When you go out West and up into the mountains, guidebooks and rangers constantly warn you to be prepared for sudden and unpredictable weather changes. It may be 70 and sunny, then five minutes later you’re up to your ankles in blowing snow. Then an hour later you’re peeling off layers and sweating under the baking sun again. This is what it’s like having a toddler.
Last night Baby Harbat found a two-year-old package of Craisins I’d bought for our rabbits. She gave them one, then helped herself. Before I even suggested she put them away, she made her usual defense gambit: run for it. So I decided to let her eat them—dinner could wait. We sat together in her room eating Craisins and laughing while we bounced a balloon around. It was one of those family moments you see in slo-mo on TV ads about greeting cards or the benefits of a heat pump or something. Then I suggested she close up the package so we could go have dinner. Just like that the magic was over. For the next ten minutes she wailed and threw herself down on the ground, following me around the house to be sure I witnessed it. I didn’t give in, and instead put on my jacket and weathered the storm. Sure enough, after five more minutes, the sun came out and she was all smiles again. Be prepared.
Is Tim Burton married to Helena Bonham Carter? In my dream last night they were married and making a movie together while I watched. She was doing her usual I’m-a-creepy-goth-that-giggles-and-wiggles-her-fingers-while-saying-boo schtick. Except then she whined to Tim that she wanted to have her operation, why wouldn’t he pay for it? At which point she unhinged her jaw and pulled out a brain covered in goopy viscera, that had its own mouth and sharp teeth. Brain mouth moaned and she pointed to a lumpy mass in her brain that looked like something you’d pull from a drainpipe: black matted greasy hair and indescribable drippings. Charming, Helena. You’ve outdone yourself.
This weekend I’m going to be trying out some new breads I’ve thought up. One will be a festive holiday bread, and if I get the time, I’ll also try a savory bread to match up with hearty stews. Or I may just flake out and watch TV. Hey, I live in SoCal now, I have an excuse!
Writer, architect, father, husband.
That's what makes having a 2 yr. old such a wonderful adventure–it keeps changing. Where was Pliget all this time? Why didn't he come to the rescue? And what did you eat–or smoke–before you hit the sack last night? Spicy food, me thinks. Yikes!