End of Times

Well, the end of times is here.

Last week, we had a tornado.
Earlier this week, we had an earthquake.
Today is the beginning of a hurricane.
I'm waiting for the announcement of the asteroid/meteorite within a week or so to complete the hat-trick. The SyFy executives are waiting on a Baldwin to sign to start making the multi-mega-disaster movie...

But none of these is as troubling to me as the travesty John made known unto me this morning.

Chilis, our local restaurant, a.k.a. Chuck's (to my kids, as that's where we always met with Uncle Chuck)... the restaurant we always went to for each and every birthday since the kids were little... has burned to the ground. Never mind that we went there solely because it's the only family restaurant around here. (Try taking your two year old out for sushi or indian for his birthday. Right.) We will certainly miss the terrible rendition of the birthday song we always put those poor wait staff through (we do tip well, though).

I've never been big on tradition (except for that song from fiddler on the roof - it's quite catchy, like the plague). But I really loved going to Chuck's, embarrassing the crap out of whoever happened to officially age, and fight for the last bite of that molten chocolate cake.


The end of times, indeed.

(*)>

Nocturnal Emissions?

No, no, my boys aren't that old, yet.

Today we have a story that is rooted in genetics. In nature vs nurture. In the very make-up of my boy, the Moth.

You see, Mothman is quite an interesting mix of John and me. He's a pistol, for sure. But this is nothing to do with his personality.

Tim can sleep through anything, including walking and talking. He also has a tiny bladder which leads to many journeys in the midnight hours.

The two traits do not mix well.

One time I was woken by John screaming, "Timmy! What are you doing? Why are you peeing on the steps??!?"

I, of course, "slept" through the whole thing, including the cleanup. Being a heavy sleeper is a good alibi, sometimes. But sometimes, it comes back to bite me in the butt.

Today, I was cleaning up and straightening up Grandma Harvey's room. This is a room used when my mom stays with us, and we let the kids watch movies in there when she's not with us. Well, I was straightening up when I smelled something... no it can't be...

Under the table is a set of laundry baskets. In the top basket is a cold yellow puddle.

Got to give the sleepermoth credit: every drop, that I can tell, made it into the basket. The rug does not smell.

But man, the cleanup was gross.

Stinky, of course, laughed at me the whole time. Creep.

Motherhood brings such joys, no?

(*)>

School Daze

Because I am evil, I make my children do school work in the summer time. Every day, it's math, reading, some LA, and geography. They whine; I cackle. All is well.

Today, the topic of the day for the Moth is compound words. They gave 2 pictures, and he's supposed to come up with the words. Like there's a picture of a pinna and a congo drum - eardrum! So there's a picture of a woman and a grasshopper. Ladybug, right? Nope. According to Tim, it's personhopper. Personhopper. I was like, "Tim, is personhopper a word?" and he replied "I don't know! It could be!"

He's such a charmer.

In other news, Stinky is developing Style. When we were at the beach this summer, he got a shark-tooth necklace. It is worn all the time. But it is incomplete. He has one more key part coming in the mail. What is it? Part of his prize for learning all the states and capitals was a set of dog tags. Dog tags. Why you ask?

He needs them for his army assignment.

Apparently, he's been promoted to captain in his squad of the Kids Creek Army. Which the kids refer to as the KKA.

Maybe I should be harping on spelling this summer?

Anyhow, apparently this army is a big thing for the Lee Circle Gang. I mean, the Moth was getting court marshaled because he didn't do enough of his sentry duty at the central headquarters (that are secret from all people over 18). There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when this demerit was announced. But Tim stiffened his upper lip and did extra entry duty so that he wouldn't get court marshaled after all.

Where on earth do they get these ideas?


Meanwhile, I am waiting to find out where I am working this year. It's a strange time. I keep looking to the horizon for a big storm. Feels like one's coming. Or maybe my husband's paranoia is rubbing off on me. (no snickers from the juvenile audience.)


Take care, and see you in the funny papers!

(*)>