Pain on the Periphery

Driving in my car...the kid turns on the radio...

And it was Journey.  Now I am a child of the 80s, after all, so of course I still manage to hold on to at least fifty percent of the lyrics.  I start singing along.  The kid hates it.  I decide that today, just today, I'll not make a sound.  But I am going to act out the song as best I can.


Little guy:  "You're hurting my peripheral vision, mom."


And throwing caution to the wind, I kept it up for the whole song.  I figure on Monday morning I'll schedule an appointment with his optometrist.

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Little Buddy

Our big cat, Pug, officially has a little buddy.  He wasn't looking to have a little buddy.  He doesn't even really want a little buddy.  But having a little buddy is what's been forced upon him.

Now, the poor old and amazing guy has put up with a lot.  We're constantly bringing critters into our home.  What does Pug do?  Well, he universally snubs them.  The dogs?  Disgusting, but over time barely tolerable.  The rats?  Delicious-looking...and really rude of us to bring such yumminess into his house and keep them in cages.  The guinea pigs?  "I bet they taste like chicken."  The hamsters?  Well, sadly, Pug did find out that they, or rather one one of them, tasted like chicken.

And now he's had a kitten, Tommy, thrust into his world.  A world where he clearly reigned as king.  What does he think of Tommy?  "If I ignore you, will you go away?"  But does Tommy ignore him?  Not a chance.  Tommy is the sweetest little stalker that ever was.  If Pug is hanging out on a chair at the table, Tommy is right there on a chair next to him.  If Pug is walking through the house, Tommy is just a few steps behind.  If Pug is eating, Tommy is sure to be within inches.  That last one never goes well.

Yup, Pug officially has a little buddy.


P.S. Pug isn't really sad like this picture would imply.  I think he's just too proud to admit he's thrilled.  But maybe his crown is just a hair crooked these days.

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My Fanny Pack...I love her so!

Because I'm so fond of sassing it up, and because I really want to have my children driven to hang out with me, and because I'm all about being a trend setter...I am personally bringing the fanny pack back.  Yes, it's sassy.  It's the same awesome black and pink one I've had since the late 80s.  Yes, my children jump at the chance to join me when I'm wearing it.  OK, that's a lie.  And yes, I am personally bringing the fanny pack back. 

You know, it's one of those things that purely reeks of utility.  It doesn't even try to be anything else.  It's hands free, it holds stuff, it rocks.

And to complete my evening look (atop my delightful spandex), I've decided to attach a blinky light for when the sun actually sets.

Yup, sassy, useful, safe...it rawks!

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Lookin' good...Feelin' wimpy

So the young one has been totally manning up lately.  Not the rising to the occasion and taking care of stuff kind of way...a little, but that's not what I'm talking about.  I mean in the bulky muscles kind of way.  It's something to behold that kind of transformation that comes with absolutely no effort, purely built by teenage boy testosterone.

As he walked around the kitchen tonight in a muscle shirt...


Me:  "You are so good lookin'."


He looks at me, comes over beside me, leans in and...


Little guy:  "You have tiny muscles."


Hmmmm...not sure what the right response is, but I'm pretty darn sure it isn't "Thank you."

Might just be a good time to ask him to tighten his abs and let me sock him in the stomach a few times.  It's win-win.  He feels like a stud...I get to slug him.

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The Supposed Future King of the House

Well, sort of...at least he seems to think so.


Me:  "Your brother's beginning to make plans to move out sometime."

Little guy:  "Yay, I get all kinds of things and stuff."

Me:  "What things and stuff?"

Little guy:  Looks at me with that oh-so-familiar "Duh!" look.


Well, I didn't know.  I had absolutely no idea.


Hmmmm...perhaps "things" means "chores" and "stuff" means "the bathroom to himself".

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