Insomnia

I've got it all planned out.  Sting will pull me up on stage having randomly picked me from all the other front-center female concert goers to sing me a ballad.  Would Sting be this cheesy?  Probably not. And I'd be way to mortified to utter a word should that ever happen.  Anyway, that's not the point.  The point is I would say to him "We share the same last name."
Sting:  Blinks at me
Me:  Well, it's not really mine, actually.  My husband lent it to me.
Sting: Were you in need of one?
Me: Are you condemning changing one's name...Sting?
Sting: (smiles at my razor-sharp wit) Is your husband's family from England? Perhaps we're long lost cousins.
Me:  Not recently, but yes. In the 18th century.
Sting:  How fascinating.  Will you both come be my guests at my huge and lovely private residence?  You can stay as long as you'd like.  Please???  You're such an interesting person.  You simply must come.
Me:  Well, if you insist.
Sting: I do....I'll even pay for your plane tickets.
The music starts, his mic turns back on, and the crowd roars.

You'd think with an imagination that dull, I'd be asleep in no time....maybe if I read it aloud to myself a couple of times.

The Economics of Road Rage

Econ 110 was a dreaded class among my fellow college freshmen.  I don't know exactly what cause it to be so feared, because I didn't take it.  I wish I had.  Even so, I understand some basic economic principles and appreciate how they apply to my every day, but not necessarily cash related, decision making.  For example, I see the benefit in running a basic cost analysis in deciding between taking the kids to the park during nap time and staying home to fight for sleep.  

More people should take economics.  Maybe then they would behave more logically.  (Ha.)

I'd especially like to sentence the guy who cut me off in traffic today to a mandatory Econ 110 crash course (no pun intended).  This maniac in a Lexus SUV gunned it big to blow past me while his lane ended.  In doing so, he came inches from sideswiping me - and my kids - made me hit my brakes hard, and gave me a near heart-attack.  By the way,why is it always the Mercedes and Lexus drivers that always seem the most dangerous people on the road?  Does anyone else notice that?   I don't see nearly the same rate of crazy-driver syndrome in BMWs and  Acuras.  

The Lexus continued in front of me going at least 20 over the speed limit (I'm not exaggerating: he was leaving me far behind and I was going 7-10 over).   The guy was obviously in a hurry.  The funny thing was, for all his reckless driving, he wasn't getting anywhere faster than I was.  For three miles he sped ahead of me - hitting every single light I hit.  In fact, I was never more than a car behind him.  

If this guy had taken his Econ, he'd realize his risk/benefit balance was way off kilter. I took the opportunity to loudly point out this disparity to my children (and quietly hope there was a speed camera on our route).  They concurred with my assessment.  So, if a 3yr and 5 yr old can grasp that concept why can't someone who is making enough dough to buy a Lexus get it?  I know - it must be because I'm just raising economic geniuses!  .......Well, maybe not, but maybe they will at least be able to pass Econ 110 when the time comes....

The power of CAT

Poor kid number 2.  I pity you.

First of all, you, as kid Numero Dos gets squat alone time with Mom.  Numero Uno not only experienced complete domination of Mommy's attention for a couple years, but having become accustomed to such treatment still requires significant one-on-one time.  I think Goose had more books read to her in her first year than I've read to you in all your years combined.

Secondly, Mom is less enthusiastic about every new kid #2 does.  "Walking?  Great.  Now I have to bolt all the cabinets and get out the gates before you kill yourself."  "Do you really HAVE to feed yourself with the spoon?  You know I'm really much neater."  (These are never vocalized of course.  Really! What kind of mother do you think I am?!!?)

Thirdly, you get used everything.  Even if you are the first boy.  Why do you need tons of superhero action figures when we already have a bajillion barbies?  Use your imagination. Sheesh.

Fourthly, but probably not lastly, Mom sometime just forgets she has to teach you how to do stuff.  (and may be just a little less patient with you when she does remember)  Like how to write your name.  "What?!  You don't know how to write an R? huh.  I guess I haven't ever helped you do that one, have I?  oops."

But, the advantage of being the second child is that occasionally - if you bide your time, keeping a low profile and watching your words carefully - you can blow Mom's socks off by suddenly and casually revealing how much you've absorbed despite her benign neglect.

For instance asking nonchalantly while driving by a construction site "Hey Mom, why is that a "cat" truck?"

Bwaa?  You can read?!?

Ok, yes, it was just C-A-T.  And you were practically born watching LeapFrog videos.  But you really got my attention with that one.  So, I decided to test you.

"Little E, which word says 'ball'?"

However, you, my little cunning one, refused to be so obviously evaluated.  I know that you know you are pointing to the wrong word.  You thought you could fool me, but that smirk betrays you.  You know 'ball' and you know you aren't pointing at it.  Clown.   I've got you figured out.

And I withdraw my pity.  You don't need it, you're doing just fine.  Don't you see now, this was all part of my plan to teach you self-sufficiency?

Star Struck

            

When I was a senior in high school, I asked a local random stylist at my local SuperCuts for "The Rachel". Instead, I got "The Carol Brady".

I was stubborn and fought the hair for several months until one night when I was lifeguarding an almost empty pool. I complained about my hair to my friend Laura who solved the problem by bobbing my hair with a pair of blunt pool-office scissors.  The resulting bob was pretty cute, but I always wished I'd left my long hair alone in the first place.





I didn't learn my lesson, though...Here are some of the other celeb styles I've taken to my hair stylist:

 Looks great on my sister, but not me.

Did I realize curls in straight hair requires DRYING and CURLING it EVERY DAY?  Even still, the cut I got bore no resemblance.

I asked for Posh's hair, and I got a bob, but my hair ended just below my cheekbone. Stacking in the back?  None.

I tried for this hair, but the stylist did not tell me that my thick hair would poof up and prompt my best friend's mom to say (and I quote): "I never realized how much you looked like your brother before."  Siiiiiiigh.  As an aside, this cut did induce me to start wearing more make-up, feminine clothes and even pierce my ears (at least until my dad found out), so it did do good things for my feminine appearance in the long run.




I realized the big problem here is that I don't have a celebrity face to go with the hair.  So, this last weekend, I went to the stylist and using my old grad school ID, I asked for a repeat of one of the best haircuts I've had.  A slightly longer than shoulder length cut with just a few layers and a bit a face framing.  What did I get?  The Rachel.

Refined

European gardens always seem to have these little fountains. My neighbor has one in their front yard. It's the neighbor with the biggest recent addition and the little boy statue sits next to a large tiered fountain. The whole things is totally out of place for our neighborhood. But, I think they see the peeing boy statue as refined.

Little E must have realized our yard wasn't keeping up; but not to worry, Little E is an independent problem-solver. Rather than gauchely coming inside to take care of business, he generously made an effort to add a little refinement to our household too.

Thanks, Little E.

For Liz

The sun is shining,
The grass is green,
It's Spring!
Give it a ring!

Are you shocked I still remember the lyrics (and melody) to our old song?

The Wolf Ate the Brew

A short story by Little E

Once upon a time there lived a beg bad wolf that ate people. And then he shivered them and put them in his nose.

A crayon walked inside the house. He said "You don't have eyes!"

The crayon cut off the wolf's head.

The policeman saw that the crayon save the kids and grown-ups. He said, "You saved them!"

The policeman got a paper and it said, "You got them out of the wolf's tummy and you saved them!"

And the crayon was tired. So he slept on someone's head.

Spiderman came and said, "You are a hero!"

Little E wrote and illustrated this book in preschool this week. Just a couple of days ago a friend and I were discussing current literature and she commented that the key element for novels right now is a unique voice (think Death in The Book Thief). Develop that Crayon voice, E, I think we may have a best-seller.