Bibliomama

AGH! It's 12:02. I swore to myself I'd get my BOLO post up THE DAY AFTER. But I keep procrastinating. Because Zarah and the kids are leaving tomorrow and we're all sad, and we had to sit outside and drink grapefruit Woody's and read one last chapter of Harry Potter and the kids had to pile onto each other one last time and squirm around and scream that they were being squished and someone was farting on them, and we had to go Go-Karting and revel in how goofy we looked in our helmets. And we practically had to stage an Opening Ceremony for the coconut yogurt that Eve LOVES but I haven't been able to find at Farm Boy for MONTHS, and fortunately I bought two containers because she and Alex finished one before supper. It was so sweet how Alex, who was in the kitchen when I unpacked the grocery bags, saw the container and immediately asked if he could take it upstairs to show Eve. Followed shortly by loud, excited shrieks from upstairs (yeah, we don't get ou

That doesn't make any sense, just go with it. My friend Zarah is in town for the week with her two kids and I'm blogging lazily with sun-addled senses and usually after a drink or two. We've decided to eschew cultural events this year, not because the kids don't like them - they're chomping at the bit to hit some museums - just because this week we DON'T FEEL LIKE IT. So we convinced the kids that this year we'll just eat ice cream every day. And walk around the market. And eat fistfuls of baby carrots. And play in the sandbox. And get pedicures (we gave Alex Eve's ipod touch to make the wait less arduous). And watch Angus hit home runs over the fence (in his first game of the season, thank you very much). And drive go karts. The kids have retaliated against our museum moratorium by making a truly dreadful horror/comedy film, consisting of Alex shooting both girls with a nerf gun and Eve saying "oh my gosh" a lot - Quentin Tarantino it

Never mind hauling them off to the Hague. Just send them on a fifth grade field trip that takes place an hour away from the school. And make them ride the school bus. Three classes. Twenty-five kids each. Three kids to a seat, when they're mostly too big to fit three to a seat, so they squirm and elbow each other and spill into the aisles and drop their water bottles, which roll under the seats, and then they try to climb under the seats to get them. A daytime high of forty-one degrees Celsius with the humidex. A bus with a non-existent suspension so your forty-year-old tailbone meets the seat with punishing force over and over and over. Five girls shrieking Justin Bieber songs directly behind your head. And that one kid whose face is somehow just really annoying. It was Hell, manifested on earth. The field trip itself wasn't bad, although I invariably volunteer for field trips, hope desperately not to be picked, get picked and wonder why the hell I keep volunteering fo