Speaking of male ponies… did you know that Weird Al played Cheese Sandwich?
My town has recently completely changed where it puts police officers to check for speeders. They’re completely gone from the primarily minority neighborhood where I used to see them 3 times a week catching speeders in the school zone and they’re now at the entrance of my mostly white HOA and also on the main drag that half of the university people use to go home. It’s like they want to change their statistics to make it clear they’re not just targeting minorities in case they get audited. Or maybe this Ferguson stuff has stopped and made them actually think critically about how their practices negatively and unfairly impact minorities. White privilege is real.
After 10 years, I now eat grits and like them.
Cute DC2 story: Easter night, DH insisted that DC2 needed to eat some real food for dinner instead of candy, and DC2 (age 2) maintained that marshmallow eggs are real food because they’re eggs, not candy. Ze got so mad that ze took hir easter basket, marched into hir room, and slammed the door. Ze had angrily consumed quite a bit more candy before we stopped laughing enough to be able to check on hir. (At which point, I said one more piece, then no more and ze was ok with that.)
No, no, I haven’t found a place in Paradise yet. We probably won’t until 1-2 weeks before we move out there!
The world would be a better place if people who hate math didn’t transmit their hatred to the next generation.
ARGH. I hate the way no matter how many times I say, “I don’t know, my husband keeps the kids’ calendar” and “My husband is a better person to talk to about this” and “Call [husband] 1st,” it is irrelevant. They always call me. Even though the reception in my office is crappy and I often misplace my phone for days at a time. (Caveat: the new daycare is very good about folllowing the instructions on the card about who to call first.)
Related note: Work colleague who has my cell number for work related reasons (coordinating meals with job candidates that one time), it was not ok to give it to your wife when she *already* has my husband’s number for play-date purposes. And I’ve told him (somewhat impolitely) that she should call DH and I’ve asked her politely to call DH and not me many times.
I got my haircut right before a conference in a fancy city. I suspect it makes me look younger and more approachable than my previous ‘do. College boys and middle-aged ladies kept striking up random conversations with me at the airports on the way home. It was weird. Smalltalk, however, seems pretty easy at the airport (and it’s always easy at conferences), which leads me to conclude that I just hate making smalltalk with the parents of my kids’ friends. I wonder what that says about me.
You could set up your phone to go directly to voicemail or not ring if those people call and then you would never have to answer ;) Ooooh you could make a custom voicemail message for them (not sure if you can actually do that…) that says “CALL MY HUSBAND”.
Usually the playdates text. At 20 cents per text for us since we still haven’t gotten around to getting smartphones or more modern plans.
If they call, they generally get voicemail because I rarely have my phone with me, charged, and with cell-phone range (these things are related since bringing my phone to work with me drains the battery as it tries and mostly fails to find coverage).
The nice thing about texts is that they are SO easy to ignore… AND you get the plausible deniability with ignoring it. Sometimes I send a text to my partner and like three days later that text is finally received while we are sitting next to each other on the couch. I actually tend to have my phone on me and often enough I will see a text while I’m working, but be busy enough that I forget it even happened for a few days.
I don’t want to punish my kid for something that’s the patriarchy’s fault though. (And I do occasionally miss some of these texts for days at a time because my cell phone doesn’t get reception in my office.)
Ooh, the comment about laughing made me — laugh. This (laughing) is one of the biggest problems I have with disciplining DS, i.e., the things he does that annoy me are so FUNNY that I cannot keep a straight face while telling him to CUT IT OUT. (Fortunately he mostly responds pretty quickly to instructions, though often in a t+1 kind of way, i.e., first he insists that it is completely impossible and unreasonable that he could ever or would ever do what he has been told to do, and then he mostly does it, henceforth).
I can’t eat grits yet. No me gusta. I’d prefer cops at a school zone than outside an HOA. I hate when people speed through school zones. In my experience, when cops go to the HOAs it’s because the residents have had unpleasant experiences and complained about a lack of police presence.
Well, it’s a matter of which school– in this case the school is in a predominately black neighborhood. I don’t tend to see them in the school zones in white neighborhoods, even though there’s one on my way to work on days when I don’t drop off the kids.
We used to vacation in the south every year when I was a kid, so even as a northerner I had regular exposure to grits. I love ’em plain with lots of butter, but I’m not a big fan of cheese grits. It was possible to find them up in Chicago at some restaurants with southern-food inspired menus. I haven’t seen any grits here in the Bay Area, though.