Habanera

Enjoy!

My Baby Can Read (well, no, not really, but she can talk about the pictures)

I woke this morning to the sound of Jenny's voice coming through the monitor on my nightstand.

"No animals in my bed! No animals in my bed!"

I thought she must be processing the way I kick the cat off my bed every time I catch him on it, and was throwing the multitude of stuffed animals off her own.

I was wrong.

"Good night. Good night. Good night. Good night."

Is she playing mommy and tucking her animals in bed (a favourite pastime of hers)?

Wrong again.

"All animals go back to the ZOO." Jenny chanted.

Ah, she was reading to herself.

One of the best picture books ever written and illustrated. If you have a tiny one, you should add this book to your bedtime story repertoire. And don't forget too watch the mouse and his banana.

Why I Haven't Been Here On My Blog Entertaining All Of You

I've been in the middle of a project.

Is your house as messy as mine?

Getting ready to paint the walls after finishing the cabinets.

Last night's mess still on the stove and counter.

One of many Disaster Zones

Disaster Zone in more detail

Drawers waiting to go back where they belong. Adding to the mess, of course.

Door fronts still missing. Painting accoutrements on the counter.

But hey, I have this nice new tile in my kitchen and entryway. If you don't know what it looked like before, believe you me, this is a GINORMOUS improvement.

Happy boy in the midst of chaos.

Jealous sister wants to claim the bumbo as her own. Good thing she's still a skinny-minny.

Satan's spawn wanting to come in. Sorry kitty. No stepping in the paint trays. And what a nice reminder this photo is of how dirty my windows are. One more thing to do. Sigh.

Your Answers Are Confidential

Or so I am assured by our government. But, remembering how the Navy lost a laptop with access to a database that contained all my husband's information a few years ago, and how they contacted us to assure us they were working on recovering the information but to prepare us for the possibility that someone may have obtained that information to potentially pull some fraud and/or otherwise illegal shenanigans, I don't know how much I trust that.

But, as my U.S. Census Form envelope let me know in no uncertain terms, my response was required by law.

So I complied.

I don't mind, anyway.

Why would I want to keep confidential my name and my race and how many kids I have? Pretty much any schmo could figure that out.

I am a woman.

I am white.

I am married to the homeowner.

I have two kids.

I declare it to the world, that this is who I am.

Yes, I am a privileged middle-class white stay-at-home mom.

And you know what? I'm happy to be me.

But shouldn't I be offended that I had to check the box that said "white" because they didn't even give me the option to be "caucasian" or "european american"? Why is "white" a politically correct term but "black" or "indian" or "red-neck" isn't? It feels strange checking a tiny little box next to a word that defines my race, as though that defines me. I may be white, but I don't like being confined to small spaces that limit who I am.

You want to know who I am, Federal Government?

I am sarcastic.

I am loyal.

I am loving.

I am guilty.

I am afraid.

I am happy.

I am shy.

I am faithful.

I am sincere.

I am content.

I am weak.

I am patient.

I am also strong.

I am also impatient.

I am also discontent.

I am also bold.

It just depends on the day and the surrounding circumstances.

But it's hard to find a place to put that on a census form.

A Funny Story

Jenny: Yahnt me tell you a funny stowey?

Shelley: Okay.

Jenny: They laughed and laughed. The. End.