Any Requests?

"Mommy, tell me the story when Wendy wakes up in the dark and there's a monster and Mommy and Daddy and Erin fight the monster in the butt. Tell that story."

This story ends with a very embarrassing trip to the Monster Emergency Room.

Probably Terrence

Meet our visitor. Cute little S-O-B, right?

Before you ask; no, we have not named him. I do not care to name him. (although, he does remind me of a Mouse Mouse that I know (Bethany's cat), which has me thinking MouseMouse the Extreme Supreme .... 2MES? no?)

About a month ago, Carl found him out in the junk by the barn, alone and exposed to the elements. The "elements" might or might not have included a fox or an owl or something. Seeing as the barn is situated close to the road, the "elements" definitley includes barreling SUVs of death. His mom either abandoned him or forgot where she left him. This is not out of the realm of possibility, as most of the barn cats around here are hit-or-miss for brain cells. Too many daddy/brothers waiting around to knock up the sister/cousins, if you catch my drift.

Carl was drawn in by the helpless, hungry mewling. Sucker.

He's grown up a lot in the past month. (The kitten, not Carl.) He's gone from bottle-fed teddy cuddler about the size of my tea cup to rolling around with the big boys and attacking feet from under the couch. He now fills up Wendy's whole potty, and breaks skin with his adorable little razor-sharp baby teeth.

Wendy adores him. She catches sight of him and instantly emits these cutesy girl noises that I didn't teach her. She does form words-something to the effect of "Hey mommy, there's the baby kitty. He's so cute. So cute so cute so cute so cute baby baby kitty baby kitty,"-but the

effect is more of a high-pitched whale warble that drowns out all other frequencies.

He is an instant-purrining type of kitty. He sees her/us/anyone coming, presumably to love on him, and he starts the motor.

Carl: That's not actually baby fuzz. He is just vibrating that fast.

D'ya like ears that are too pointy and big for his head?? Haha. Shut up. I do not love him. We are not naming him. (Ranger? Shadow? Terrence?)

In Which I Use My Wifey Voice

Carl: There's this canoe on Craig's List. It's only two hundred dollars.
Me: You know, we could really use two hundred dollars for other things that are not canoes. Like closing costs.

Carl: But. I want a canoe. I've wanted a canoe for a long time.

Me: You know what you've also wanted for a long time? A house.

Carl: But...two hundred dollars is a really good price for a canoe. Don't you think that I work hard and deserve a canoe for the purpose of much-needed rest and relaxation?

Me: I love you and I know that you deserve rest and relaxation. You know where you can rest and relax? A house. That you own.

Carl: .........You're really not going to help me justify this one, are you?

Me: Nope.

Carl: Damn.

*two days later*

Nana: I thought that if you wanted some fishing time or something, I would volunteer my services.

Carl: That would be awesome. Yes. When?

Me: We have a new canoe, don't we.

Carl: .............*grin*

I would say that I need to work on the inflection of sour disapproval, but I know that he heard it. And I don't really mind. (Except that we really do need to be saving the dough for house stuff right now. Frack.)

A Wednesday Morning

Yesterday was the last half-day day for students. I saw every class (or, less than half of every class, because most of them brilliantly stayed home) for about 22 minutes each.

22 minutes is just enough time to show an episode of Invader Zim, high-five them goodbye, and clean up any of my leavings in the three classes where I taught this year. Not enough time to...*cough*...cry. (That was the whole ride home.)

I have three glorious days of boxing up my stuff and filling out paperwork and whatnot, before my job is officially over and I have to think about the next thing. It's kind of nice, but also kind of torture. These last few days are like the set-wrap after a play: cramming costumes into drycleaning bags and breaking down the scenery and sweeping props and makeup into dufflebags.... Except that set-wraps are accomplished in a few frenzied hours while everyone is still coming down from the high of the show, and we have to go to seminars about state standards and sign things about lockers. For three days. It is a terrible anti-climax. Particularly when I'm not sure if I'll have a job in the fall. Plus, we don't get the post-show kegger.

Also, when I gleefully set my alarm clock last night for five-forty-five instead of five-twenty, I accidentally set it for four-forty-five. The first day that I don't have to actually be there at seven thirty, and I wake up at FOUR FORTY FIVE!!!!! DAMNIT!!!