After listening to me sing, my 6-year-old said sagely to me, "If you get down on Friday, then you have to get back up on Saturday." I laughed so he kept repeating it, then amended it to add, "And boogie round and round on Sunday."
And my kids, being huge Harry Potter fans, of course wanted me to include this one:
We're still adjusting to Daylight Savings Time at our house. If you're reading this from Arizona or some country where they don't do DST, don't even talk to me. It's been a rough, cranky, tired week over here.
I have a funny Daylight Savings Time story, though. One year when we "fell back," I was running an hour late for 3 days before I realized the time had changed. This was years ago, when my oldest wasn't in school yet. We showed up at a friend's house that Tuesday at what I thought was noon, and she threw open the door saying, "We were so worried! Are you okay?"
Ironically, I'd been thinking just before she answered the door how especially proud of myself I was for getting there on time!
In commemoration of the Jewish holiday of Purim, my daughter's best friend's synagogue held a Purim Spiel over the weekend. It was a play retelling the story of Queen Esther saving the Jews, only super-silly. And I mean ruh-diculous.
They told the Purim story by changing the words to pop songs by Abba and Lady Gaga; the people in the story were dressed up like Darth Vader and the Wicked Witch of the West, and Esther was played by a man in a dress!
It was certainly a unique experience all around, but I think I'll probably never forget Haman (the king's wicked advisor who wanted to kill all the Jewish people) portrayed as Oscar the Grouch in full costume in a trash can, singing "I Hate Jews" to the tune of "I Love Trash." I'll never hear that song the same way again.
Phillip came home from a trip for work, and I walked into our room to find that someone had filled his emptied-out suitcase on the bed with a toy laptop, a toy cell phone, and other essentials:
|My preschooler appears to be preparing to run away from home. Should I be worried?|
The culprit was my 3-year-old, who's taken to carrying that pink plastic flip-phone with her in her coat pocket at all times. I caught her the other day walking around the house pushing the camera button — she told me she was taking pictures for my blog.
Look up. No, not at the ceiling. At the URL bar. Notice anything different?
When Unremarkable Files set up shop here in September, I made a deal with myself that as soon as I made enough money from this blog to buy it its very own domain name, I would.
This week I was thrilled to have my post "Why I Take My Kids to Church" syndicated on BlogHer, which is a paying gig. So I made good on my promise and from now on you can come visit me at www.unremarkablefiles.com (no more of this 'dot-blogspot' business.)
"No, not this time," I answered. (I was busy searching for the best price in a huge wall display of 7 billion pairs of socks.)
"Okay," she said. "You need some biiiiiiig pants, cuz you're a biiiiiiiig mom!"