Life in the Slow Lane

Usually I consider myself lucky if I can remember somebody's name. I consider myself twice lucky if I can remember the person's name when I have known them forever and I am currently talking to them. So that is why I have a serious problem when it comes to monster trucks. Race cars, too. The problem is this: all monster trucks have names, all monster trucks have drivers who have names, all race cars have drivers who have names, all race cars have primary company sponsors who have names. If you hadn't realized, that is too many names. Bone Crusher and Grave Digger and Medusa and Steel Striker. Dennis Anderson and Tom Someone and Luke Someone Else. And Home Depot and Cheerios and Dupont. I think. It all gets very confusing.

A million bubbles swarm around two children. One boy chases the bubbles to pop them, the other, with his mouth the color of kool-aid, spins in circles. A dog stares at the ball laying at my feet, hoping that if he stares at it long enough it will fly across the yard. And the bubbles float away in the breeze.

I never really believed that young children frequently unrolled a full roll of toilet paper. I thought that maybe a few particularly weird children might do it, but not anyone I would ever know. So today I found out otherwise. My charge disappeared to the bathroom and was too quiet for just a bit too long. At least it was easy to figure out what he was up to. He was hiding under the table in another room with a trail of toilet paper leading straight to his hideout.

Just in case there are some of you who are interested in getting the complete list of things that can be accomplished while in a moving car and those which cannot be accomplished... Painting toenails does not bring favorable results. Although, the resulting painted toes provide an interesting topic to fill awkward gaps in conversation.

In my career as a student, I have had classes cancelled or cut short for the following reasons: Teacher illness Fog Community tragedy Four inches of snow Broken water main Terrorist threat Power outage But today, class was cut short by two-thirds on account of a... Telenovela.

Just because it does everyone good to remember, here is the transcript of a conversation I had today with a four year old boy. Boy: And then he has a sister who is two. I wish she came to my preschool. Me: Why is that? Boy: We CHASE girls at our preschool. Me: Oh really? Is that fun? Boy: (tongue lolling out and eyes wide with pleasure) uh huh! Me: And do the girls think it's fun? Boy: Uh huh. hm... I hope, for everybody's sake, that when he does catch a girl he refrains from the flattering remarks he recently made to me about the size of my rear, the stringiness of my hair, and the stickiness of my feet.

A new look.

My new grandson is so precious! He's a little chunk, with a full head of hair. I look forward to hanging out with him and getting to know his mother. I know, it's not the typical way of being a grandma, meeting your daughter at the same time as your grandchild, but there doesn't seem to be another word more fitted to the role. Besides, this way I can completely bypass being the maiden aunt with a potted plant in my purse and go straight to being the grandma with caramels hidden in my pockets.

One toe Two toes Three toes Four. Fifth toe It goes SMACK in Door. One toe curls One toe swells One toe keeps time for the yells One toe Two toes Three toes Four Fifth toe It grows, staying sore. One toe black One toe blue One toe makes this rhyme for you. One toe Two toes Three toes Four Fifth toe It shows battered score. One toe down One toe out One toe I can't do without. One toe Two toes Three toes Four. Fifth toe It knows nothing more.

I'm not sure I will ever eat a chocolate cake with the same nonchalance again. Why? Do you know what sorts of things they put in to make them super moist? Like mayonaise or potatoes or shredded beets or saurkraut I'm not kidding. After an extended time of thinking "ew" I want to know how these sorts of things come to be. I admit I am sometimes rather creative in the kitchen, but how on earth do you decide that saurkraut is the missing ingredient for your chocolate cake? Or is it simply a matter of having so much of an item that you look for any way of using it up, kind of like turkey after Thanksgiving? Hey... at the end of next November, do you want to come over for a piece of my special chocolate cake?