- I can’t unsee this.
- Or this. …gulp.
- *mind blown emoji*
- Whatever happens with Twitter, I hope Lake Superior’s account remains intact. “Without me, they would be called the Good Lakes.”
A conversation I had at least a dozen times while trick-or-treating:
Neighborhood kid: what are you dressed up as, Ms. Kel?
Me: April O’Neil!
Neighborhood kid: …ohh… is that… is that the… girl?
Me: yes. Yes, I’m the token girl. This is my life.
Related: how *should* neighborhood kids refer to adults? // our favorite Halloween decor is still a hit even if J insists our house is “embarrassed” by the more committed neighbors in our circle…
tonight’s happy porch.
but because it’s michigan,
tomorrow will rain.
Related: tiny face strikes again! // Things that scare me. Still applies.
Have you heard of this tradition of Booing your neighbors? Well, we got boo’d a couple of nights ago (but first Dave was insistent that we got ding-dong-ditched, which is a funny conclusion to draw given that ~60% of our neighborhood population are generally nice kids under the age of 12).
The next evening found us at Target, hell-bent on paying forward the fun. We checked out after loading up on assorted candies, Halloween-themed cocoa bombs, chocolate-covered pretzels, bat-shaped gummies, and a haunted gingerbread house kit. As the cashier tallied the items, a single apple (which A had impulse-added to our cart) rolled slowly around, unattended on the conveyor belt.
Cashier: is this your apple?
Me, solemnly: yes, thank you. We make healthy choices in our family.
Related: no, really, we model all kinds of good nutritional practices in our home // “A” is for apple?
THE “WHATCHA BEEN UP TO?” EDITION
It’s been a few weeks since my last post, so by way of explanation, I offer my readership (all 3 of you) a glimpse into quotes from the recent past.
*****
Me: O, stop hitting your brother with your Thor hammer.
*****
O, observing his feet stacked on top of each other as we read before bed: this foot is kind of like a volcano. And this one is like lava.
*****
Dave, hastily removing the faux nunchaku and tossing them in the closet: no weapons unless you can use them responsibly, boys.
*****
O: I love frosting; it’s like a blanket. Except you don’t go through it.
*****
Me: so let me get this straight. Your dad made you a delicious filet mignon and you consumed it in order to… qualify for a post-dinner hot dog?
J: …yeah.
*****
Me: A, put that down! Your dump truck is NOT a weapon.
*****
Otherwise spending no less than thirty-five minutes at daycare pickup as I had already snagged J & O from school first and therefore brought them in to pick up the little bros. Literally every. single. boy. had to have a bowel movement during the pickup process, and one of them clogged the toilet with his over-zealous toilet paper tendencies. But fear not: the daycare director, upon realizing I was still there 30+ minutes after I originally said my hellos in the lobby, assured me it was not a big deal to clog the toilet. After all, she said, when A did it just last week and flooded the hallway, they had cleaned it up no problem, so this clogging solved with a simple plunge was truly no biggie.
*****
Related: more O similes // A on a roadtrip.
^This title is an actual quote from me a few months ago, when Dave and I were determining if we could stay up past 8:30 and (gasp) maybe even be social twice in one 7-day period.
Ask me about my hobbies — or simply what I do for fun — and I will probably laugh nervously, deflect with the fact that I used to be a bit of a gamer… 3 children ago… and neglect to mention that I volunteer to fold laundry because I can save it till after bedtime and watch an episode of vapid reality TV while I do so (fun!).
I have a lot of thoughts about this observation, why “having fun” is disproportionately a challenge for women, and feel very understood after listening to the We Can Do Hard Things podcast titled “FUN: What the hell is it and why do we need it?” But this post is not (really) about that.
I’m on the eve of heading out of town for a few days with the girls. And because of aforementioned commentary on my wild ways, “the girls” refers to my mom, my sister, my aunt, and some favorite cousins. We have big plans that involve ordering takeout for dinner if it’s rainy, going out to dinner if it’s sunny, and ending the night with wine on the beach either way.
And then, tonight, it occurred to me: what if there’s time for extra fun?! I packed accordingly.
At the end of the day, here’s what evidently makes the cut for me on a no-commitments weekend, planning for fun:
- A book (yes, the same one referenced here… still working on it). I know this to be an objective source of enjoyment after I blissfully consumed 5 books during my 7 day honeymoon.
- A puzzle, large enough to take several hours, but simple enough to allow for conversation and collaboration over strict concentration.
- My cross-stitch project bag because I am secretly a senior citizen.
- Headphones in case I want to watch Gilmore Girls as I fall asleep.
- My sleep mask because I insist on sleeping past 6am no matter what my internal clock says.
I guess the important point is this: I have my out-of-office message up at work, Dave is amped up with a list of activities for his dad + lads days, and whether it photographs well or not, you better believe I will be having fun this week.
when you turn seven
you can bike to your friend’s house
and fly your first plane. (??)
Few things feel more comfortable, indulgent, and relaxing than closing out a chilly fall day by snuggling into bed and reading a book. Well, maybe “relaxing” isn’t quite accurate when you are joined by your introspective and inquisitive 7 year old who finds a way to turn even a fantastical Roald Dahl book into a deep and existential pop quiz. In order, conducted rapid-fire, and – I assure you – receiving pretty sub-par responses from his mother as her cognitive speed leaves a lot to be desired by 8pm on a school night:
- “Is Roald Dahl still alive?”
- “How old was he when he died?”
- “Do you think he’s in heaven?”
- “What *is* heaven?”
- “Okay. What’s a soul?”
- “Hm… so where does the soul live in my body?”
- (here’s where you can tell my answers were no longer satisfactory to him): “Can you ask Google?”
Maybe tomorrow I’ll suggest I just sing lullabies instead.
