Thursday, August 28, 2008
"Why don't men have milk in their boobs?"
The Partner and I grin at each other from where we sit before The Boss. I remain mute long enough to indicate that he's going to have to take this one.
"Because men aren't designed to have babies and feed them. But women are."
The Boss nods her understanding. The up-and-down shake of her head is deliberate. Her mind processes information the same way her back teeth grind down pork to a swallowable squish--with the utmost thoroughness. But she's still only three years old. There are some concepts that elude her. She doesn't know about time, for instance: how fast it goes, and that it stops for no one.
"When I grow older and my boobs get bigger," she says, "I can feed my brother."
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
As she worked on my teeth and more than likely rehearsed the ol' "perhaps it's time you acknowledged the existence of dental floss" lecture in her head, I was left to my own mental devices. This is what I thought as I lay there with a bloddy, gaping maw: I would rather get weekly pap smears than go through this crap twice a year.
If flossing is the answer, it's not an easy one. I mean, do I even know anyone who flosses? The Partner doesn't. My parents don't. I saw a lot of things amidst the communal indiscretion of dorm living during my college days, but flossing wasn't among them. I can only come up with one friend that I know for sure used to floss on a daily basis (while watching television, no less)--but she is now the mother of infant triplets and I have to wonder how she could possibly find a spare minute, let alone the requisite amount of energy, to suck on tooth string once every 24 hours. If I'm wrong, I hope she'll comment below. I may very well be wrong. The girl is shockingly disciplined.
When the dentist came in to poke around the hygienist's handiwork in an effort to at least make it look like he was doing something to earn the $300/hour being billed to my insurance company, he told me I really work my jaw like a pro. Okay, he didn't use those exact words, but I'm sure I'm not flattering myself too much. What he said was, "you're the ideal patient, the way you hold your mouth open so wide."
That's not what he tells all the girls, is it?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Photo by Lauren
For some more six word memoirs--some haunting, some funny, some obscure--go here.
And to do my memely duty, I'm passing it along to Mrs. Chicken, Amy at Binkytown, Lauren at Memoir, Fitz and/or Duff at My Mom Genes, and jen at one plus two. There's something about this meme that really intrigues me. I can't wait to see how each of you spins your own six word yarn.
1. Write a six-word memoir.
2. Post it to your blog, maybe with a pic.
3. Link to the person who tagged you
4. Tag a few folks
5. Leave a comment for them with an invite to play.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
If you aren't familiar with her site, take some time to look around when you get there. Chicken and Cheese is an eat-in establishment. A drive-thru just wouldn't do.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
It was a sweet, protective gesture on its face. I think I swooned a bit. But it was early, and my mind was still cloudy. Things became clearer When I really started to think about the underlying meaning.
This is what raingear says about my general level of competence in any given situation: Not only do I not know enough to come in out of the rain, but I'm incapable of remembering my own umbrella.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
I was a sensitive child. That's the only explanation. With dad's game ended, he asked if I wanted to play. I said no. Then I went to my room and cried because my poor father hadn't known that the game wasn't over. I thought my father knew everything. I was moved to tears because he didn't.
I'm thinking about that today because I still hate the idea of my father facing disappointment, or the unknown, or fear. The lesson I first learned from Donkey Kong has only been reinforced as I've grown. My father is human. It's a strange understanding to have as someone's child--knowing that while I can control my own emotions, I am powerless when it comes to his.
My dad went in today for a cardioversion, which is an electrical shock to re-set the heart so the heart's natural pacemaker can take over. His first appointment earlier this week was cut short when it was shown that the medication used to thin his blood had not thinned it enough to reduce the risk of stroke associated with the procedure. So he went back in today. I'm still waiting to hear how it went.
I get all tight in the windpipe area just thinking about it. And, yes, I still think it's ridiculous that my first premonition of that feeling came in highly pixelated form on an old, wood-paneled console channeling Intellivision.