Last week, Bob's class completed their unit on the American Revolution with a live presentation for the parents. Each of the kids was assigned a character. They recited biographical information and wore costumes. Bob was King George III and recited his piece with a British accent that I think he must have learned from Harry Potter. The assembly was three hours long and it was amazing. The kids were terrific and hilarious. I don't know how it's possible, but the three hours actually flew by. And that's, revolutionary.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Give Me Liberty...
Last week, Bob's class completed their unit on the American Revolution with a live presentation for the parents. Each of the kids was assigned a character. They recited biographical information and wore costumes. Bob was King George III and recited his piece with a British accent that I think he must have learned from Harry Potter. The assembly was three hours long and it was amazing. The kids were terrific and hilarious. I don't know how it's possible, but the three hours actually flew by. And that's, revolutionary.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
Monday, February 26, 2018
Rainy Night
It hasn't rained much here in a long time so when it rains it's sort of a special occasion. There were clouds tonight and it was cold but it was a surprise when I found out it was raining. I was on the phone with my friend while she was driving home.
"It's raining. I just cracked my window so I can smell the wet pavement."
After we hung up I opened our front door and breathed in. Wet pavement. I had been on my way to bed but now I want to stay awake. I don't want the rain to be alone, I guess.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Smacksy Sunday Links
Beautiful Practice Ground and a way to train your mind.
A biologist believes that trees speak a language we can learn.
Living simply.
The Last Bookstore. (We're headed over today.)
And heartbreakingly beautiful photos of endangered animals.
Happy Sunday.
Labels:
sunday links
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Saturday, February 24, 2018
Friday, February 23, 2018
Today is Windy
The tree closest to our front door has a wind chime hanging from a branch I can see from the dining room window. I noticed it not long after we moved in. Because of the height of the tree, I'm going to estimate that the chime was placed there when the branches were more accessible to the ground, maybe twenty years ago, maybe more. From anywhere in the house, I can hear the wind before I can see it. The wind chime isn't fancy, but it makes one of my favorite sounds.
Labels:
the neighborhood
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Four Week Follow Up
"Good morning, Bob! Your new x-ray looks great. How's your wrist feeling today?"
"It feels weird without the cast on."
"Yes, that's a very common reaction. We're going to move you to a soft splint. Do you have any pain?"
"No. Oh, and sorry we're a little late. My mom overslept."
"In my defense, there was a lot of traffic this morning between the bed and the coffee maker."
"Mom."
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Monday, February 19, 2018
Monday Metaphor
Labels:
hey batta batta
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Smacksy Sunday Links
A delightful trash can banana peel appetizer.
One simple shift to turn life into an adventure.
Adam Rippon's (How much do we love him?) stress strategies.
How to break up with your phone.
A beautiful orangery in the Cotswolds.
Stevie Wonder + Tom Jones + 1969 = Wonderful
And this man halts a charging elephant with his calm energy.
Happy Sunday.
Labels:
sunday links
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Friday, February 16, 2018
One More Week (Hopefully)
Labels:
hey batta
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Thursday, February 15, 2018
Year of the Dog
One of my girlfriends told me the beginning of 2018 had been
so un-impressive, she was starting the year over on the Lunar New Year. Since
my January-and-a-half has also been rough, I’ve decided to do the same. This is the Year of the Dog. I am completely
on board with this. Dogs are typically loyal, honest, selfless, and in our
house they are also always hungry and on complicated medication schedules
because some things just run in the family.
Today is the day of the week the dogs and I go for a forty-five
minute car ride to avoid the gardener induced panic attack experienced by Levi.
Or you might know it by its nickname: Thursday. As the guys and I headed south
on Atlantic Boulevard this morning, I noticed red banners and lanterns hanging
outside the shops in celebration on the New Year. I focused on trying to come
up with a word of intention for my new, new year. The best I could come up with was “better,
maybe?” which seemed not specific enough.
For a mile or two as we drove, we followed a guy in a brown
Hyundai Solaris with a bumper sticker that read “My other vehicle is the
Mahayana.“ An extremely simplistic way to explain Mahayana Buddhism’s deal is
that we should seek to help end the suffering of all sentient beings. Sentient
beings would include just about everyone I know and definitely all of the
animals. I often look for God in the voices of other people and maybe today, I was
reading a little God message on a bumper sticker on a dusty, compact car.
The last few weeks have felt like half of the folks I know
are in leaky lifeboats with the other half of us swimming from boat to boat to
try to help bail. In honor of the Year of the Dog and because I can’t swim,
let’s say I’m dog paddling from boat to boat and doing what I can. Sometimes
all we can do is keep bailing.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Haul
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Another Last Time Elementary School Milestone I Didn't Realize Was Going to be a Thing: Valentine's Eve
One of those this-is-the-last-time-this-will-happen-things just snuck up on me again. Nine years of putting together Valentines with Bob for his classmates is now complete. This year I may have forced him into it a little when I told him either he would be giving cards to his classmates or if he refused, they would each receive one signed, From Bob's Mom. He gave in. We finished them up in an hour. Nine years and an hour.
Monday, February 12, 2018
Pockets Full of Sand
Third base looks strange with somebody else’s kid on it. My kid is in the dugout wearing a hard cast covering the wrist he broke at school two weeks ago. The opposing team is from Korea. Their players are only a year older than ours but already look like men.
“That pitcher swore to me he’s twelve. He showed me his birthdate on his driver’s license,” our coach says. It’s an old joke that doesn’t exactly work in this international context, but the parents huddled in the stands chuckle anyway. It’s cold outside for daytime in Southern California and it doesn’t feel like baseball weather. The black coat I’m wearing hasn’t been out of the trunk of the car since a trip to the beach last November. I can feel sand in the pockets.
“Heads up! Heads!” A foul ball hits the eucalyptus tree behind the bullpen, scattering a few wild parrots. The next pitch, a fastball, hits our batter in the bicep.
“That pitch looks good on you, son! Walk it off, Number 12,” our coach says.
“Way to wear it!” I can hear my son call out from his place on the sidelines.
We applaud as the batter takes his place on first base. The old metal risers we’re sitting on vibrate whenever anyone shifts in their seat. I wish I had brought a Thermos of coffee with me. I’m out of practice. The last few weeks of hospital visits and doctor’s appointments feel far away but we’re only in the middle of the healing process.
Our team takes the field. Their first batter fouls it off straight at his coach who jumps out of the way and yells out something in Korean. We all laugh. None of us speak the language, but from his tone we know he’s asking if his player is trying to kill him. Like dad jokes, coach jokes are universal.
My son closes the field gate behind him and walks past. “How’d you end up in a cast?” I hear a mom ask. He explains that he fell backwards on his arm horsing around at recess. The day he fell, when my phone rang I could see the name of the school on my caller ID. When I answered, all I could hear was my son screaming in the background.
“Yikes. Well, you’ll be back on the field before you know it,” the mom says.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he says waving his cast and heads off in the direction of the bathrooms.
Labels:
hey batta batta
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Smacksy Sunday Links
I could fill a gallery with photos of this sweet animal napping.
Here's to all of you trying to make the most of a bad situation.
Neuroscience shows that your friends' brains process the world the same way as you.
Warren Buffett's daily breakfast allowance.
This sweeping trip from Mimi's husband.
The Walt Disney of Eastern Europe.
And humans hugging other animals.
Happy Sunday.
Labels:
sunday links
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Saturday, February 10, 2018
Friday, February 9, 2018
What?
Labels:
teddy boy
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Thursday, February 8, 2018
What Goes On, Levi?
Labels:
Good Boy Levi
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Warmer
Labels:
teddy boy
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
Monday, February 5, 2018
No, No Soy 90s Yo
Natalia Ariñez, 23 Years Old, Architecture Student (detail), 1999, from the series The Sons and Daughters, Tucumán, Twenty Years Later, Julio Pantoja (Argentine, born 1961). Gelatin silver print. The J. Paul Getty Museum, purchased with funds provided by the Photographs Council. © Julio Pantoja
Nope, that is not 90s me on the banners advertising the Argentinian photo exhibit at The Getty.
90s me was way too busy:
A. Leaving her pull-out cassette car stereo inside her Jeep and having it stolen bi-weekly.
B. Going to commercial auditions for various soft drinks - All Ethnicities, Melrose Casual, Be Prepared to Dance)
C. Wearing denim overall shorts over lace leggings with Doc Marten's and a baby-T.
D. Memorizing all of the words to Losing My Religion.
E. All of the above.
Sunday, February 4, 2018
Smacksy Sunday Links
Malcesine on Lake Garda, Gustav Klimt, 1913
How to be useful.
Excellent time habits.
Silence is important for our brains.
An antiquarian horologist.
This 81-year-old gentleman walks into a guitar store...
Kittens, a pony, and a capybara just hanging out.
Happy Sunday.
Labels:
sunday links
Share this : | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook Submit to StumbleUpon |
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Friday, February 2, 2018
Thursday, February 1, 2018
When Your Hair Spends the Night at Coachella Without You
There are those mornings where Your Hair behaves in a way that makes you question what type of rave Your Hair attended without you while you slept. But there is no good explanation for the morning Hair Bump That Will Not Be Destroyed. The odd little Hair pile that flips you the bird and will not respond to heat or water, laughs at you, not with you. Your son passes you in the hallway and says, "Wow Mom, what happened to you? Maybe you should wear a ponytail today or something," and you second guess your decision to leave the house.
But you leave the house anyway.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)