Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Get your motor running...

Peter and David went to playgroup today and what you see here is Peter on his hog trying to impress the bigger kids. He later interrogated one of the older boys doing flips on the trampoline.

'Hi, my name is Peter and I am four years old and what is your name and how old are you and where do you live and how do you do those flips and can you teach me?'

Normally, this is the point where the bigger kid would roll his eyes and hold up an outstretched and open-palmed hand in the universal 'whatever' sign. Today, however...oh, actually, today the same thing happened. Peter cried. Which is great, because next to run-on sentences, that's what the big boys really like.

I came home to find Grams and Opa watching the boys. Yoga Bear had gone to her pregno-yoga class, where they were going on a 'journey through your body'. Well, Angie's body must bore the shit out of her - she fell asleep. And oh yeah, she snored. Loudly.

I am no handyman and Opa can certainly testify to this. He can also confirm that I am not a mechanic, nor am I a good oil-changer, but that is a separate story. Every time he is over, I have a laundry list of things that need fixing. I take comfort in the fact that he is damn good at it and I am pretty sure he really enjoys it. I don't.

The latest job was the ceiling light in our bathroom, which mysteriously went out a few days ago. As we got the ladder to 'investigate' I was silently praying that it wouldn't be something like 'hey, dummy, you just needed to change the light bulb'. I did check that, by the way. It turned out that the insulation was covering too much of the wire and needed to be trimmed back a bit. I was relieved that at least it was not something moron-simple.

Opa is like Zorro in some ways - he rescues the day and then quickly rides off into the sunset. Ok, other than that, not too much in common. He does not, that I know of, wear a mask. He does not carry a sword. His name does have a 'Z' in it, though. The point was, Grams & Opa left shortly after fixing all of our broken shit.

After the Tool-Man left, I went to the kitchen to begin getting dinner ready. I know from experience that when Angie comes home from a tough Yoga class of strenuous sleeping and rigorous snoring, she gets mighty hungry.

In the kitchen, I notice an ice-cube tray drying in the dish rack. What the hell? I know that the friendship between Angie and the kitchen pretty much stops at the microwave, but ice-cubes? How freakin' difficult are they to make? Forget for a second the question of why you would take the time to wash an ice-cube tray. My question would be - if you have washed it, why are you letting it dry? It is only destined to get wet again, so why not just fill the damn thing and put it in the freezer?
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Davey the Dora, Boots, but I was Swiper.
David: When I went to playground mit Grams.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David and you give him the Smarties and then put the rest away and make Davey cry.
David: When I put my head down. Down be down go down be down.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: When I'm going to you with the pen to do something on the paper.
David: Ich color mit Mommy and my nuna.

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