“It’s like bacon, but it isn’t.”
April 18, 2014
This is a tale of half truths and partial understandings. It begins this evening in Our House. A typical Tuesday evening by all measures. The Family returned home from work and school at the usual time. The Kidling got ready for her swimming lesson at her usual pace–glacial–while I pulled together a snack for the car. I finished, then went upstairs to see how things were progressing.
Slowly. They were progressing slowly. It was, after all, a typical evening.
The movement toward swimming lessons ground to a sudden halt somewhere between the tankini and the sweatpants. That was when The Kidling ordered The Dada to make some serious changes:
“Dad! Don’t take big footsteps because that’s gas and it’s bad for the Earth!”
I was momentarily perplexed. Then came my AHA! moment.
“Do you mean his carbon footprint?” I inquired.
Some discussion ensued, thereby further delaying the donning of the aforementioned sweatpants and The Family’s progress toward the door and the swimming lessons that lay beyond.
“I thought it was because of a carbon Sasquatch. Because he takes big steps and he makes gas.”
So, so much better than any other explanation I could have hoped for. Brava, Kidling. Brava.
“Mom! Can we do Adventure Fitness?! Go to www (dot) com!”
April 21, 2014
Our Town is a metropolis of a very particular variety: the college town. There are things about living in a college town in the middle west that I wouldn’t give up for the world. I love the small-town atmosphere where folks are friendly but humble, I love the phenomenal bookstores, arts festivals, and food. I love that when we sit down to Sunday brunch, my favorite author in the whole freaking world sits at the table next to mine.
Breathe, Mama. Breathe.
Of course, though I choose to live here (and, in fact, left the nation’s best weather to return), there are things I might prefer to be a little different. Not changed, per se. Just, well, um… modified.
The Kidling being The Kidling, she has observed and inquired about many quirks of life in a college town. I learned just how closely she pays attention when we were talking about a pretty little chair that I was re-homing.
Several years ago, I found a gem of a chair that I intended to reupholster, but I never got around to actually doing it.
Please don’t ask The Dada how many of those chairs we have.
I was telling The Kidling that this particular chair would soon be leaving our home and moving in with a graduate student. She was dubious, to say the least:
“Are they gonna take good care of it? Because you said sometimes grad students put couches on the roof. Are they gonna put chairs on the roof, too?”
I make no guarantees.