Yesterday Eva whipped off all her clothes (a commonplace event) and jumped up and down on her bed—an activity with potentially hazardous results for a child not yet potty-trained. “It’ll be OK,” I assured myself. “Even a hamster won’t pee in the same corner of the cage he sleeps in.”
As day turned into night we cuddled up for her bedtime story, and I discovered toddlers are nothing like hamsters.
Three weeks later, and my Christmas cards are still coming back to me. At least the USPS was clear in its explanation: seems their length (dimension parallel to the address) divided by height is less than 1.3 (including square-shaped mailpieces) or more than 2.5. Kind of makes me regret bailing out of that MIT course in computational geometry. Who knew I’d need it every time I open the mailbox?
Early this week I broke out the animal flashcards to help foster Eva’s growing vocabulary. “Look, Eva. A butterfly.” “FLY!” she cried, always ready to tackle that last syllable. “Seahorse.” “HORSE!” “Guinea pig.” “PIG!”
Since then, she’s been running around the house, grocery store and classroom showcasing what she’s learned. “FLY! HORSE! PIG!”
I am really starting to regret ever mentioning the word peacock.
Last night I was stopped by a police officer on my way down the stairs in my own home. The charge? “Infiltrating the chateau without prior authorization.”
My dear husband, seeing how your Patriots lost, I grant you this one freebee. After that, your mancave becomes Chuck E. Cheese.