, but oh, not that way, no he doesn't want it that way, not at all, but he HAS to have it, NOOOOOOO! Nothing is satisfactory, short of altering the laws of the universe, maybe going back in time so he would have gone down for his nap earlier or a had little more excercise the previous day. We all feel like that sometimes, I think, and it's quite an enlightening experience to see the jumbled emotions of intense frustration laid out so openly and clearly, in the full glory of their irrationality.
Ah, yes. Tantrums.
But usually, no is a fun word, a delicious word. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes pedanting, but always matter of fact and measured and congenially decisive.
"Mama, I'm takin' a bath."
"Oh, really, Meepo? That's great!"
He raised one eyebrow at me, in a look of indulgent longsufferring patience.
"Mama," he repeated, this time nodding for emphasis between each word, "I'ma... takin'... a bath."
"Oh, so you're taking a bath?"
It was with triumphant dignity that he grinned up at me and pronounced, simply and definitively...
"No."
Sometimes this is played out in the dreaded two-and-a-half tantrums, where he wants what he wants, but oh, not that way, no he doesn't want it that way, not at all, but he HAS to have it, NOOOOOOO! Nothing is satisfactory, short of altering the laws of the universe, maybe going back in time so he would have gone down for his nap earlier or a had little more excercise the previous day. We all feel like that sometimes, I think, and it's quite an enlightening experience to see the jumbled emotions of intense frustration laid out so openly and clearly, in the full glory of their irrationality.
Ah, yes. Tantrums.
But usually, no is a fun word, a delicious word. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes pedanting, but always matter of fact and measured and congenially decisive.
"Mama, I'm takin' a bath."
"Oh, really, Meepo? That's great!"
He raised one eyebrow at me, in a look of indulgent longsufferring patience.
"Mama," he repeated, this time nodding for emphasis between each word, "I'ma... takin'... a bath."
"Oh, so you're taking a bath?"
It was with triumphant dignity that he grinned up at me and pronounced, simply and definitively...
"No."
Linkworthy
No sooner did my dear husband fix the keyboard, than we all caught the flu. Between the aches and the chills, I haven't had much to say beyond "sniffle, sniffle, cough, blech."
I'm getting better now (though Isaiah and September are coughing this morning) and the brain fog is slowly clearing up.
In the meantime, though, I'll simply leave you with some wise words from Sharon.
This is definitely worth a read.
I'm getting better now (though Isaiah and September are coughing this morning) and the brain fog is slowly clearing up.
In the meantime, though, I'll simply leave you with some wise words from Sharon.
This is definitely worth a read.
10.05.2006
NeedingSpace
MySpaceBarIsBroken.HenceThePaucityOfPosts.
InAttemptingToFixTheSpaceBar,IOnlyManagedToMakeTheLetters"M"and"C"NearlyImpossible.
ThankfullyOnlyNearlyOrIWouldn'tEvenBeAbleToSpellOut"SpaceBar"AndExplainMyPredicament.
InAttemptingToFixTheSpaceBar,IOnlyManagedToMakeTheLetters"M"and"C"NearlyImpossible.
ThankfullyOnlyNearlyOrIWouldn'tEvenBeAbleToSpellOut"SpaceBar"AndExplainMyPredicament.
10.04.2006
It wouldn't be so funny if it hadn't turned out okay...
Of course it's quite serious, a sobering reminder and all that... But oh, I can't stop laughing. Quite the mellow kid, eh?
..."There's a lesson here," Cannan said. "What an opportunity to tell parents to talk to their kids, and communicate with their caregivers. This young child was full of trust, and he sees an older, caring adult and just walked off with that person."
Yes, and maybe, just maybe...
introduce the babysitter to the kid?
..."There's a lesson here," Cannan said. "What an opportunity to tell parents to talk to their kids, and communicate with their caregivers. This young child was full of trust, and he sees an older, caring adult and just walked off with that person."
Yes, and maybe, just maybe...
introduce the babysitter to the kid?
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