Monday, March 27, 2017

Dish Woes

I'm pretty sure my family believes we are the proud owner of a magic dishwasher. I can tell you we're not. It's a standard Bosch, bought in 2013 when we renovated the kitchen. We have to load the thing properly, add the soap, push the right button, and wait for the cycle to finish. The kids are mostly responsible for putting away the dishes when they are clean, but I'm not sure they fully understand how the dishes get in there in the first place. Over the last year or so, I've taken some time to show them how to load the machine properly. I've even showed them where the soap goes and which buttons to push. They can run the machine. My guess is, they just choose not to.

And I have to ask why not? Doesn't the stack of dishes that piles up bother them? If this house were theirs, would they want me to leave a bunch of dirty dishes scattered around the kitchen? I can tell you, with certainty, that I'll be performing that experiment the first time I visit each of them in their new homes.

In the meantime, I'll nag like the kitchen harpy I am, and we'll just carry on.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Birthday Wishes

It's Tim's birthday. I won't say which one, but he isn't celebrating a milestone. (Although, shouldn't every birthday be considered a milestone? I mean, really, you made it through another year. That's awesome, right?) But he's old enough now (and I'm not far behind him) that I think, what? When did that happen?

I'd like to write something witty and wonderful for today, but I attended a writing conference all day yesterday, and I'm wiped out. So instead, Tim will have to enjoy this little video:

(I would never be able to reproduce what you just watched. Happy Birthday, Timmy!)

Friday, March 24, 2017

Countertop Complaints?

When we were getting ready to renovate our kitchen, Tim and I discussed what we wanted in a countertop. With four kids, several animals, and little time, we knew that we wanted something durable and maintenance free, and most importantly, one that hid the dirt that seemed to accumulate no matter how many times I wiped things up.

We opted to splurge on a quartz countertop, considering it fit all my requirements, so the man at the kitchen shop helped me narrow down my quartz selections to two:

I decided I would probably appreciate the contrast between the dark countertop and the ivory cabinets that we'd chosen, and hey, wouldn't the dark countertop be so perfect for hiding the dirt?

Fast forward to three and a half years later, and let me tell you, this countertop does a fantastic job hiding the dirt. In fact, this countertop goes above and beyond the call of duty. I certainly can't find the dirt. But I also I can't find the twist tie, or the splotch of chili I dropped on the surface yesterday or the dollop of chocolate pudding the kids left there two days ago. In fact, I can only tell how incredibly dirty my counter top when I either turn on the under cabinet lights and crouch to see the glare, or I spray the counter down and wipe it with the paper towel.

I guess I got what I asked for and then some, eh?

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Dear Student Starts, II

Dear Student: I provide notes for a reason--to make my life and yours easier. But when you email me with a question that clearly indicates you haven't looked at the notes, then you're shit out of luck.

Dear Student: When I assign an extra credit assignment, I would expect you to at least attempt to do the extra credit. I know you'll come crying to me at the end of the semester and beg for mercy, but guess what? You'll be shit out of luck.

Dear Student: I didn't think I'd have to tell you this, but we have a wonderful (and so easy!) way of looking up information now. It is called THE INTERNET. You can also find so much information about the human body in YOUR TEXTBOOK. You cannot come to me every time you're too lazy to look something up because I'll tell you that avenue is blocked and that you're I'll tell you that you're shit out of luck.

Dear Student: It is so nice that you received an A as your grade for the first course in this series. If I were to be honest, though, I'm not sure how that happened (and I have to question who your teacher was). You do not know what osmosis is, you don't remember anything about how a hormone works, and you sit in class with a look of confusion on your face. When I speak to you, I find that you're not knowledgeable in any of the topics we covered last semester that form the basis of this semester. I'd say, you're shit out of luck.

Dear Student: While we're on the topic of grades, let me reassure you that just because you received an A last semester doesn't mean that you will receive one this semester. In fact, if you spent as much time studying the concepts as you do complaining about how you did on the exams, I bet you'd be doing so much better. So think long and hard about what you're doing, and consider changing your behavior. Because if you don't? Well then . . . I think you know this . . . you'll be shit out of luck.

(As an aside, sorry for the profanity. I did not sit down with the intention of putting together a list of starts with a common theme, but you know how it goes with writing. Sometimes, you get to a place you never thought you'd be.)

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Fill-in-the-blank, IV

For this round of fill-in-the-blank (which come courtesy of S. B., of course), I've asked Aaron to help me out. He hasn't studied Shakespeare in school yet, so I'm curious to see how this goes.

All the world's a ________.

_______ is empty and all the _______ are here.

Arise fair _______ and kill the envious _______.

To _____, or not to ______?

My love's more richer than my _________.

I heard a voice cry, _______ no more!

We few, we happy few, we band of _________.

All's well that ends _______.

And here we are:

All the world's a meme.

The salt is empty and all the aliens are here.

Arise fair turtle and kill the envious ninja.

To eat, or not to eat?

My love's more richer than my potting soil.

I heard a voice cry, Cringe no more!

We few, we happy few, we band of lions.

All's well that ends quickly.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Table Six

(This post is a response to a writing prompt over at S. B.'s site. It said, "Write dialogue for the people seated at table six." Based on the pink flowers, I figured that table six might have been at a wedding.)

"Table six? Really? Doesn't she know that six is just about my least favorite number? I like four. She knows that. Why didn't she seat me at table four?" Meg crossed her arms over her chest and dropped into one of the eight cloth covered chairs at, yes, table six.

"Uh, Meg," her friend Bea said, "Don't you mean us?"

"Us?" Meg looked up, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "Yeah, us. You're with me I guess, so why not?"

Bea sighed. "When you asked me to come to this wedding, I thought it was because you didn't have a date. And that since we're friends, and we like to have fun, we could have a great time. But now . . ." Bea glanced around the dimly lit ballroom and felt the thumping of the music under her feet. "Now, I have to question your motives because . . . Is that really what you're worried about? That she sat you at table six?"

Meg shook her head and let out a breath. "Well, no, not really . . ."

"Because this day. This day . . ." Bea placed a hand on Meg's shoulder. " . . . is not about you. You know it's not about you, don't you?"

"Yeah . . . "

"You got married seven years ago and then decided that you didn't want to be married--" Bea started.

"I know. I know. I'ts not like you have to rehash my life for me!" Meg shot her friend a look that said watch it.

Bea actually stepped back and then sat down and leaned in to look Meg straight in the eye. "I wasn't. I was just letting you know that you've already done this sort of thing. This isn't your wedding. This isn't your party. This isn't about you."

"And your point is?" Meg rolled her eyes and sat back against her chair.

Bea's hand shot out and slammed the table. "Are you kidding me? That not everything is about you!"

A flush spread across Meg, but Bea wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. "That's such a cliche," said Meg.

"Because it's true, dammit!" Bea leaned in close to Meg so as to keep her voice down. "People like me have to say that to people like you all the time because those people like you have no clue just how narcissistic they are!"

"Speaking of narcissism. . . ." A smirk crossed Meg's face as her eyebrows rose closer to her hairline and she cocked her head.

Bea's eyes widened. "Oh no. Don't go there. I don't have the energy to think about him right now."

"How do you know I was going to talk about him?"

"Because it's usually all about you. But in those few times when it isn't all about you, you're talking or thinking about him."

"Pffft!" Meg turned her eyes away and glanced at the doors to the reception hall. She wondered where he was and whether or not he was happy.

"That's true and you know it," said Bea. "But let me tell you something. This is his wedding, reception, if you hadn't noticed. Not even two hours ago, he said, 'I do' to her. Not you. Her. You had your chance a long time ago, and you messed it up!"

Meg closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "You're right. I know it. I don't even know why I showed up today. Hell, I don't know why they asked me to come today."

"Neither do I, really. What were you thinking when you said yes?"

"I was thinking that I could show him how great I looked. How happy I am. Show him what I lost. That I was the best thing that ever happened to him and now, look what he has his hands on. A two-bit--"

"Okay, Meg. That's enough! Do I have to remind you that you tossed him? Remember?"

A dreamy look infiltrated Meg's eyes, and then she narrowed them at Bea. "You're right. I did. So let's just enjoy the afternoon, shall we?"

Bea's shoulders relaxed and she smiled. "We shall. We shall also hope that they serve good food."

"Amen to that, sister!"