Oh Them Golden Grahams
I’m on a total buzz this morning. Coffee and Golden Grahams. Yeeeeeehaw! (Pity my co-workers.)
So, Stinky is doing quite well in kindergarten. He’s lording it over the Moth, who is most jealous of the fact that Stinky goes to big boy school (BBS), has a packpack (backpack), and can chew gum.
Our drop-off routine is much changed these days. The BBS is right in our neighborhood, so after lightening my load by one miniature John (who does not even bother to say goodbye most days), Mothman and I are off for preschool. I’ll have you know, in the less than one mile between home and preschool, there are two, count ‘em, TWO car doctors. I am lectured each morning, in case my Memento-like amnesia kicks in, that they are car doctors, and if a car goes crash (with big sound effects) or has a hurt tire, they should go to the car doctor. Then, invariably, we see the train or a school butts, and he’s off in another direction.
Boys are great.
School is relatively innocuous. My teach is a burnout who likes to bloviate. Yeah on him. I just need a B. I think if you show up, he gives you a B. Yipee skipee for me.
Work is combative. We have to re-name the conference rooms, because Spaceley’s used to be a part of a major car corporation, and all our conference rooms are named after car models. Now, we’re all bitter because those bastages sold us off to Simon Legree and friends (like Barney and friends, only eviler), so we’re removing all the references to our former owners. They’re taking suggestions. One guy said colors. One guy said islands. I say they should be named after battlegrounds – it seems quite appropriate to say “I’m headed over to Waterloo for the warehouse meeting…” “OK, I’ll be in Gettysburg with the server consolidation team…”
Morbid much?
(*)>
So, Stinky is doing quite well in kindergarten. He’s lording it over the Moth, who is most jealous of the fact that Stinky goes to big boy school (BBS), has a packpack (backpack), and can chew gum.
Our drop-off routine is much changed these days. The BBS is right in our neighborhood, so after lightening my load by one miniature John (who does not even bother to say goodbye most days), Mothman and I are off for preschool. I’ll have you know, in the less than one mile between home and preschool, there are two, count ‘em, TWO car doctors. I am lectured each morning, in case my Memento-like amnesia kicks in, that they are car doctors, and if a car goes crash (with big sound effects) or has a hurt tire, they should go to the car doctor. Then, invariably, we see the train or a school butts, and he’s off in another direction.
Boys are great.
School is relatively innocuous. My teach is a burnout who likes to bloviate. Yeah on him. I just need a B. I think if you show up, he gives you a B. Yipee skipee for me.
Work is combative. We have to re-name the conference rooms, because Spaceley’s used to be a part of a major car corporation, and all our conference rooms are named after car models. Now, we’re all bitter because those bastages sold us off to Simon Legree and friends (like Barney and friends, only eviler), so we’re removing all the references to our former owners. They’re taking suggestions. One guy said colors. One guy said islands. I say they should be named after battlegrounds – it seems quite appropriate to say “I’m headed over to Waterloo for the warehouse meeting…” “OK, I’ll be in Gettysburg with the server consolidation team…”
Morbid much?
(*)>
posted by birdwoman | 8:05 AM
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