"Above the aroma of green that pervade's this waterway, I have captured the scent of the wild rose. It's fragrance reminds me of you as does the stubborn fortitude as it clings to the rugged stream side--it's roots just tickling the gentle lapping waves. The innocent beauty of silken petals protected by the sharpened thorns is but a token reminder of your strength and independance. One would risk the wound of abundant spikes but for one small breath of the beauty within. I would suffer the threat of mire to capture one fragile bloom to press against your palm, a testament of my love for you-the mother of my children, my best friend, indeed my wife. "
"I cast my damn tackle into this christly prickle bush."
We go through two packages of baby wipes a week during the school year. The school uses them to wipe hands and wheelchair trays and, of course, butts. When school is out we only go through one, but Husband (who does all grocery shopping) kept buying two. This in turn created an abundance of baby wipes. So after unloading the groceries and stacking two more packages onto the already abundant pile I turned to husband and said, "Are we stocking up for the Poopocolaypse?" Of course this brought much mirth and merriment to...well...to me. I amuse myself greatly.
Well the aforementioned Poopocalypse has taken on a life of it's own. Things such as this are being overheard on a daily basis:
"Do you smell that?"
"Oooh, I think it's an impending sign of the Poopocalypse."
"Where is (insert random family name here)?
"I'm pretty sure he/she's in the bathroom preparing for the Poopocalypse."
Or just random pronunciations at awkward times such as:
"REPENT-FOR THE POOPOCALYPSE IS NIE!"
So, yeah, we are that weird.
On another note that is eerily similar...
Cy Twombly died a few weeks ago. Our last name is Twombly and I've been told that my husband's family is related way-way-way back. If you don't know Cy Twombly, well you're out of luck. He's dead.
What? Too soon? Anyway he was a very successful abstract artist known for work such as this...
Yeah, I don't get it either. Anyway, with the heat we sometimes put boys to bed with just a diaper and sometimes they get tired of waiting for us to get to them in a timely fashion and take things into their own hands. The day of Cy's death, such an occurence presented itself and as I put the afflicted boy in the tub I hollered to Husband to please take care of the bed....walls....floor
Husband: "Is it bad?"
Me: "Well I think Uncle Cy left Matty his artistic propensity...So there's that...yay!"
Again, we are that weird.
Thank you for reading an entire post about poop. Oddly, it's not my first....
I wasn't a big fan of school. The math and science and---ugggghhh gym, hated it. If school had consisted of art, English and Home Economics, well I would have been at the top of my class. As it was, well I was somewhere at the bottom of the middle. Not because I wasn't capable, it was just that I didn't care about elements or wars or algebra. I'm sure it matters, just not to me. DISCLAIMER: To any teenage children that I may or may not have given birth to--IGNORE this post. Thank you.
There were a lot of parent/teacher conferences when I was a child. The school thought that perhaps I had a hearing problem, probably today they would assume I had a learning disability. I entered kindergarten when I was 4. At that point I had been reading for over a year. Surely, I was gifted. If gifted meant letting me sit in a room alone with a stack of books, not to be bothered by the yelling and smelliness of other children...well then I guess I was. But mostly I was weird. A shy, prone to bouts of unexplained tears, little weirdo, who read.
Then I grew up. And became...a quiet and sometimes socially awkward (I hate being called shy), prone to bouts of unexplained tears, big weirdo, who reads.
I read quite fast and usually finish a book a week if I'm busy-three if I'm not. I also passed these genes on to my oldest daughter. At 6 she read Harry Potter in two days. I'm pretty sure it weighed more than she did. Now I'm not saying any of this to brag. As with anything, if you do it all the time, you become pretty good at it. And I am so not a book snob. I like romance and action and young adult and mystery. I've read Danielle Steele and Tolstoy. I prefer Danielle Steele. My daughter prefers medical mysteries and fantasy. Our tastes rarely overlap. Until she handed me Harvest by Tess Gerritsen.
Tess Gerritsen is the creator of the Rizzoli and Isles series. The TV show characters bear little resemblance to the books. I definitely prefer the books.
On Saturday we traveled 30 miles to a small book store to buy the latest Rizzoli and Isles book and to meet Ms. Gerritsen. There were a million questions I was going to ask her. I have never been to a book signing and I have to admit, I was starstruck. She walked in through the squeaky screen door and laughed as she apologized for being late because she was stuck in traffic. She talked for about 30 minutes and was so very kind and intelligent and lovely and when she asked if anyone had any questions, well the concept of communicative language joined my mathmatical comprehension and I knew that if I opened my mouth I would just embarrass myself. But I did get a picture of Kass and her favorite author.
Which is pretty darn cool. Kass read the book Saturday afternoon. I finished Sunday. One book, two days--see I can do math. Just don't ask either of us to join a game of dodge ball, we'll be in the corner...reading.
I can't go to the auction. I don't have any room for even one more thing. Things have got to go. This is not a pretty picture.
In fact this is indicative of a very troubled person. I am having a yard sale. I am cleaning out this space. I am not bringing one single thing into this space until I have finished all the projects I have.
I started making a for sale pile. It is a very large pile. It will get much, much larger. I'm so proud of myself. I went to the Goodwill and bought a perculator.......wait....oh crap.
Ok, back to the task at hand. My pile is getting larger, I actually have a path in my space. Nice. I have to run into town for a prescription. I will not stop at a yard sale. Oooooh, I think I just saw an aluminum Christmas Tree....damn.
STARTING AGAIN, ONE MORE TIME...
Dig, dig, dig, pile, pile, pile...hey look a vintage Barbie Doll clothes pattern. I have to sit down right now and make Barbie Doll clothes. What?
LA, LA, LA, DOOP, DEE, DOOP, DEE, DOO...NOW WHAT WAS I DOING?
Holy crap, could someone please arrange an intervention for me? Saturday, July 8 and 9, 2011. Yard Sale. Unless this all collapses on me and I am buried alive beneath it all or I get sidetracked and end up making tutus for yappy dogs. I have a pattern in here....somewhere....