An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
The three-year-old to the nine-year-old: “It’s time to dress up! You will be the otter, and I will be the dancing guy!”
The three-year-old has dressed up as Peter-Man — apparently a cross between Spider Man and Peter Pan. Continue reading “Tidbits of Children Being Adorable”
It’s really hard to accomplish anything when all these dogs keep shoving their faces between me and my computer, mashing the keyboard and nosing the screen.
Sexism and racism seemed like such wild, out there, sci-fi ideas when I was a sheltered little kid watching Star Trek.
Wandering through a hardware store, having everything mansplained to me by my three-year-old who knows nothing.
The three-year-old: “I want to talk about something–” He spreads his hands dramatically. “They have BORGS in Star Trek.”
The three-year-old seems to have created a Star Trek/Ghostbusters mash-up in his head where he’s fighting Borg and ghosts. Continue reading “Playing Star Trek and Ghostbusters”
The three-year-old who pronounces ‘Christmas’ like ‘breakfast’ is trying to carol: “Merry breakfast, merry breakfast wherever you are!”
We’re starting Christmas in my house early this year. We need it.
The tree is up. The kids are under it. Garlands EVERYWHERE.
My grandmother spent the last week of her life trapped in a nightmare. This morning I closed her eyes.
Bonding with my three-year-old over how Kermit is our favorite muppet.
‘Christmas’ sounds like ‘breakfast’ when my three-year-old says it. Thus: “We can have the breakfast tree and put breakfast lights on it!”
In car at hospital, trying to make myself go in to see my dying grandma. Feel like I’m ten again when my other grandma died of Alzheimer’s.
Printing out manuscripts to take to my writing group is way harder if I get distracted while they’re printing and don’t notice that the paper has stacked too high, causing the pages to start curling up and then flopping down in reverse order, until there’s too many to do that so they start flipping over the other side of the printer to the floor, and then they give up entirely and jam the thing up, leaving me with a jammed printer and a whole pile of out-of-order pages in varying degrees of crunch-ed-ness.
My three-year-old likes to bonk heads goodnight.