The gardener is in the details....

How we got there, I do not know, but this evening Little O and I found ourselves discussing evolution versus creationism.

Wow. Just wow.

Which is why all of the smart monkeys kept hanging out together, making EVEN SMARTER baby monkeys, who eventually used the bible as an allegorical companion demonstrating the consequences of both good AND poor decision making.

"Mama, I totally know an example of a bad decision in the bible."

Really?

"Yes. God had a special tree and said to leave it alone, but...the gardener, I think it was, didn't and he told his wife to try it."

Huh. What lesson do you think we should get from that?

"Mama, it's all about respect! If it's not yours then you shouldn't touch it, especially if GOD tells you to leave it alone!"

o.O

To Conquer Paris with an Apple!

My Favorite

The Honey's Favorite


So on Saturday we went to the DeYoung in San Francisco to see the 1st of 2 shows on impressionism.

I'll never get my kids to Paris. They are going to have to do that on their own, unfortunately. When I went to London with my folks, my dad insisted that we go to the National Gallery. Um, okay, sure. It was interesting, but what blew me away was seeing Monet's Water Lillies. It was a huge canvas and looked like nothing up close. I was across the room when it slammed into focus. AFTER we got home I took an art history class and was aghast at how many of those pictures I had seen but not appreciated.

So the Honey valiantly went to the library for me and checked out everything he could find on impressionist art for kids. Little O soaked it up like a sponge, and was primed for the trip. Big O leafed through a book on the drive to the bay. What Miss Priss really wants is to see starry night, but THE starry night is not a Musee D'Orsay property, so is not included in this show. They WILL however, have A starry night from that series, and she's very excited about that.

So I didn't get the audio tour for all of us, because Big O insisted he did not want one, and I really thought it would be overwhelming for Miss Priss, and I didn't want to HAVE the audio tour and then not be able to LISTEN to the audio tour. I got one for her, and one for the Honey, and off we went.

Claustrophobia, thy name is Jennifer. Jeez, maybe it's whatever a fear of crowds is that I'm too lazy to google. I HATED not being able to turn around--and that was WITH metered entry into the exhibit. I can't imagine the madness of regular admission. LIttle O and the Honey didn't even notice, they were thoroughly immersed in teh audio tour. The Honey said he didn't even notice other people until someone bumped into him or stepped in front as he was trying to look at a picture.

Big O was bored like only a fifteen year old boy on a family outing can be. sigh. He's a big boy and I'm fine with him wandering off, but I was really starting to get antsy because he hadn't resurfaced in a while, and then, lo and behold, there he is marching towards me.

With a three foot high angry japanese lady in a museum uniform. OH sweet Jeebus, no. Did he Touch a painting? WAS IT DAMAGED? My life and future earnings flashed before my eyes as they made it through the crowds. Apparently the gift shop was straight ahead, and while we were told that there would be no re-entry to the exhibit, there is no rope or anything signifying the end of the exhibit. There's a no re-entry notice painted on the side wall in the doorway, above eye level.

So all she wanted was proof that he had a ticket as he had wandered into the gift shop and then went back to find me. Whew!

So we had brought an elegant picnic of PBJ and oranges, and sat on a bench in Golden Gate park while we chowed. Little O starts to laugh, and we all look, and there is a squirrel clutching her leg from under the bench. My girl is DRAMA, and I would expect her to be traumatized--maybe if it had been her bare leg she would have been, but she had her jeans on and was enchanted with the squirrel. I would have screamed and kicked my leg out, but she just wanted him to do it again. There was an artist selling paintings in the park, and he told Little O that if she had any nuts, the squirrel would be her friend all day. She took her daddy's cell phone and went off to take pictures of her new furry friend. I still need to pull those from the camera...

Big O has NO interest in seeing part 2, which opens mid-September, but Little O and, surprisingly, the Honey, are very excited to go back. I'm all in, but this time WITH the audio tour--and maybe a tazer--and maybe on a week day.

#@$$%$%&$%^*&$%&$#%^$#@

I am not, by nature, an angry woman.

I am so frustrated with my ex that I could just scream.

As a cheerleader and touchy feely support system for our son, he is superb...And that concludes our recap of his good points.

Wrestling is Big O's thing, he gets that from his dad's side of the family, and I support it enthusiastically if not always with full comprehension. I also foot all of the bills because things just aren't looking up right now for his dad financially. Things have not looked up for him financially since... jeebus, since he decided to pursue real estate.

I pay for a gym membership so that Big O can train in the off season. For his birthday, his father joined the same gym, not knowing how he's going to pay the membership dues, but because if he joined it came with one free session with a personal trainer. Which is what he gave Big O for his birthday. His Free session.

I did not mock or make fun. Turns out, this MAMON of a trainer (That's basically cocksucker is spanish, if you were wondering) told my son that he could make him a champion for the bargain price of $1350 for a 90 day session.

Guess who promised his son that he'd do his best to make it happen?

Now I am the great Satan for telling my son the TRUTH. That if $1350 is too rich for MY blood it's waaaaaay too rich for his father's.

Now I am the Shiva of Dreams and aspirations.

Am I wrong to be honest with my son?

Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious

"Mama, if you say a word at the wrong time, can it REALLY change your life?"

If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around...

My Children love to Dance.

I'm afraid that they may have been switched at birth.

Add this to the fact that Little O does not believe in eating macaroni & cheese or (sob!) mashed potatoes, and I think I have a pretty good case for alien abduction. Fairies switching them? Robot children a la Spy kids?

Take your pick, but it's getting reaalllly hard to believe they are the fruit of MY loins!

Big O was in his 3rd quinceanera last weekend, and again, you could not get either of them off of the dance floor. Luckily every once in a while Little O would throw in a move like a cross between a Carlton and an Elaine, with a little sideways kick...



So I know she really IS my kid.

Little O had her dress rehearsal for her first ballet recital tonight. The cute in that room was overpowering. We all stumbled out slightly woozy from the chubby legs and dimply smiles--and the tutus, oh my stars the cute of those tutus!

Mr Darcy he's not...

I confessed my love for Holmes on Homes today to a co-worker. THAT'S my kinda dreamboat. Give me a master at what he does over a pretty Mario Lopez type any day. I think I horrified her.

Along those same lines, Jack Reacher may be my new literary husband (Sorry, Atticus Kodiak). Jack Reacher doesn't believe in laundry. My heart went pitter pat.

I heart cheap, mass market fiction and strong, capable men. Who don't believe in laundry.

Knock Knock...

When I was growing up, my father would announce on long car trips that it was time for another Humor Lesson (OH, yes, it was capitalized).

groan. We would talk about the definitions of satire and sarcasm until he felt that I had a grasp of it all.

As Miss Priss pours over her highlights magazines, she tells me the jokes and then we talk about the ones she doesn't get.

Incoming teacher at two o'clock.

am or pm?

And I'm off, totally over-explaining about pilots orienting themselves in the sky based upon the face of the clock, and then testing her...so if I say there's a dog at six o'clock, where is it?

I am SO my father.

Blogger, I've been Two timing you.

I have a new love...

No, Facebook doesn't count. That's like crack. It's different.

I just finished reading another fabby post by Maria, at Just Eat Your Cupcake. I have a long blogroll, but nothing makes my day like seeing that Maria has posted something new.

When I was little, my father brought home a treasure from one of his trips. It was a book, Conversations with a Pocket Gopher, by Jack Schaeffer, the man who also happened to write Shane, the western. (Total side story, when I was running my bookstore in Hanford, my fella took me to Yosemite, and when we saw the little bookstore on the way, you know I had to stop. I had always looked for another copy of my book in all the hippy granola bookstores, to no avail. When we walked in, I began the title and the lady who owned the store finished it for me. Her dad WAS Jack Schaeffer, and she had multiple copies, so I bought one for me and one for my dad. COME ON, that was cool.) Back to the point, Maria can make folding laundry with her dog at her side into poetry. She reminds me of that book. Whether she's talking about her partner, her daughter, her dog or her dishes, she takes you there. The lady's got soul, folks.

I've been cheating on Blogger with my new favorite, Open Salon. It's fun to browse their blogs and see who strikes a chord. My favorite so far has been Ann Nichols.

I'm not really blogging much these days, but I had a late latte, and Little O was quietly sobbing in her bed because of growing pains. The Honey doesn't remember having growing pains, but I DEFINITELY had 'em. Based upon Miss Priss' misery, my kiddo is gonna have some gams, let me tell ya. A little tylenol and some back rubbing and she is back out, but I am wide awake, too wired to even play a little bejeweled. It doesn't help that I've been off for the last week and am due back to work tomorrow (yikes, make that in 4 hours).

How huge could this be?

Morphine given shortly after injury can significantly reduce incidence of PTSD. 

 

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2010/01/morphine_ptsd.html

 

I’m not posting those Wednesday Heroes only because I’m not blogging very often anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.

 

People are dying in service to our country everyday, and many many more are coming back with serious issues.  We OWE it to these folks to make sure we take care of them when they come home.   If we can prevent a single case of PTSD, we should be researching the HELL out of this.