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Monday, July 25, 2011

like the lazy ocean hugs the shore

Yesterday to church I wore my weird shoes that remind me of hooves. They're not cloven or anything, but they still seem animalesque. I asked John how I looked, because I always do (it keeps me from dressing too crazy for church), and he kind of looked sadly at the shoes and then said, "Good." He hates those shoes! He hates them even more than my boots. He says I look like a refugee from the eighties.

Our children are operating under such a severe sleep debt that they can barely function, and last night Ike came upstairs and woke us up to tell us that he had thrown up in his bed, which is a cool thing our kids do when they get really, really tired. Talk about an understatement--he had barfed on his shirt, the sheets, the down comforter, the mattress, and the carpet. I was only partially awake when he made his announcement, and through the fog of sleep I thought, "I'll just lie here for a minute or two, and then I'll get up and help John clean it up." I suppose you know what really happened. John has earned sainthood many times over for the amount of night barf and other effluent that he has cleaned up, and most of it I have only known about afterwards. He calls last night's episode Fibber McGee's Fabulous One-Acre Barf Closet.

I used to like only small-holed waffles and thought that the expensive flippy Belgian wafflers were a waste of money, but now I'm pretty sure I need one. This is how you can see that I am maturing: because my tastes are changing. I'm not so arrogant as to think I have all the answers!

1 comments:

All8 said...

John = saint.

I disagree on the Belgian waffle thing. Smaller holes mean a more equal distribution of butter and syrup, without making a mess of yourself. Plus they have to be nice and crispy, not over cooked of course but fresh, not soggy or floppy. Mmm, a waffle sounds pretty good right now. Thanks...