Do you have these at your house?
Accusing Socks: dirty on the inside and dirty on the outside.
I can’t help but feel this reflects badly on me.
Twice.
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Our little island’s local pool hosted a holiday fundraiser carnival last night. I was hoping it was to raise money for the half-built steamroom currently filled with boxes, but I’m afraid it might have been for kickboards or other items actual swimmers use. Instead of something a stressed out parent could run to on a cold winter night.
When is there a fundraiser for the fat, lazy parents?!
Anyways, Santa came on a sleigh/canoe with swimming reindeers, all very cute. They offered games for kids, like rubber duckie races in the lazy river and bobbing for apples in the toddler pee-pee pool. Post-carnival mouthwash, not included.
But what most surprised me, as a first-timer to this event, was the fishing game, which had real fish in a separate pond (not the pool!) for kids to net. Then they handed them to the kids in baggies to take home. Try telling your kid “no fish” after she sees 42 kids in wet swimsuits running around with bags of jiggling, stressed out fish.
Thanks, pool people. Thank you SO much.
I think I can speak on behalf of most of the parents in attendance by saying: Bite Rocks.
Lest you think they were being irresponsible, the pet shop donating the fish DID include a short note of how to care for the fish you never wanted in the first place. Which described the warmth of the room (70 degrees! not so free a fish after that heating bill!) and the water, what type of fish food to use instead of crushed Wheat Thins, I guess, how many gallons the fish needs to feel happy, not including the fish therapy necessary after being terrorized at the pool carnival, all of which happens to be for sale at ………ta da, their shop!
Nice donation, eh?
So, after I put Kid to bed, I turn to my local, late night vet for advice: Dr. Googlefish. I read up on how to put a new fish in a tank. Since we have no tank, I put the fish (gradually) into a glass mixing bowl and turned out the light.
Little did I know it would be the last time I saw him alive.
What the instructional note and Dr. Googlefish failed to say was fish jump. Judging from where I found him, pretty far, too.
At least, that is what I assumed this morning when I discovered the empty bowl.
And a stiff, dead fish on the kitchen floor.
Unless the Dog sniffed out the fish and flicked it out of the bowl.
But she said she was innocent. Besides, she said, dat fish was way too small and unstinky to roll in…
Today, I can only assume there are a lot of small, dead fish on our little island. And islanders are likely having individual, yet mass, funerals everywhere. If you listen carefully you may hear the final sounds of the ceremonies:
KA-FLUSH!
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If your life is even more boring than mine and you’ve been reading my blog for awhile you’re a longtime reader of mine, you know that the hubs is a man of many talents from house projects to making sausage to building a smokehouse to smoking salmon.
He recently decided to trash the kitchen once again show the Kid how to make ravioli.
For the filling, he used duck, cheese, kale and some other stuff I didn’t see, but you can use whatever you like. Then, he put the Kid to work.
It helps if you never throw out stuff have toddler-sized spoons at home. Fairy ones work best.
Make your pasta nice and thin. We have this thingamajigger for everything you can imagine because the hubs is a compulsive gearhead with holes that you lay the pasta on top of, but if you don’t buy everything you see, you can use some other kitchen apparatus, like, the counter.
Once the clumps are in, you brush an egg wash around to seal the layers and then paint your arms and the walls.
After you place the top layer of pasta on top, you just trim with yet another specialty item and voila! Ravioli!
And, yes, that’s the total amount they made. We gobbled the entire amount way faster than it took me to clean their mess up in 5 minutes.
Are you making anything from scratch this holiday season?
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Now that I’ve upgraded my version of WordPress, draft posts I have from before the upgrade are dated “1969″ as the year written. All the rest say “2008.”
Time flies.
I would have been 3 years old in 1969.
What brilliance! What trendsetting to be blogging back then!
Those were the good ol’ days of blogging, being a toddlerblogger….ah, yes. Your only duties, blogging and nose-picking.
Now, I have so many more duties in addition to those two.
And blogging was much harder when you didn’t know how to spell. Plus, because the internet didn’t exist, the only bundle of tubes you could use to transport your message were used toilet paper rolls. It was time-consuming just to collect them, not to mention producing content.
We have it much easier now. Except for the nose-picking. That’s the same.
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1. an interval of time between the close of a sovereign’s reign and the accession of his or her normal or legitimate successor.
2. any period during which a state has no ruler or only a temporary executive.
3. any period of freedom from the usual authority.
4. any pause or interruption in continuity.
Origin:
1570–80; < L, equiv. to inter- inter- + rēgnum reign
Our country is in an interregnum now, in case you didn’t know, and the economy is not happy about it.
At our house, we had an interregnum recently when I visited a friend in Portland for a weekend. Kid was not happy about it. At least not when we talked on the phone Friday night and her anger contorted into a loud, weepy, swirling heap.
That was fun to hear long distance when dining out with friends. Then I hung up and ordered wine.
We both got over it.
Let’s hope our economy gets over it, too. Go buy wine, everyone!
Helps the economy and calms the ruffled psyche.
And as part of a healthy Sardinian diet, it’s good for you, too. Ask Dr. Oz.
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