Patrick's new art class is testing the boundaries of my maternal devotion. I am trying to decide how it could possibly be more inconvenient - Monday nights, dinner time, thirty minute drive, and then I have an hour and a half to kill.
So hello from a school parking lot and I'm sorry for borrowing your WiFi, anonymous stranger within a couple hundred yards of me. I didn't mean to steal it; my Mac just helped itself and the next thing I knew I was downloading email and now it seems like a waste to not write a mini blog post as long as I have a connection. What else do I have to do? Pick up the crumbs in the car?
Actually Steve and I have slight but persistent coolness between us around this very subject. He doesn't understand why I refuse to starve the children during our commutes and I don't understand why he's such a tool about the occasional pulverized Cheerio. Has he met Edward? The child needs to eat a little something at regular intervals or he'll just waste away; and as for Patrick he could be a poster boy for low blood sugar related hysterics and it is only by feeding him the instant he gets into the car that I am able to drive him home from school without banging my head against the steering wheel. Without an apple and something in a carbohydrate he is unbearably obnoxious. So I feed him.
A few weeks ago Steve came in from the garage clutching a handheld vacuum and announced, "There will no longer be any food allowed in the car."
I said, "Don't be absurd" and then we circled each other, hissing, until Steve realized that the only practical way to enforce this rule was for him to drive the kids to school in the morning and - hey imagine that - he has better things to do from 7:45 until 9:30. He said ok fine but you have to clean the car and I said yeah sure I'll be certain to do that as soon as the mess starts to bother me and he said grrruhh and I said I'm so glad we are able to agree to agree, love you baby.
The next day the children really enjoyed the Cheetos and chocolate fondue.
He hasn't brought it up since but I was amused (and irritated. but mostly amused) when we had my family in town and were expecting another ten people for dinner and egg hunting and I was getting a little anxious about finishing the food and finding all of Caroline's discarded underpants before our guests arrived and Steve chose that moment to go vacuum the car again. Seriously. My beloved sugarmaple, putting the passive in our passion and the aggressive in our aggregate since 1996. I find him adorable and he - no doubt - loves the fact that I eat croutons in bed.
So I'm a slattern and he's a tyrant. Peeves? You? Yours?
Edward has taken to wearing monklike hoods all. the. time.
Caroline was ready for the royal wedding
And although I would swear I have absolutely no gender agenda (agendera) and it really really is free to be you and me 365/7/24 around here -
I signed Edward up for midget basketball and Caroline is taking a tumbling dance class. Why not put them both in ballet? Why not a family basketball team? I... I don't know. It might be the tulle. Patrick selected her outfit including the wee pink slippers (not pictured. probably lost) and I was done for.
It is astounding to me that he only weighs five pounds more than she does. He sometimes seems like a whole child and a half compared to her little rose-leaf frame.