Charities are so bossy

LIVE STRONG

 

LIVE UNITED

Quit telling me how to live.

Stripper names need not apply

Sam and I decided we should probably start compiling a list of baby names for our next addition - a girl this time. Last night we solicited name suggestions from our two boys. I'll admit I expected at least a little bit of consideration for something as momentous as what their little sister will be called.

Paolo's contribution: Mama Jr.

Luca's contribution: Yo Gabba Gabba

Considering that Sam's number-one pick is Summer, its' safe to say I'll be picking this name, too.

Mama's Little Comedian

As I dropped off Luca this morning, I reminded him to grab his Gogurt as he got out of the car.

He replied, quite seriously, "Mama, it's not Gogurt, it's yogurt."

Trying to make him smile I asked, "Are you sure? Maybe it's wo-gurt."

"No, Mama. That's only when I drop it."

Ba-dum-bum ching!

Eating dirt in the South

I made edible grass last night using shredded coconut and green food coloring. It was for Paolo’s class project; they are studying soils. In a clear cup they are making dirt layers out of two kinds of chocolate pudding, Oreo cookie crumbs, brown sugar, including gummy worms and, of course, green grass on top.
Some days, I would like to trade jobs with my seven-year-old.

Summer Runs On and On

You are belatedly on notice that school is out. Last summer this was a bad thing, as we socked Paolo away into a crappy daycare that closed halfway through the summer, and then begged our way into a decent summer program that he didn't enjoy because all the kids had made friends already, and I suspect he spent much of the day sitting in the corner, not to mention it was located allllllll the way across town, which took even longer to drive than it takes to read this sentence. This year things are going much better due to some better parental planning on our parts, and a better attitude on Paolo's part.

Speaking of Paolo's flaws (and I can admit he has flaws, even though Sam says I'm so protective of my children that if they killed someone, I'd help them hide the body, which is completely untrue, because they always find the body, so you have to make it look like an accident), he had a rough year with his first-grade teacher, due in part to his lack of focus. The other part of the year's difficulty was due to his teacher being a mean, old hag. What follows is an example of the efforts I made to impress upon Paolo the importance of concentrating:

Paolo, your teacher says you were not paying attention in class today. You didn't get your work done, and you had to make it up at recess.

[Deep sigh] Yeah.

Did you like doing work when all the other kids were playing?

No.

So next time your teacher tells you to do your work or you'll have to miss recess, you'll remember what that felt like, right?

[Pause] Um ... yeah.

Do you have any idea what I just said?

Yes!

....

No! [explodes with laughter] No, Mama, I have no idea what you just said.

Shortly thereafter, I gave up.

Apologies for the egregious run-on sentences today. I don't know what came over me, unless I'm always this way and don't even realize it. Maybe my endless droning is why Paolo has the attention span of a goldfish. Perhaps the poor kid shuts down out of self-preservation, because if he truly listened to every word I said, his frontal lobes would tie themselves into knots.