cARTer

Affable monster?



No, silly. Garbage can eating a box.

Art imitates life

No, it doesn't make me happy to admit it, but the truth is irrefutable: he's cuter than I am, and a much better dancer, to boot. Video evidence can be found here. Sigh.

Thank goodness the muppers have inherited his natural rhythm and grace. See for yourselves.

Julia Childcare

It's a pretty simple process, although I rarely have cause to practice it in my underutilized kitchen.

You crack the egg into two neat halves and carefully shift the contents to one half. Then you pour it back and forth, from one half of the shell to another, allowing the white to dribble out while keeping the yolk intact. Back and forth, back and forth, until all of the white has drained away and you're left with one perfect, shimmering yolk: it only takes a few seconds.

That's how you separate an egg. How, though, do you separate a hysterically sobbing two-year-old from his frazzled mother, who only wants (no: needs) twenty minutes of solitude on a treadmill at the neighborhood YMCA?

Cooking is, I am told, really not that difficult. Mothering, on the other hand...

Scraping the bottom

I'm days behind on laundry and can't possibly bring myself to face the arduous task of shopping for new clothes that fit. So in an act of desperation, I just unearthed a pair of old capri pants for an afternoon outing with the muppers.

For the record, I'll confess that I must have been feeling optimistic when I purchased said pants, because I distinctly recall that they were snug back then. But today? Today, that zipper was my nemesis.

Naturally, I did what any girl in this position would do: I flopped backwards onto the bed, and fought (with a grimace and a grunt) to zip that sucker up. I'd finally succeeded when, from the foot of the bed, I heard a wee, sweet voice pipe, "Mommy, mommy! Wake up! Wake up, and let's go to the park."

So I sat up, made a show of yawning and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes for my pint-sized audience, and waddled to the door. Because some things, they really don't need to know.

Sweepin' the clouds away

Today's post is brought to you by the number ten. Because, to the best of my knowledge, no one ever produced a video extolling the fun and frivolity of the number thirty-seven. Although this comes pretty close, I guess.

Anyway. Enjoy this gem from the '70s, and the earworm that no doubt ensues. You're welcome.