So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

Meet the Fish

I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick and altoids.
I am freakishly flexible.


World's Most Beautiful Child

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World's Most Handsome Child

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Other Important Things

Clive Owen

Clive Owen
Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend


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Dither dither

I keep thinking oh, I'll just type up a quick post about x, but then I think oh, I can't post about x because a, b and c are so much more important and it will trivialize them to post about x first and then I haven't the time or the heart for a, b and c and so nothing goes up.

Screw it, here's x.

Owen is three. Three! He grew four inches in the past year and his feet are like cruise ships and he is the world's leading three-year-old Star Wars expert and he is exceedingly polite when he isn't screaming his head off and all of the sudden he is fit company for other humans and I am finding him so delightful that I can hardly stand it. Three. Man, I have so much to say about this amazing kid, maybe someday soon I will find the time and gumption to say it.

Mia is five-and-a-half and I have much to say about her too, but she is five-and-a-half and I no longer feel entitled. She's a wonder though, that kid, although more than a little challenging to parent. Not that they aren't all challenging, I feel sure that they are, but whew. I taught her fractions this week, because she finished her first grade Hooked on Phonics set (she loves it) and got a Star Wars game for her Leapster as a reward and was sobbing because it had fractions and she didn't understand fractions. What's a mom to do? Fractions for a five-year-old it is. She has her challenges, oh does she ever, but in her strengths (reading and, apparently, fractions) she is a thing of wonder. You know, at least to her mother.

People ask me all the time (really, all the damn time) about the secret to a happy marriage. And I always want to say a) what makes you think my marriage is happy? (it is though), and b) we've been married 11 years, check back in 40 and I'll see if I know. However. On Saturday, I started smelling this really awful smell. Chris did not smell it. And the on Sunday, I smelled it again. I thought it was in the kitchen, so I went to look underneath the bay window where things sometimes go to die and stink up the joint. Nothing. And then I smelled it in the laundry room, and then the bathroom, and then my car, and then the indoor pool where I had taken Mia for a (totally fabulous) birthday party. Chris smelled nothing, I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that I had a brain tumor. So finally at dinner, when I kept smelling the stink and Chris swore he smelled nothing I forced him to sit in my chair and sniff and tell me he didn't smell it, and he said... are you ready for this? He said, "No, I don't smell anything. Well, I mean, I smell you."

Blink. Blink. Blink. What? This smell is coming from me? This smell has been coming from me all day and you didn't see fit to mention it? And he said, "Well, I thought it was something you had put on or something." And then we had a fight about how he is obligated, as my husband and life-mate, to tell me when I smell like death. And then I realized it was my new cheap jeans from Target that smell like death. Moral of the story: don't buy cheap jeans from Target, and marry a man who is too kind to mention that you smell like a particularly ripe corpse.

I've been doing Jennie's Biggest Blogging Loser thing, and was even in first place one week, but that was thanks to the flu/dehydration diet. Anyway, I've been working out a lot (in fact, today is my first non-flu day off since January 3) and have lost some weight and gained a lot of muscle and disposed of almost all of my muffin top, which was my goal in the first place. I mean, I was not what anybody would call overweight to start, but I wasn't eating well and wasn't exercising and wasn't feeling good and I feel amazing now. And I keep telling myself I don't care how I look or what I weigh, which is mostly true, I just like feeling strong and stuff (totally awesome feeling). But when I was being lunch mommy at school today and another parent who I see less than once a month asked if I had lost weight and told me I looked good? That was awesome. Welcome to the return of my smokin' ass. (Have any of you been here long enough to remember that?)

Jack

My grandfather, Jack, grew up in Manhattan, Kansas. He went to college, then veterinary school. When he finished vet school, World War II was in full swing, and in order to get your diploma, you had to enlist. So Jack enlisted. They gave him a punch card to select his interests and skills, and Jack from Kansas figured he was pretty good at swimming. But somehow, he instead punched skiing. So Jack from Kansas went to Italy with the 10th Mountain Division, a pack of mules, and twelve other first lieutenants.

The mules all died. The first lieutenants all died too. But Jack came home. He came home to a sanitarium with TB, a new wife, and a baby on the way. The Army doctors told him he wouldn't live a year. He lived 65 years. And he died yesterday. In his typical style, they told us last week that he would live two hours, and he lived eleven days.

Jack warrants no pity. But if anybody out there is raising a glass tonight, please raise it to Jack. He would like that.