There are exciting moments, don't get me wrong. Of course most of them involve sippy cups. Just after lunch I have now taken to shooting the empty, brightly colored, plastic toddler plates into the sink for points, I am quite good.
Don't worry, this gets better.
Modern Pre-schooler asked the other day, after I had again expressed my excitement about our impending summer trip to the west coast, "...Mommy, is it only black and white in Oregon?" "Um no sweetheart, its very bright and pretty there!" I answered puzzled. I quickly realized what she meant when I glanced over her shoulder to the fridge where several black and white shots I had taken on my last visit there were tacked up with huge, block alphabet magnets. Modern Pre-Schooler is constantly annoyed with me for regularly changing perfectly good color photos into my quasi artistic hobby obsession: black and white. Poor thing. Her mother's attempts at loosely imitating modern art has stunted her educational growth. Modern 1st Grader quickly corrected us both, astutely pointing out that Oregon is clearly marked in yellow on the kid friendly US map hanging on our little playroom wall. Opps. My bad. It should be clear by now why I love these two so much it makes my eyeballs bleed.
I have expanded my definition of contact with adults to include the drive-up tellers at the bank, who, incidentally may have caught on to the infallible plan I recently constructed to make daily deposits of roughly four dollars and eighteen or nineteen cents (I like to "change" it up and keep it pun fun) although they continue to play along.
This revised description also allows for network TV shows that have been lovingly DVR'd to qualify as well. Please do not burst this particular bubble, I am barely clinging to my rationalizations and denial. Admittedly, TV can become another "A" word (peeved lately with the over usage of the word "addiction") an let's be clear friends, I do not have a Kardashian that I relate to, I do not get my feelings all in a bunch when some random dancing, singing or not so surviving person gets voted off something or somewhere and I don't recoil in disgust or shock when yet again the voting public proves itself not to be smarter than what ever middle school grade level of intelligence is currently required for sufficient humiliation.
Occasionally, when even those crazy antics of Robin Scherbatsky, Barney Stinson, Marshall, Lily and Ted are not enough to pass the time I do get lost in a blog or two hundred. I have familiar favorites of course. Internet hangs I have been unabashedly frequenting for years now and then there are my fair weather sites that I only claim to love cause they are temporarily popular, have some clever and witty title that makes me look cool by association when I link to it, or political news blogs which give the air of informed intelligence. But who are we kidding with the politics, I am actually wearing sandals with socks as I type this post and there is just a gazillion tons of granola in my pantry. Plus I might drive the only Mormon carpool to constantly inflict NPR upon my passengers. You do with that what you will. I will not stoop to gratuitous linking here, here or here in this entry because that just makes me look too obvious, you can peep the local haunts in that left column over yonder there if you have the kind of time on your hands I suspect you do... Cause seriously, you are still here and I imagine you haven't seen your waitress in a long time.
I am gonna go make homemade bread, turn up the Van Morrison and decorate my imaginary big house in my head again. Maybe this time with less gingham.
