Oliver and I had another delightful bus stop conversation this morning. I edited out his excessive use of “like” though I did bring it to his attention.

Oliver:  Mum, when I’m in middle school, or maybe fifth grade, can I have a phone with Scrabble on it? I’ll know more words by then.

[For Oliver, "Scrabble" is really Words With Friends played in hand-off mode.]

I almost completed NaBloPoMo for the month. I think I have missed two days. Blargh.

The horrible headache I had yesterday almost returned today. (I teetered on the edge all day today but it didn’t break through. Not sure if this was a migraine, mostly because I’ve never had one, as far as I know. The post-partum ocular migraines I had after Oliver was born were pain free. Freaky as hell, but pain free.)

And we have almost a full fantasy baseball league. Tweet my Amish friend, @TwoBusy for an invitation.

photo courtesy daveynin

Massive reductions in Pittsburgh bus service went into effect today. Service on my usual route to work has been reduced, meaning longer waits and even more over-crowded buses. The route that quickly and easily took Oliver and me to his school is gone completely. Oliver rides a school bus most days, but I have meetings at the school early in the morning every week or two so we would ride together. There is another route we can take, but it means crossing a busy 4 lane road and a much longer ride. (I previously reported a bus change would be needed. This is not the case.) It’s not impossible, but it is inconvenient.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I have choices. For the fall, when Eleanor starts Pre-K but isn’t eligible to ride a school bus, I’ll probably start driving both of them in the morning. Mr C will bike or take the bus. New bike lanes on part of the route make biking a little safer, but it will still be a bit dodgy and I will worry about him.

I may be the one with the blog, but it’s clear who is the real storyteller in the family. (Film-making credit to Mr C.)

With all the talk about the new AAP guidelines regarding child safety seats, I wanted to share my thoughts.

In general, I think convertible seats are safer for growlers. This was a bit too precarious for my tastes.

March hailstorm

We had hail yesterday. A tornado was nearby. When the storms passed, Oliver needed a lot of convincing that hail was really ice.I finally went outside and grabbed a handful so he could touch it.

He required no convincing when the hail started and I sent him to the basement.

The problem I mentioned earlier is resolved. I canceled my registration for photography class. It came down to putting my kids first, and being a total scaredy-cat about walking home by myself late at night. A part of me still thinks taking the class is one of the ways I put on my own oxygen mask first. On the other hand, if it’s as much fun as writing class, I’ll end up being even more frustrated that I can’t devote time to it.

Before I went back to work in 2008, I predicted this would happen. I wrote (not here) that I feared becoming bitter and resentful and overwhelmed. Yep. Here we are.

I know bailing on the class is the right thing to do. It’s just another of those times when being a grown-up sucks big hairy donkey balls. (I’ll bet saying that won’t get me nearly as many comments as mentioning my son’s penis!)

Penguin Bridge

Penguin, our 13 year old Clumber Spaniel, has become a nose with legs. She is blind and mostly deaf (perhaps completely, I’m not sure). But her nose? Works perfectly. And since she’s in good physical shape, she has no trouble trying to climb on counters, or the sofa if a kid has food. She tries to get into trash cans too. It’s like having a puppy around.

Well, not quite like having a puppy. She’s much lower maintenance than a puppy, given that she spends most of the day sleeping.

I worry now that she’s once again the only dog. It’s a little too close to a dog-free house than I want to be. The last time we were in this position she was 9. It still scared me. It’s terrifying at 13. After living 25 dog-free years, I don’t ever want to be without a dog again.

We’re working on adding another Clumber to the family but it could take a while for the right dog to be available. It will be worth the wait, of course, but I’m still worried. Every day is another day closer to the day Penguin isn’t here anymore.

The older Oliver gets, the more frequently he reminds me just how much of a boy he is. When he’s playing sports, and sometimes when he’s not, he has what can only be termed “swagger.” And tonight he spent at least half an hour discussing farts.

He said something this morning that I emailed to my sister with the subject line “I can’t put this on twitter.” But the need to remember it is why I have this blog. So here it is:

Oliver, getting ready to play hockey with some neighbor kids outside:  My stick is bigger than my penis.

(thinks for a minute)

Then, with great solemnity:  Everything is bigger then my penis.

That’s the only word to describe my brackets. Completely. Utterly. Borked. I have one perfect region. The rest are a disaster area.

Somebody please remind me of this post next year and tell me not to bother. I beg you.