The necessary background:
My parents watch our son for us while we are at work during the day. They live in the country and have many neighbors with farm animals. They frequently take walks with our son to visit the animals and they know many of them by name, including a cow named Grace.
The story:
A few days ago we were going through the normal bedtime routine for our two-year-old. One of the last things we do is say bed-time prayers. It was my husband’s turn to pray (we switch off) and he said something along the lines of, “and we thank You for Your grace…” Our son interjected, “grace go?” which is his way of asking where something is, in this case, grace. My husband stopped mid-prayer to try to explain God’s grace and how it works to forgive our sins to a toddler. Deacon listened attentively. I don’t know how my husband felt, but I felt pretty pleased with the reception he was getting and I was thinking that maybe some of it was getting through. …Until my husband finished and Deacon said, “Grace is a COW.”
And we couldn’t argue with that. Yes, yes, she is. And now he probably thinks she can forgive our sins AND chew her cud.
I cannot help but love how literal kids are.
1. dear caller,
don't call me and then ask if you can put me on hold. no, you can't. YOU called ME.
2. dear person,
when i can smell your perfume outside at 10 yards away upwind, chances are you're putting too much on.
Until yesterday, I had no idea what a fine line there was between courteous and creepy for grocery store baggers.
Courteous
Male Bagger (mid 30's):
"Can I help you out with your groceries?"
Me:
"No, thank you."
Creepy
Male Bagger (mid-30's)
"Are you sure? I'd really like to help you out."
Me:
(Hmmm, let me think: Am I sure that I don't want a creepy man walking me out to my car trying to make conversation with me for ten excruciating minutes while I pray he doesn't say, or do, anything else creepy that forces me to wave the wedding ring on my hand in front of his face or pull the mace out of my purse. That's a tough one.)
"Yes, I'm really sure. No, thank you."
The fact that I can see cellulite on Selena Gomez' leg here DELIGHTS me.
I bought this Onna Erlich handbag on Monday. I bought it partly because my current black handbag is over 5 years old, I've been wanting a new one forever and I was able to get this for 70% off, partly because I'm back at work now after my customary month off in the summer and I needed the boost to my morale and partly, because I can't help but feel that it's going to revolutionize my life and make all my dreams come true. (I don't feel like this is too much to ask from a purse that normally retails for $650. Who's with me?)
We have been locked in a battle with our cat, Griffin, since the day we brought our son home from the hospital. It’s unclear, at this point, who is winning, although I suspect it isn’t us. Griffin has always been a “talker”. Yes, occasionally it was too much, but not very often. And he would run to greet me at the door when I got home from work and then snuggle up next to me on the couch while I read in the evenings. He loved his tummy rubbed and would chirp his happiness. So what if he occasionally became anxious about a change to his schedule and would lick a bald spot on the inside of one of his back legs. I would regal co-workers with tales of my neurotic cat. They would chuckle and I would shake my head in mock aggravation. Then, we had a baby…and taking an immediate, and permanent, back-seat to a squalling lump of swaddling blankets did not sit well with Griffin. His meows turned up a notch, then another, and another until we found ourselves whisper yelling at him to “SHUT UP” while Deacon napped. We kept telling ourselves he would adjust. People, it’s 21 months later and nothing has changed. I think we need to face the facts, it’s not going to. But, I’m not willing to give him up yet. He’s such a good cat underneath all that loud, terribly annoying, incessant meowing during bedtime and naptime. So, here we are still engaged in battle. This morning, I lost. Our house is very small. We have two bedrooms and one bathroom and our bathroom is located between the two bedrooms. I have to get up pretty early for work and Deacon is still sleeping. I also have hair that requires blow-drying. I can’t do this in the bathroom without waking Deacon up. So, since I went back to work when Deacon was three months old, I have been doing my hair in our laundry room (the farthest room from his bedroom). My hair-care products have been moved there, along with my blow-dryer and curling iron and a mirror that I prop up on the clothes dryer. Sure, the light in there isn’t great, but I’ve adapted. Unfortunately, the cat’s litter box is also in there and Griffin won’t use it if someone is in the laundry room. Instead, he’ll sit at the doorway meowing until you leave. In the interest of keeping my child sleeping, I always vacate and let him do his business. It works out. But the last couple days, his meowing has been out of control and I’m sorry to admit he’s been spritzed with the water bottle a lot. I think he’s been harboring resentment. This morning, he waltzed in there and took his sweet time to drop a load and then, barely covered it, leaving noxious fumes floating all around where I needed to be to finish doing my hair. Round #1,782 goes to the cat.
