So much to share! Which requires effort.

Here's the week's movie review:

De Grønne Slagtere/The Green Butchers - Danish film about two outcasts that open their own butcher shop. Nikolaj Lie Kaas plays twins, and is absolutely fantastic as Eigil ("Nej." "JOO-OOO-OO!!!!"). Thought it was going to be gross and I even shut it off at one part, but I went back, and it was like a daunting-looking rollercoaster that leaves you with a giant smile on your face at the end.

Greenfingers - (I was in the "G" section at the library, ok?) Men in prison grow flowers. Total chick flick. Starring Clive Owens, who I also just saw in Beyond Borders with Angelina Jolie. Very nice with an '04 Pinot Grigio, a Darvocet, and a Lean Cuisine pizza.

Shortbus - thank you, Netflix. By far one of my favorite movies. Definitely the most sexually explicit movie I've ever seen, aside from porn, but the opposite end of the spectrum. This is from the Wiki entry:

According to Mitchell, the sex in Shortbus is often purposefully "de-eroticized" in order to "remove the cloud of arousal to reveal emotions and ideas that might have been obscured by it".

Completely true. The fact that the movie's first scenes are of a guy trying to suck his own cock are startling, but is paced so well that you find yourself looking at the characters instead of the sexuality of the act. Loved it.

There were some other rentals this week that aren't even worthy of a blurb. Moving right along.

I've had a boring week at work. After whining for approximately four straight months to TGLETSITCAFM about why he never made me breakfast, I made my own. Which took about 30 minutes, but still didn't make enough of a dent in my workday. The entire time I shoveled Quaker old fashioned oatmeal into my mouth, I glared at T and muttered "I hate you".

He said, "I know this is just some kind of psychological experiment where you just complain to me so much about why I never make you breakfast that I'm going to start making it for you just to make you stop".

I said, "Is it working?"

Then I showed him my new engagement ring.

He said, "Who are you engaged to, the guy that stocks the vending machine?"

I took the Kid to the Cradle of Christianity exhibit at the museum this weekend. I enjoyed the Chicano art exhibit upstairs much more. Then I went a little crazy in the gift shop. At especially dull moments during my work day, I turn on my ring and some techno music and have a rave break.

Speaking of dull moments that needed to be filled, the Kid got her first mani/pedi.


A fun time was had by all.

Beauty of the Day

I made this!

She never lets me film the fiddler crabs

Today we headed to one of our favorite parks - the one that doesn't cost four dollars to get into and wouldn't be overrun with sixty-year old rollerblading French Canadians today.

It's not that I think sixty year olds shouldn't be rollerblading. More power to 'em. But the orange tans, the lithe old bodies stuffed into nylon short shorts, and the idle chatter in Canadian French whizzing by at 15mph while I'm trying to be one with nature is mildly disconcerting.

There's a riverbed at the park that is filled with Fiddler Crabs - they dart in and out of holes, but will all hide at the slightest sound. As you near them, they sound like dry leaves, blowing across the ground. The Kid is usually in full-blown song by the time we reach them, so I never actually get to see them. The sun was blazing today, so I parked the stroller, walked a little, then sent the Kid back for it... and I crept up on a bunch of crabs, who were being fiddly and enjoying the sun. Finally.

The good thing about being a single mother is

Never thought you'd see this post, didja?

Well, there are a few things. But if I were to list them, you'd all be clamoring to be me, and we can't have that. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

Today's good thing is: You don't have to do CRAP on the holidays. You just have to hang out with your kid and be dorky.

Easter egg, shmeaster egg.

Manners, by My Kid

To get to the Kid's school in the mornings, we have to pass through a tollbooth.

Since my SunPass is out of funds and so am I, I've been digging out loose change each morning. This morning, I took out a dollar, and handed it to the attendant, with a "Good morning" and a "thank you". I got a "Mmmh." in return.

As we were driving away, the Kid yelled from the backseat, "What you giving, Mommy? What that?"

I said, "I gave her fifty cents. I gave her money."

The Kid yells back towards the rapidly disappearing tollbooth, "SAY THANK YOU, LADY!"



We've been on a "mine" kick lately. I knew it was coming.

When my father would play with the Kid, he would pretend to pull an object away from her and cradle it to him, and say "mine!", at which point I would whack him in the back of the head and tell him between clenched teeth to cut that out.

But lately, her favorite sentence is "Oh that's not yours, that's mine". Always with the "Oh". I thought maybe it was from the playground, when the teachers were teaching sharing. It applies to everything in our house, regardless whether or not someone is touching it.

"Oh that's not your shoe, that's my shoe". Nope, mine.

"Oh that's not your curtains, that's my curtains". Nope, they're staying right there on the window.

This morning, I take her in to school. She's sitting at a table, finishing her breakfast, while I'm putting her lunch away. It's Passover week, and she goes to a Jewish daycare, so I had to avoid anything with rising flour in it for her lunch. Her teacher, the beloved Miss Barbara looks over at her at the table and says, playfully, "Is that your yogurt? Or is that my yogurt?"

I whip around and give Miss Barbara the scary mommy look with one raised eyebrow. "Is that where that comes from? All day long I'm listening to 'oh that's not your car, that's my car, oh that's not your bed, that's my bed'".

The beloved Miss Barbara looks away, sheepishly, and quietly says, "Could be".

I'm pulling the Kid's lunch out of her bag. I spend a lot of time making the Kid's lunch - she eats a lot of soy, and grains, and cheeses, and organic snacks. Maybe I'm obsessed, but most of the other kids start off the day with a bright pink, sugary fat Dunkin' Donut, and have Lunchables for lunch, which have so many chemicals in them that I'm sure they'll still be edible (and I use this term loosely) in thirty years. I show Miss Barbara a container. "This isn't pasta, it's a quinoa and rice blend".

Miss Barbara stares at it skeptically and says, "That's not mine. That's hers."

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