Wednesday, March 5, 2008

What does this look like to you?

Beyond the obvious, does it look like, say, three weeks of groceries for a family of nine? A posh weekend getaway? 48 trips to the movies? It is a beautiful faucet, but come on! I've learned a painful lesson. When a friend advises you to buy your faucets on ebay, just sit down, make a choice and do it. Don't piddle fart around over finish styles and handle shapes until the day before installation. Because hardware stores don't stock Roman tub faucets. They take 10 days to come in. If you wait until the day of installation and beg your plumber for a place you can buy one that day, he'll send you to some specialty showroom where even the tiny sink faucets cost $250. And you'll be stuck. As I made this purchase, I could see in my minds eye a future time when we get to the bottom of our last bucket of wheat. My children will come to me, with hollow cheeks and imploring eyes. "Mummy," (insert pitiful Charles Dickens English accent here) "is there any more gruel?" I'll blink away my tears and say in the anguish of my soul, "No my dearest, you know we spent all our money on the tub faucet." He nods, and asks, "can I at least go polish it again? It looks so pretty in the light." "Yes, love. If it makes you feel better."

Puberty Watch

"You've got a zit, go pop it." Thomas commanded my 11 year-old at the breakfast table this morning. He perked up right away. "A zit? No I don't, where?" Thomas pointed out the offending pustule, and big L was incandescent with glee. "A zit! My first one! It's my man mark!" He refused to pop it. He intended to wear it as a badge of honor forever. Thomas finally convinced him that he really did need to pop it, and all kinds of gross discussion ensued. I tried to tune out their talk of how long to keep and what to do with the pus. I have to pick my battles, you know. When the actual popping time came, I was ready. First the pin. Then the squeeze. No, not like that, there's a right way and a wrong way to do things. Yep, you've got it. Welcome to the adolescent world, my son.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Monday, March 3, 2008

That's not a dog, that's his wife!

These are words you never want to hear coming from your child's lips in public. Believe me, I know. On Saturday, all the boys were piled in the van. We were sitting in the drive through at the bank. A man was crossing in front of us on his way back to his van- a van that happened to have a cute little dog hanging out the window. "Oh, what a cute little dog!" cooed my eight year-old. Out came the cursed reply, in a really loud, carrying voice. It carried his words out my open window, straight to the ears of the stunned man walking in front of our van. We were lucky he didn't do something rash. He just looked disgustedly at us, and went on his way.
Wit beyond measure may be man's greatest treasure,
but wit gone awry makes you feel like cow pie.