Pardon me while I, er, "vent" for a moment.
While Nathan was disassembling one of the bookshelves, and carefully gauging the pressure of the peg holes with a tire gauge, Isaiah went through the house and removed the grates from all the vents. The better to fill them with rubber band balls and dish towels, you know.
Without realizing just why Isaiah had moved the kitchen island from its usual spot, I nudged it back into place so I could get to the sink. One wheel promptly fell into the gaping vent hole, tipping the entire unit to a precarious 45 degree angle. The doors swung open, spewing forth pots and pans. The drawer slipped out, littering the floor with cooking utensils. And everything sitting out on the surface tipped over. Like the open jar of olives.
And the dishsoap.
As I knelt there, struggling to right the capsizing island, the green gloop flowed straight through my hair into a puddle on the floor.
And there ought to be a punch line, but well... that’s just the kind of day it’s been.
2.28.2006
Dis-Dressed
One thing you need to know about two-year-olds is that they are very particular about their wardrobe. A two-year-old knows exactly what shirt he wants to wear, and he will die if he cannot wear it. A long, painful, horrible death. Either that or he'll flail his arms and flop about like a fish.
The shirt that he wants to wear may or may not match his pants, may or may not be clean, and may or may not belong to him. In fact, like as not, it's his bubba's shirt from yesterday.
But oh, it makes him happy. And oh, he tromps around so proudly.
The shirt that he wants to wear may or may not match his pants, may or may not be clean, and may or may not belong to him. In fact, like as not, it's his bubba's shirt from yesterday.
But oh, it makes him happy. And oh, he tromps around so proudly.
2.27.2006
Jack fell down...
When the boys overturned the trash can to use it as a trampoline, I rushed over as quickly as I could. Too late. My arm was mere inches away from grabbing Nathan when he fell down with a crash, thwapping his head loudly against the linoleum.
He didn't cry, but rather paused to assess the situation and contemplate the lessons learned. Cautiously, he put his hand up to his head and turned to me with a bewildered expression.
"Bow-keen."
He didn't cry, but rather paused to assess the situation and contemplate the lessons learned. Cautiously, he put his hand up to his head and turned to me with a bewildered expression.
"Bow-keen."
2.25.2006
Sweet Victory
It should have been a savory victory, but the sauce needs a little work.
No matter. I have discovered the secret to a scrumptious pizza crust.
http://wiki.ehow.com/Toss-Pizza-Dough
Mmmm-mmm.
No matter. I have discovered the secret to a scrumptious pizza crust.
http://wiki.ehow.com/Toss-Pizza-Dough
Mmmm-mmm.
2.24.2006
2.23.2006
We’ll be eating Italian for the next few weeks. Not Italian-Italian—more like New York-Italian... Wuggyville-style. Spaghetti and pizza. Lots of spaghetti because spaghetti is easy, and life is not. Andy’s plate was full to begin with, so to speak—add in classroom observation, and we’re eating a lot of spaghetti.
The pizza is because I make terrible pizza.
One night last week we got carry-out from Pizza Hut. It was a sublime supreme pizza, covered in sausages and peppers and mushrooms and pepperoni. All atop a perfectly brilliant crust. This was the first really good pizza we’d had in a long time. Since losing Anna Mia’s, we’d been frequenting Little Caesars. Quick and cheap and relatively nutritious, those pizzas are well worth $5. They’re everything you could possibly ask for in a $5 pizza. But nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing to make me feel insecure about my cooking.
I’m entirely okay with the fact that an experienced Italian grandmother can prepare a fabulous meal that’s far beyond my skills. She’s got thirty-some years on me. She’s made a career out of, for crying out loud! But when the teenaged boys working at Pizza Hut can do something I can’t...
We’ll be having pizza three nights a week until I get this crust thing down.
The pizza is because I make terrible pizza.
One night last week we got carry-out from Pizza Hut. It was a sublime supreme pizza, covered in sausages and peppers and mushrooms and pepperoni. All atop a perfectly brilliant crust. This was the first really good pizza we’d had in a long time. Since losing Anna Mia’s, we’d been frequenting Little Caesars. Quick and cheap and relatively nutritious, those pizzas are well worth $5. They’re everything you could possibly ask for in a $5 pizza. But nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing to make me feel insecure about my cooking.
I’m entirely okay with the fact that an experienced Italian grandmother can prepare a fabulous meal that’s far beyond my skills. She’s got thirty-some years on me. She’s made a career out of, for crying out loud! But when the teenaged boys working at Pizza Hut can do something I can’t...
We’ll be having pizza three nights a week until I get this crust thing down.
2.22.2006
He told me I ought to mapquest it. I didn’t listen to him. 57 to the 210, East all the way to Allen, take Allen right to the very end, where it dead-ends into the Huntington.
Which way on Allen?
South. South.
Or maybe you should take the 91 to the 5 to the 605 to the 210... You really ought to mapquest it.
Whatever. I just need to get out of here.
To see something real, to smell something alive and magnificent. What I really yearned for was a wild unkempt desert, but a gloriously cultivated garden would have to do. The need for something solid and tangible amid the manufactured hum of suburbia was too pressing to bother about maps.
So I bundled the children into their carseats, and hopped onto the freeway. Strange how natural this bubble of glass and steel becomes. An extension of my body, moving with my will. I drove and I drove and I drove, as far as I could see. I drove to the place where sky dips down to touch the dust, and when I got there, I drove again as far as I could see. I drove until the progressively shabbier, progressively sparser strip malls blossomed suddenly into lush golf courses and gracious mansions, orange trees and jacarandas and purply undulating hills. And then I drove beyond all that, beyond all the civilization and cultivation to the earth beneath it all, and saw the mines, raw and bleeding and hopeless and desolate.
Freeway ends in 4 miles.
He’d said something about a dead-end, so I kept driving, straight on to the end.
Finally, when the 210 melted into Alameda, (Allen? Alameda? Allen.) I gave up and turned around.
210 West.
Pasadena 37 miles.
Which way on Allen?
South. South.
Or maybe you should take the 91 to the 5 to the 605 to the 210... You really ought to mapquest it.
Whatever. I just need to get out of here.
To see something real, to smell something alive and magnificent. What I really yearned for was a wild unkempt desert, but a gloriously cultivated garden would have to do. The need for something solid and tangible amid the manufactured hum of suburbia was too pressing to bother about maps.
So I bundled the children into their carseats, and hopped onto the freeway. Strange how natural this bubble of glass and steel becomes. An extension of my body, moving with my will. I drove and I drove and I drove, as far as I could see. I drove to the place where sky dips down to touch the dust, and when I got there, I drove again as far as I could see. I drove until the progressively shabbier, progressively sparser strip malls blossomed suddenly into lush golf courses and gracious mansions, orange trees and jacarandas and purply undulating hills. And then I drove beyond all that, beyond all the civilization and cultivation to the earth beneath it all, and saw the mines, raw and bleeding and hopeless and desolate.
Freeway ends in 4 miles.
He’d said something about a dead-end, so I kept driving, straight on to the end.
Finally, when the 210 melted into Alameda, (Allen? Alameda? Allen.) I gave up and turned around.
210 West.
Pasadena 37 miles.
Woo-Hoo! vvvvcccccccccccccccccceacc
The second half of the title is September's first contribution to this blog. In honor of this momentous occasion, I've decided to leave it be. A literary genius in the making, I tell you.
At any rate, many thanks to all who voted, I WON!!!
Maybe we can pay off our fines at Blockbuster now.
=)
At any rate, many thanks to all who voted, I WON!!!
Maybe we can pay off our fines at Blockbuster now.
=)
2.21.2006
If you like to hang out over here in Wuggyville...
...comment from time to time...maybe link here on your blog...
then I'd like to add you to my blogroll.
Just drop me a comment with your url. I want to be sure to get to know you all a bit better. =)
then I'd like to add you to my blogroll.
Just drop me a comment with your url. I want to be sure to get to know you all a bit better. =)
2.20.2006
We take turns coping around here...
And it's his turn tonight, thank God.
I'm going to go curl up with a good book and a hot bath.
Good man, I've got. Good man.
I'm going to go curl up with a good book and a hot bath.
Good man, I've got. Good man.
2.19.2006
MommyGlam
Sitting in the doctor's waiting room, I flipped through a fashion magazine. The story of the day was that Lindsay Lohan is growing up into quite a sophisticated young lady with impeccable taste. She is so exceedingly stylish, in fact, that she has been known to go through as many as six outfits in a single day.
Yeah, I can totally relate.
Suddenly motherhood feels like quite a glamorous career.
Yeah, I can totally relate.
Suddenly motherhood feels like quite a glamorous career.
2.18.2006
Non-Appeasement Policy
"I have no idea what he's so upset about."
"I think maybe he wanted a whole sandwich, instead of a half."
"Well, if so, there are lots of ways to communicate that. Tantruming is not a recognized language around here."
"The government of this household does not negotiate with terrorists."
"I think maybe he wanted a whole sandwich, instead of a half."
"Well, if so, there are lots of ways to communicate that. Tantruming is not a recognized language around here."
"The government of this household does not negotiate with terrorists."
Yours and Mine
We were all enjoying a nice snack of peaches. Most of us, anyway. Tembo wasn't quite sure whether this bizarre new taste sensation was enjoyable or not. It certainly wasn't milk, that's for sure... And Meepo was temporarily confined to his "ba-doom," having been caught hurling cans of tuna across the kitchen.
When I brought Meepo back out of exile, his brother immediately got up from the little table, and greeted his brother with a smile, holding out a peach slice for him. When Nathan ignored this overture, Isaiah put the peach down on the table, and went back to his plate... which he promptly covered up with both hands.
Here you go, brother. I love you and will share a peach with you... but you keep your hands off my plate!
When I brought Meepo back out of exile, his brother immediately got up from the little table, and greeted his brother with a smile, holding out a peach slice for him. When Nathan ignored this overture, Isaiah put the peach down on the table, and went back to his plate... which he promptly covered up with both hands.
Here you go, brother. I love you and will share a peach with you... but you keep your hands off my plate!
2.17.2006
Adagios, Adagios, Adagios!
It's pledge drive time over at classical KUSC, that time of year when the woman with the syrupy voice talks about how very important classical music is to our lives, and how important exposure is to classical music, and how classical radio is all about exposure, exposure, exposure.
"Have you ever used the phrase 'let the music wash over you'? I know I have. And when I do, what I mean by it is to let the music relax and soothe you. Like a good backrub. Well, for this hour of our pledge drive, we will be playing nothing but adagios. Adagios, adagios, adagios. All music taken from two wonderful collections, aptly titled Adagios I and Adagios II."
It's an indecent sort of exposure, to hear adagio after adagio, unclothed by their allegros. An adagio is an intimate reflection on the the themes introduced (and eventually resolved) in the fast movements. Decontextualized, and lumped together like that, all form and meaning is lost and only the texture remains. Wonderfully sumptuous texture, to be sure. But this is not education, this is gluttony.
I let one amazing Brahms adagio wash over me, but that was quite enough. My tastes are a bit too snobbish and highbrow, I suppose.
So I quickly turned the dial over to the country station.
"Have you ever used the phrase 'let the music wash over you'? I know I have. And when I do, what I mean by it is to let the music relax and soothe you. Like a good backrub. Well, for this hour of our pledge drive, we will be playing nothing but adagios. Adagios, adagios, adagios. All music taken from two wonderful collections, aptly titled Adagios I and Adagios II."
It's an indecent sort of exposure, to hear adagio after adagio, unclothed by their allegros. An adagio is an intimate reflection on the the themes introduced (and eventually resolved) in the fast movements. Decontextualized, and lumped together like that, all form and meaning is lost and only the texture remains. Wonderfully sumptuous texture, to be sure. But this is not education, this is gluttony.
I let one amazing Brahms adagio wash over me, but that was quite enough. My tastes are a bit too snobbish and highbrow, I suppose.
So I quickly turned the dial over to the country station.
2.16.2006
Close Neighbors
Yesterday morning, when I poked my head outside and saw two extremely full garbage canisters out by the curb, I thought to myself, what a good man. After working two consecutive 16 hour days, he still thought to put out the trash before stumbling off to work again at 6am.
When Andy came home from work, he was quite pleased to see that his normally scatterbrained wife had remembered the trash, as evidenced by the two empty garbage canisters out by the curb.
We were both rather dismayed to find two extraordinarily full garbage canisters behind the house.
When Andy came home from work, he was quite pleased to see that his normally scatterbrained wife had remembered the trash, as evidenced by the two empty garbage canisters out by the curb.
We were both rather dismayed to find two extraordinarily full garbage canisters behind the house.
2.15.2006
Support Your Favorite Wuggies!
The good news is that my post Five Days has won an award over at Everyday Hogwash.
To the tune of two hundred dollars.
The even better news is that this puts me in line for a possible thousand dollar prize.
And the best news of all is that YOU, dear reader, have a chance to participate! All you have to do is click here. Scroll down just a smidge, and you'll see a little poll box on the right. There are three entries for this week, and mine is the middle one, Five Days.
Do hurry... voting ends on midnight of the 17th.
I'm so excited!
To the tune of two hundred dollars.
The even better news is that this puts me in line for a possible thousand dollar prize.
And the best news of all is that YOU, dear reader, have a chance to participate! All you have to do is click here. Scroll down just a smidge, and you'll see a little poll box on the right. There are three entries for this week, and mine is the middle one, Five Days.
Do hurry... voting ends on midnight of the 17th.
I'm so excited!
2.14.2006
For Valentines Day, Mr. Wuggidy got down on one knee and presented the girl he loves dearest with something very special. Something bright and sparkly, one of the most beautiful and intriguing things he's ever seen. A headlight, of course. I was so glad I had the camera on hand to capture the moment.
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