War February 16, 2008
Posted by carpebanana in : Bananalets , 4commentsYou know how some moms say, “The house looks like a battle zone?” Well, ours does. This morning when Miss Dog Lover and I got back from her swim program, we saw the Civil War (please do not hassle me about other names for this conflict. I am merely reporting what was relayed to me by Mr Music, the Person in Charge of this particular war) being reenacted in the upstairs hallway by Mr Music and a cast of thousands of little plastic dudes. It is a long field with no cover whatsoever to try to charge. It seemed to be a standoff, though there were some cannon balls and avocado pits fired.
Miss Language and I, who are relative pacifists, left for some groceries. While we were gone, the Civil War continued to rage, and by the time we returned, the violence had spread to the dining room, where Devastatingly Handsome, Miss Dance, and Miss Dog Lover had begun a campaign for world dominion.
Tonight we gotta get all this carnage out of here and prepare to host tomorrow’s guest pastor between worship services.
This just in: taps is currently being hummed by Mr Music (gotta get that boy a bugle) because a little cowboy was apparently a victim of Being Stamped on During Clean-Up Maneuvers.
Whatever February 16, 2008
Posted by carpebanana in : Ramblings , 2commentsToday I told Miss Dance to get something out of the refrigerator. Only the way I generally pronouce refrigerator is “frigonomomometer.” Miss Language asked how I can say that, anyhow. *
I told her maybe I am just precocious.
And then it occurred to me that I probably am a bit on the old side to be precocious for much of anything. It would not be precocious if I woke up grey-headed in the morning. It is not precocious for me to wear sensible shoes. It is not precocious for me to feel comfortable telling teen males to go home and put on a belt. It would be somewhat precocious for me to start collecting Medicaire or something like that, but not as precocious as I would like.
Bummer. I have missed my chance to be precocious. Maybe I should give postcocious a try. Like if I would actually figure out calculus or become a prodigy on the piano ~ could those things be considered postcocious? But neither of those things interest me. I will have to figure out something to be postcocious about but there really is no rush, is there? The longer I let it go, the more postcocious it will be.
*Who is she to talk? She can say “Bean” like Mr Bean in the car with Sabine, and make any number of odd sounds which she assures me mean something in Chinese, and yes, she is sitting here on the bench beside me as I type, and yes, we have a bench at our computer, not an office chair as I picture at every other computer in America and yes, it is late and my brain shut down long ago, and yes, Miss Language has already said “good night” and she “is going to bed” but she does not go, and now finally she has gone so I shall return to the body of my post up above.