I have taken up being sick and angry as a full-time job this week. So this is what you get.
We got about as much snow as anyone did the other day, and now we can’t find our garbage cans. Usually my husband shovels, but when his back is out and the rest of us are half dead with our post-strep throat cold which we picked up in the hospital when my son got his tonsils out – – well, then we call the plow guy.
Being a hard-working New England girl, I always feel guilty about hiring a plow until I see the work that he does, and how it takes approximately four-and-a-half minutes. Then I think about how it would take us approximately four-and-a-half hours to do a much crappier job with a shovel, and I think, “That is what money is for.” He’s cheap, too! And nice.
In fact, after he plowed, he told me that if we ever wanted work done on the house (last summer he converted our old shower into a laundry area), he would be happy to do it at cost.
Why would someone do that? I’m seriously wondering. Does he just like being with us? Or has he secretly spotted gold ore in the walls and wants a piece of it? Or what?
was a huge part of my childhood, along with these things:
(On the flip side of the record was “Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport.” In this recording, they seem to have taken out the “Let me abos go loose, Bruce.” I didn’t find out until much later that “abo” was offensive slang for “aboriginal.” I always thought he was saying “elbow,” and thought it was an odd desire for a dying man.)
It’s funny enough when kids pronounce things oddly, but it’s even funnier when they used to say it right, but suddenly, for reasons of their own, start saying it in some new, strange, wrong way. Every morning, the three-year-old asks for oatmeal. About a week ago, though, she expressed a strong desire for “oitmeal,” and that’s what she’s been saying ever since. And the baby, who is 21 months old, started saying “hyelp” instead of “help,” for some reason. So we hear, in a suffering little voice, “Mama, mama, hyelp me! You come hyelp my sock!”
She has gone back to asking to “nurse,” however, which is sad. Originally, she said “nurse,” which transformed into “nurd,” which morphed, to my delight, into “nurdle.” “Mama, I want to nurdle!” And nurdle we would.
Relatedly, I’m still getting a huge kick out of having a baby who is still nursing, but can talk. She is something of a comedian, and likes to think of punchlines while she is nursing. Then she unplugs for a minute, makes sure I’m looking at her, and says, “Aaaa-OOOOO-gah!” and then latches back on, grinning. Or a couple of times, she was apparently thinking about Godzilla, because she took a break just long enough to say, “Grrrr. Aaaahhh!”
I think this machine has been around for years, but I guess it’s now smaller and available to the public? It’s the Thing-o-matic, “a ‘factory in a box’ that claims to create any three-dimensional object out of plastic in a matter of minutes.” You have to start with a 3-D schematic image, I guess, which apparently you can get with Google in some way. This video seems to show an earlier version of the machine, making a model of the Statue of Liberty.
Astonishing machine, but the name needs some hyelp.
I was behind a car with so many enlightened bumper stickers, I expected the whole thing to start levitating on a cloud of self-righteousness. The most egregious one said, “I’m already against the next war.” Excellent! I’ll be sure to notify the alien overlords, when they come to attack, that the occupants of that car are such fine, gentle, wise people that they do not wish to be defended. I also wonder if they are against all past wars, as well as potential future ones? Big fans of George III, slavery, and the Third Reich? And whatever that French and Indian thing was about? Bah.
I also saw another car that had the following decals lined up across the rear window: Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, Knights of Columbus, Rotary, and KISS. I think I’d rather be friends with them.
Saw another bumper sticker yesterday: “My other vehicle is my imagination.” My kids asked me why I was throwing up all over the dashboard. I guess I’m just sensitive to these things. Anyway, my 8-year-old son offered that, when he grew up, he was going to have a bumper sticker that says, “VENGEANCE IS SWEET.” His younger brother wholeheartedly agreed, and it turns out that the two of them were under the impression that personal and bloody vengeance is a thoroughly brilliant and moral career path.
It’s possible that our Bible readings have been a tad heavy on the Old Testament lately.