I just ordered two pairs of navy blue converse low tops, size 10 and 10.5, mens, for the Larger Hooligan. It occured to me that just 2 years ago, we wore the same shoe size-a women's 8, which is about a men's 6. His feet have grown 4 sizes in two years. It must be painful. It is certainly painful on the budget.
At least he has good taste. It's a pity we can't share anymore.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
More like barbed wire than velveteen.
This bunny glared at me from the shelf:
"Buy me!" He snarled. So I did. Isn't he fierce? I was quite intimidated. He reminded me of someone:
I send him to my nephew with a note:
Dear Cupcake,
Please keep a close eye on this bunny. He is very fierce. He bit me. Happy Easter!
Love, Aunt Kate
They get along very well.
"Buy me!" He snarled. So I did. Isn't he fierce? I was quite intimidated. He reminded me of someone:
Dear Cupcake,
Please keep a close eye on this bunny. He is very fierce. He bit me. Happy Easter!
Love, Aunt Kate
They get along very well.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Post auction Post
I have not exploded, nor has my house been condemned and my children removed by the state- although I would not welcome a social worker just yet. I am slowly restoring order to my normal life. I don't really feel like it, though. What I feel like doing is counting the money and crowing.
We raised a record $27,000 at the auction this year. And it was a fun party, which is just as improtant as the fund raising, in my opinion.
We raised a record $27,000 at the auction this year. And it was a fun party, which is just as improtant as the fund raising, in my opinion.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Take Cover
The Smaller Hooligan: "I kind of need a haircut."
Me: "Ok, as soon as the auction is over next Friday, we'll get you a haircut."
Smaller Hooligan: "Everything has to wait until after the auction."
The Man Who Lives In My House: "Mom's not even going to go to the bathroom until the auction is over."
Me: "Yeah, next Saturday I am going to explode."
TMWLIMH: "It would be best if you did that somewhere far away, like maybe at an ordinance range."
Me: "Ok, as soon as the auction is over next Friday, we'll get you a haircut."
Smaller Hooligan: "Everything has to wait until after the auction."
The Man Who Lives In My House: "Mom's not even going to go to the bathroom until the auction is over."
Me: "Yeah, next Saturday I am going to explode."
TMWLIMH: "It would be best if you did that somewhere far away, like maybe at an ordinance range."
Sunday, April 1, 2012
C6H12O6 Negotiations
The Smaller Hooligan deigned to accompany to the grocery store. I sent him to the cereal aisle to make selections.
"Pick out anything you like that's under 7 grams of sugar," I cautioned.
He narrowed his eyes at me, "How about 14?"
"10, and not a speck more."
The deal was struck.
He was gone a long time. I got the chicken, milk, sour cream, eggs, ran into a neighbor--we were bemoaning the school budget woes at length when he re-appeared, empty handed.
"You couldn't find a cereal you like under ten?"
"No, You know that kind they were advertising on TV in the hotel with the cavemen?" (that would be fruity/cocoa pebbles--he is not acquainted with The Flintstones) "Well I found it, and the fruit kind has only 9 grams, but It looks like I'd be eating a pink turd. Why would I want to eat that?"
An excellent question.
He was very cross. It was as if those wily advertising agents had promised him a gift that he'd looked forward to eagerly, which had turned out to be gross.
We settled on mini-wheats and special K.
I think I won this round.
"Pick out anything you like that's under 7 grams of sugar," I cautioned.
He narrowed his eyes at me, "How about 14?"
"10, and not a speck more."
The deal was struck.
He was gone a long time. I got the chicken, milk, sour cream, eggs, ran into a neighbor--we were bemoaning the school budget woes at length when he re-appeared, empty handed.
"You couldn't find a cereal you like under ten?"
"No, You know that kind they were advertising on TV in the hotel with the cavemen?" (that would be fruity/cocoa pebbles--he is not acquainted with The Flintstones) "Well I found it, and the fruit kind has only 9 grams, but It looks like I'd be eating a pink turd. Why would I want to eat that?"
An excellent question.
He was very cross. It was as if those wily advertising agents had promised him a gift that he'd looked forward to eagerly, which had turned out to be gross.
We settled on mini-wheats and special K.
I think I won this round.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The Reprecussions of Playing Scrabble against an only child
The Man Who Lives In My house used to refuse to play scrabble with me. Because I always won. As a sibling-less child, he played board games with his granddad while his grandma hissed in the background, "You let him win, Clair, YOU LET HIM WIN!"
I learnt at my mother's knee. She never let me win. It was educational. I did get pretty good. My mother and my sister (The Nice One? She is also The Smart One. If you combine those two things, doesn't that create The Annoying One? HMM.) can beat me, but not too many other people can in the three dimensional world.
The only way to beat Bad Grandma and Abbey is if I cheat and sneak extra tiles, which I have been known to do. (You can't cheat on the iphone. Frustrating.) Recently, The Man has discovered the scrabble app on his iphone. He has been practicing.
He can beat me quite easily now, although he uses all those stupid words that are not really words, like "qi," and "ki". Technically, this is not cheating, but I don't consider those to be viable words. Using them is inelegant and smacks of desperation. On my planet, you can only use words that are actually part of your vast and evocative vocabulary. Don't you concur?
But I digress: he spent a night with my parents a couple of weeks ago. I got a gleeful text: "I BEAT YOUR MOM AT SCRABBLE!"
My mother refused to comment. She just made a hmmmph noise. This evening I arrived at her house with the Hooligans in tow. We are spending the night and meeting up with The Man tomorrow. After dishing up icecream for the Hooligans and walking the dog, my mother whipped out her iphone.
"I got this great app for playing scrabble," she mentioned casually. "Look, I have 5 games going with complete strangers. I'm not winning all of them, but I'm doing pretty well."
Just then my phone rang. It was my sister. "You know how The Man beat mom at scrabble two weeks ago?" I asked her, (She did. He made sure to tell everyone.) "Now Mom's playing iphone scrabble with complete strangers. She's not going to let that happen again. Uh oh, Abbey, she's continuing to play with one hand and she's flipping me off with the other.
It would behoove The Man not to become complacent, is all I'm saying.
I learnt at my mother's knee. She never let me win. It was educational. I did get pretty good. My mother and my sister (The Nice One? She is also The Smart One. If you combine those two things, doesn't that create The Annoying One? HMM.) can beat me, but not too many other people can in the three dimensional world.
The only way to beat Bad Grandma and Abbey is if I cheat and sneak extra tiles, which I have been known to do. (You can't cheat on the iphone. Frustrating.) Recently, The Man has discovered the scrabble app on his iphone. He has been practicing.
He can beat me quite easily now, although he uses all those stupid words that are not really words, like "qi," and "ki". Technically, this is not cheating, but I don't consider those to be viable words. Using them is inelegant and smacks of desperation. On my planet, you can only use words that are actually part of your vast and evocative vocabulary. Don't you concur?
But I digress: he spent a night with my parents a couple of weeks ago. I got a gleeful text: "I BEAT YOUR MOM AT SCRABBLE!"
My mother refused to comment. She just made a hmmmph noise. This evening I arrived at her house with the Hooligans in tow. We are spending the night and meeting up with The Man tomorrow. After dishing up icecream for the Hooligans and walking the dog, my mother whipped out her iphone.
"I got this great app for playing scrabble," she mentioned casually. "Look, I have 5 games going with complete strangers. I'm not winning all of them, but I'm doing pretty well."
Just then my phone rang. It was my sister. "You know how The Man beat mom at scrabble two weeks ago?" I asked her, (She did. He made sure to tell everyone.) "Now Mom's playing iphone scrabble with complete strangers. She's not going to let that happen again. Uh oh, Abbey, she's continuing to play with one hand and she's flipping me off with the other.
It would behoove The Man not to become complacent, is all I'm saying.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Moody Revenge
We drove to Portland for my sister (The Nice One)'s birthday. The larger Hooligan came prepared, with a smart phone and large ear phones--the better to pretend he was somewhere else, like a really cool techno party in space. Yeah. Awesome.
I tried not to mind that he doesn't like us anymore. He gets this from me, in spades. I was an insufferable asshole as a teenager. I've been hoping that owning up to this and eating lots of crow about it would insulate me from having to co-exist with similar behavior from my child(ren). No dice. Remorse gets you nothing.
Towards the end of the drive I asked him to turn down the volume in his headphones because if I could perceive his techno (which I could) it might damage his hearing, which might interfere with his future music appreciation, etc.
"You just hate techno," he snarled, his voice cracking. (Well yes, I do, am I so transparent? Well, yes, I am.) "I love techno, I'm always gonna love techno. I hate your stupid music. Why do you have to listen to NPR? I hate the music they play in between stuff. It's so stupid."
What is he talking about? They play Ratatat when they transition on NPR. They love techno as much as he does.
He was able to emerge from his funk and be fairly pleasant at the birthday breakfast. (I locked all technology in the car for the duration). Afterwards he went home with my parents while I ran a couple of errands and the Smaller Hooligan accompanied Senor Cupcake (the nephew) and his mamas to the park.
I called my mom (Bad Grandma) after about an hour and a half, "Is the Larger Hooligan being reasonable?" I asked, "Or is he lurking in a corner with those damn headphones? "
"He is being delightful," answered my mother smugly, "I don't know what you're talking about when you say he's surly."
"Mom," I begged, "I know that it must be incredibly tempting for you to egg him on after what you put up with from me, but please, The Man Who Lives In My House is at a meeting in Canada for this entire week and The Larger Hooligan is very nearly larger than I am. Could you please, out of the goodness of your heart, encourage him to cooperate insofar as he is able?"
Bad Grandma laughed her evil laugh, "I was glad that I was always bigger than the two of you. I must say."
I tried not to mind that he doesn't like us anymore. He gets this from me, in spades. I was an insufferable asshole as a teenager. I've been hoping that owning up to this and eating lots of crow about it would insulate me from having to co-exist with similar behavior from my child(ren). No dice. Remorse gets you nothing.
Towards the end of the drive I asked him to turn down the volume in his headphones because if I could perceive his techno (which I could) it might damage his hearing, which might interfere with his future music appreciation, etc.
"You just hate techno," he snarled, his voice cracking. (Well yes, I do, am I so transparent? Well, yes, I am.) "I love techno, I'm always gonna love techno. I hate your stupid music. Why do you have to listen to NPR? I hate the music they play in between stuff. It's so stupid."
What is he talking about? They play Ratatat when they transition on NPR. They love techno as much as he does.
He was able to emerge from his funk and be fairly pleasant at the birthday breakfast. (I locked all technology in the car for the duration). Afterwards he went home with my parents while I ran a couple of errands and the Smaller Hooligan accompanied Senor Cupcake (the nephew) and his mamas to the park.
I called my mom (Bad Grandma) after about an hour and a half, "Is the Larger Hooligan being reasonable?" I asked, "Or is he lurking in a corner with those damn headphones? "
"He is being delightful," answered my mother smugly, "I don't know what you're talking about when you say he's surly."
"Mom," I begged, "I know that it must be incredibly tempting for you to egg him on after what you put up with from me, but please, The Man Who Lives In My House is at a meeting in Canada for this entire week and The Larger Hooligan is very nearly larger than I am. Could you please, out of the goodness of your heart, encourage him to cooperate insofar as he is able?"
Bad Grandma laughed her evil laugh, "I was glad that I was always bigger than the two of you. I must say."
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