Recounting the Off Season

We've not moved to Namibia or Neptune, or had the kids repossessed, and I've not had my typing fingers smashed by a meat tenderizer. Simply, we've been scurrying around the house after the blanket that Noelle won't sleep without and striving to feed the dogs at least six times a week. Lo and behold, it's now mid-June and the World Cup is occupying 87% of the parts of my brain not devoted to critical survival instincts. Blogging is one of those tasks stuck between blowing last fall's leaves out of the gutters and gingerly, but with determination, slicing off the tips of the dogs' nails.

Since that monumental day in February, Noelle and Lucas have spoken and swam a few times. I regret not keeping up with their expanding vocabularies, as we'll likely not remember in 2023 that this spring of 2010 Lucas went from "dump cuck" to "dump truck" and Noelle from "deuce" to "juice" to "more juice." (Still neither child can cough out a "please"). Both now walk with a certain level of confidence, and fall with a steady level of frequency. Lucas summons tears with little provocation, yet turns them off like a switch as soon as a binks (binx, for short) appears between his lips. He eats from a much bigger bowl of alphabet soup than Noelle, easily reciting his A's through V's and X's through Z's. Noelle puts out a determined effort but declares the majority of letters either A's or D's. (Since those are enough to spell "dad", why bother with the others?).

Next Friday, the kids board the bus headed for their Terrific Two's. They've given us their share of grief during the Oh Man One's; surely they can't pull more dog tails, draw on more walls and throw more tantrums and noodles than since last June?? I've practiced an angry fist shake, in case they dare get out of line.

In late August, NL pack their bags and head off to school. We've signed them up for twice weekly care taking sessions at the local Baptist church. (We've not discovered the Baptist faith; we simply discovered the baptist church is the closest to our present residence). It's high time they leave their mum's teat (the kids, not the Baptists) and go for dad's wallet instead. We'll expect results, in the form of precise recitals of Frost poems and accurate identification of a good number of Orlando's insects.

I should end with a proper concluding paragraph, but I'll leave it as a run-on sentence with little attention to form while I'm pleased to discover it takes a considerable amount of effort to write an improperly structured sentence considering the late hour and realizing I just traded five minutes of sleep for this. At least I was easy on the commas.