Lovelihood

Last month we were in attendance at an Angry Birds themed birthday party, that, to this day, The Boy refers to as the best party ever. And the Angry Birds kick, which predates the party, has only intensified since then, culminating in his desire for actual little angry birds to hurl at smug little piggies. So we pulled out our homemade playdough and rolled out some piggies. In all honesty, though, they haven't survived the oven curing process, inards pooling out from weak points in the architecture. So, next time, we'll make a greater effort to find the stuff you're actually supposed to stick in the oven. But at least there was this picture.

The Thing for the Kindergarten set, it seems, is ownership and mastery of one of those scooters, basically a skinny skateboard with handlebars. The Boy's a couple allowance payouts from affording the basic model, and our weekend quest to find one at a consigment or thrift store yielded us a big fat goose egg. Which gives us a little more time to fit in cycling lessons before he abandons the entire idea for the freedom of non-pedaled transportation.

There is a donut here called a Pink Feather Boa. It's the Mr.'s donut of choice, fitting for someone whose favored drink is the Scarlet O'Hara. By the time The Boy and I strolled into the donutery this afternoon, they were down to a skeleton assortment of treats, and so a plain old non-pink feather boa was picked up instead.

Trapped in one of the hardwood slats that make up our floor is what looks, at a glance, like the returned glare of a crooked-snouted pig's face. I haven't given him much consideration since we moved in, perhaps because it creeps me the hell out every time I do. Like right now. Totally creeped out.

Me walking to The Boy's school, as I like to say, with purpose: 5 minutes. Me and Bear on our afternoon walk to school to pick up her brother: 30 minutes. Two-year-old strides tend to be inconsistent and meandering, slowing and veering for foliage and plumage and canines and insects. She resists hand-holding unless crossing streets and passing dogs. She stumbles, falls, announces her missteps and reassures with an "I'm ok". She tires easily, stands in one spot while I truck on, refusing her demands, then cries for me to wait up for her. Nearly two weeks into this new routine of ours, I'm still hoping we can cut the time down from nearly one hour roundtrip. And I'm also hoping we don't, knowwhatImean?

We satisfied Bear's hunger for tempary tattoos by ordering up some gourmet ones a while back. She's got no sense that these particular ones might be meant for mixing and matching up on ones knuckles (hers are too small, at any rate). She would like them all slapped en masse, some perhaps overlapping others, onto her belly, thank you very much.

Noodles with a smattering of sliced sausages and zucchini is certainly not the most healthful meal out there. And I could say that it's the kids' penchant for this dish that brings it back to the dinner table week after week. The truth is it's become a guilty favorite of mine, and should I arrive home off the late bus long after the kids are down, hungry and exhausted from a long day, there's nothing more comforting than an easy meal waiting for me.