Life According to Me

Noah won a fish at his school carnival. You know those little fish that are really food for a bigger fish. Yes. Whoever is in charge and thinks it's a great idea to give a fish as a prize needs to be put in time out. First off, it's like the size of a kidney bean. Second.... It's going to die in a week. So....to try and prepare Noah for the inevitable death of Jacko (yep. named him just like THAT) , I had the circle of life talk with him.  I turned on my compassion voice and said,  "He will only live for a short time. But what a lucky little fish to have you to love him."  blah blah blah .  And without hesitation, Noah added, "Then we will make sushi out of him!" Bring on the wasabi....

A t two, Halloween should be fun. Free candy, and a superhero costume?! Screams fun to me. Noah pretended to be TOTALLY into it. He was to be a BLUE POWER RANGER. He told everyone. He tried it on whenever I had the patients to stuff him into it. He promised me he would wear it.... Oct. 31, 2005. "I'm not going to be a blue power ranger. I'm not wearing that."  Many seconds pass. I'm breathing. In and out....slowly. "Yes. You will wear this. You said you WOULD." Breathing.... Then the epic melt down complete with snot, tears and purple faced screaming, in refusal to wear the blue Power Ranger costume. Really . A package of iron on letters and a tee shirt later, Mommy wins.

ATTENTION UNSOLICITED ADVICE GIVERS: As you pontificate ad nauseam, know this; The lucky person receiving your insight may be nodding in faux agreement on the outside . On the inside ,  they are chanting "Please STFU."  And now you know.

I've had an aversion to the feline species since I can remember. Not sure I can articulate the exact reason why. Something to do with the aristocratic air they all seemed to possess. Like a yuppy with four legs who lounges in the sun all day. I'd announce loud and proud, in groups of people, " I'd rather have a boa constrictor as a pet than a cat , " hoping to convey my utter disdain for the creature. One day four years ago, this little, scrappy, dirty, kitten showed up on my porch.  "Go away. Shoo," I spewed at it. If the kids saw it, I'd be putting out that fire for  a week. He left...and came back, again and again. By then the kids had discovered him, fed him,  and BEGGED to keep him. They named him, the obvious, Oreo. Had I been a part of that ceremony I'd have gone with something like groucho (note the moustache),  but I don't like cats. ...right? Turns out Oreo's pretty alright. He comes when the kids call him. He likes to pl