Semester needs to end soon: I am tired and want only to read Suzanne Collins' Mockingjay (after somewhat compulsively ploughing through Hunger Games and Catching Fire). So, you know, the brain is kind of mushy just now for someone who claims to hold a PhD in literary study. I justify the Collins-Compulsions on the grounds that she is a military brat, and thus a third culture kid, and thus I can write about her. Haha!
I also read the English department budget last week: that was a big deal.
Claraism du Samedi:
Me [to Clara]: "Are you going to go to The Wine Source with Daddy?"
Clara: "No."
Me: "Why not?"
Clara: "Because I'm too little to drive"
[Um: anticipating being designated driver OR Daddy road-rage fatigue? Hard to say which.]
Winton is potty training. Yes, I know, about time blah blah. He's doing pretty well, except for the massive crap he took in his pants at the playground yesterday afternoon, and the pool of urine in his shoes on the dogwalk this morning. We let him sleep in a diaper last night. Clara, age five, is well aware that it is more convenient to simply keep Winton's butt safely diapered. Eg:
First thing this morning:
Husband, lifting soiled diaper from floor: "Where'd this come from?"
[silence]
Husband: "Winton, are you still wearing a diaper?"
Winton: "Yes."
Husband [????]
Winton: "Clara changed me"
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