Driving to School: Our Morning Monologue

[Note to readers: This is a 3-minute excerpt. The drive to school, and ergo the full monologue, takes 20 minutes.]

The rescue truck. The rescue truck. Duh rescue truck. Duh rest q trook.

That's funny.

Duh rest q trook. Duh rest q trook. That's still funny. Duh resk u truk. Diego! Duh resk u truk.

La, la, la, la, la. This is Halloween. Today is Halloween. I am the shadow that creeps over the moon. I'm the one that hides under your bed. This is Halloween. La, la, la. La, la, la. Jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh. Hey. Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.

Mama, can you play Higgley Town Heroes?

Jingle bells. Jingle bells. Jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a horse sleigh.

Mama, can you play Flash Gordon. I like that song. I really like that song. I like that song. Can you play it? I like it.

Boop-e-doopy-doo. La. La. Fa-tra-la. Moon-ah. Bump. Bump. La.

Mama, candy calms me down. Can I have some more candy? I've only had two. Can I have some more candy? Candy calms me down. Can I have some more candy? Just one more. Puhleease? Can I have some more candy? It calms me down.

Trying New Things

I've always wanted a blog that was a little less template-y and a little more smab-y, but without any real Web design skills, I have to fake my way through the half-way house.

Some day I will persuade, coerce, or trade enough sexual favors to my loverly Bear to help me design a real site. (Yes, I have been asking. And sometimes I ask real nice like. You know, Real Nice Like.) He tells me he'll help. But he has to finish Ted's art site first. And then Ted's blog.

(Maybe I should be more concerned with what Ted is trading Bear for all those sites.)

So for now. I'm playing. There's a new banner up there and if it doesn't scream "amateur," I think we can all agree that it does at least scream. I'll work on that. And I've fiddled with the colors in this very inflexible and only seemingly yielding world of blogland. We'll see what I can get this baby to do--and maybe along the way I'll pick up the fine art of subtlety. Or at least something passable.

But for now, enjoy the Parade of Horrid Banners. And if there's a blogger award out there for that, please, do not hesitate to nominate me.

Reviewed . . .

Barry and I went to the opening gala the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art last night--another coup and must-see for KC. A curator stopped me to tell me he read this review I wrote for the Kansas City Star. Before he was pulled away into another conversation, he said something about me being "brave."

Not quite sure how to take that. Maybe you'll know.

Schedules Be Damned!

We spent the weekend with KiKi, which is shorthand for "Schedules Be Damned! We're on vacation!" which is further shorthand for no naps, late bedtimes, near complete spoilage, and erratic eating.

And not just for me.

We--that's Bear and me--are apparently firm believers in flexible scheduling.(As in: Be flexible! Now!) We believe children (re: our child) should be able to adapt to new situations--and new situations sometimes means that mommy and daddy stay up late "talking" and playing Wii, so that Finn, in the wee hours of his day (5 a.m.!), must fend for himself with copious amounts of early morning infomercials and whatever food he can pillage from my purse.

Sometimes that happens. And sometimes children need to deal. (That smacks of irresponsibility, doesn't it? I may have overshot.)

So part of the freaky scheduling means that Finn gets a little creative at bedtime, which is longhand for "tries to stay up late," in spite of our lackadaisical efforts. You turn off the discipline, open the purse, and they take a mile, don't they?

On our first night, I put Finn to bed while Bear and KiKi went to the store to retrieve "talking points." I read him some stories and then taught him how to go to Slumberland--you know, the spinning, the jumping on the bed, the closing of the eyes, and the subsequent spins that make you feel like your bed is about to bust through the ceiling.

I left him, eyes clenched, floating off with Nemo. And then, about a minute later, I hear Finn calling me. I should ignore him, but the Faber method never did sit well.

"What is it?"

"I'm back, mama."

"So I hear. Go to sleep, sweets."

"But I have something for you."

I enter the room,and Finn reaches into his mock pocket and pulls a pretend out.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"I brought you back a moonbeam."

So Long, Suki

Suki, our beta fish, died yesterday, sometime between his afternoon and night feeding.

We found him, rigored, on Finn's carpet, covered in carpet hairs. Suki had had his bowl cleaned the night before, and apparently the excitement caused him to jump for joy--an exburance that quickly turned suicidal when Suki found himself flailing on the carpet, unable to wiggle his way up to his digs.

We sent Suki back to the big waters. Finn officiated. I said an impromptu eulogy. Finn mocked sadness for about 10 minutes, then as he was brushing his teeth, I think the full weight of the loss hit him.

Finn had a fish before (Dash-cum-Sean), but never took responsibility for it as he had with Suki. He told Suki things. He pointed out where his pellets floated. He asked about his day. He lectured him on overeating.

And, every now and then, I think we all saw Suki answer, in his pucker-mouthed, fishy way.