Marc and I are in the living room watching the Olympics. The girls go into our bedroom to watch cartoons. A few minutes later Emma comes into the living room.
“Daddy?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“On the TV in the bedroom — there was a person who fell into a hole, and then all sorts of bugs started crawling inside him.”
Me (giggling): “Uh oh. You’d better go check, honey.”
Marc walks into the bedroom and I overhear something about “it’s not real, it’s just pretend.” He walks back into the living room, chuckling.
“They were watching X-Files.”
Whoops! Poor kids. Now Marc is certain we will have to save for their therapy rather than college.
I have been obsessed with gardening this year. I made some raised beds, purchased a 1/4 dump truck load of enriched topsoil, and planted with vigor.
The big whoops was planting my tomato plants under a black walnut tree. Turns out this chemical called juglone is in the black walnut tree and is toxic to tomato plants. Great. So my tomato plants are all stunted and curled up and not very productive — at least the ones under that tree. The others are doing well.
Also, my squash ended up with powdery mildew and it has begun to spread to the pumpkin vines. So I hacked off most of my squash plants yesterday and sprayed the remainder of the squash and the pumpkin vines with baking soda water. It’s supposed to help.
I had been working Saturdays for the past year and a half. The job started as an effort to get out of the house and away from the constant kid-care, as well as make some money. When Emma started Kindergarten last fall I began to miss being able to see her on Saturdays since she was gone during the week. But I had become a bit dependent on the income.
So I’ve been thinking about quitting for several months now and finally just spoke to my boss. Now I’ll have Saturdays free to be with the family and go to Emma’s soccer games, or to the Farmer’s Market, or hiking, etc. Yay!
Mira started saying this a few weeks ago. It took me awhile to figure out what she was talking about. It means that she has poo in her pullup.
Just now she was doing the acting-guilty thing that she does when she has poo. I walked into the room and she looked up at me quickly and said, “Nothing, Mommy.”
I smiled. “I didn’t even ask what you were doing, sweetie.”
She repeats, “Nothing, Mommy.”
“Mira? Do you have poo?”
“No. No poo.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I no have poo.”
“Ah, okay. Do you have a ‘bunny tail’?”
She smiles at me, “Yessssss. I have ‘bunny tail’.”
“Alright sweetie. Let’s go change your ‘bunny tail’.”
So I’m scrolling through YouTube looking for videos and I stumble across “Beds Are Burning.” What an awesome song that was, and still is!
I watch the original video and then find the Sydney Olympics performance in the sidebar. I click on it and it is really super cool and powerful, until I see the giant chicken. It’s about 40 seconds into the video. Why do the Olympics always have such strangeness? So yeah, Midnight Oil performing at the Sydney Olympics — waaaaay cool!!! until the giant chicken.
Emma, Emma, Emma. She has some somatic sensitivities. It’s usually not much more than what would bother you or me. An itchy tag, a tight shirt sleeve. But every so often she has a clinical problem with how something feels.
