How's your Thursday going? It's been a long week, and I take great pleasure knowing that the weekend is just a stone's throw away.
Marissa has an early lunch supervisor meeting at school. Even though I have the studio door shut, I can hear her arguing with Miles about where he's allowed to be, what he's allowed to touch, and what snacks he's allowed to help himself to in the pantry. The answer to all of those questions are as follows: the living room, nothing, and nothing.
We had a small, amusing miscommunication about Miles yesterday. When I finally emerged from my morning stand-up, I found him in the dining room fiddling with several little jars of playdough. He had them proudly lined up along the window sill. He smiled at me so contently, that I assumed Marissa left him there in the dining room as a reward for good behavior that morning. Little did I know that Miles had knocked down the living room baby gate and helped himself to the playdough container. Cleaning up after him, we found globs of playdough tucked in all kinds of weird places throughout the house, including his Blackhawks fanny pack, which was zipped shut with so much playdough stuffed in the pocket that it kind of looked like a snake digesting a rabbit.
How do we keep Miles in the living room? Will we ever find a baby gate that's smart enough to contain him? Maybe we had just give up on baby gates, and instead constrain him in a straight jacket and tie him to a metal dolly in front of the TV - you know, the full Hannibal Lecter treatment.
Another story. Yesterday, I packed Rodney an extra special sandwich: peanut butter, honey, and nutella. Rodney ate the sandwich so enthusiastically that, when he was done, he unwittingly left a little glob of dark brown nutella on his face.
"The kids at school said it was poop," confessed Rodney. "I told them it was nutella, but they just kept saying I was eating poop."
That story struck a nerve with me. I took my retaliation in the form of napkin art.
"It's nice," said Marissa. "But I wouldn't stir things up. Rodney probably doesn't even remember."
Too biting for his classroom, maybe. But who says I can't show you, dear reader. I have a feeling that you'll appreciate the satire more than a bunch of second graders anyway.
Be kind to fellow man - no matter what condiments they have smeared on their face. Hope you have a nice Thursday.