I have four stitches just over my tailbone. I will leave you all to contemplate, deeply, upon the discomfort this might cause a person. Say, a person who likes to sit. Or recline, casually. Or walk even. Upon my return home from the doctor's office I suggested to Patrick that we should lie on our tummies (I never really talk like this but I obviously feel like I should, otherwise why do I keep recounting my conversations with Patrick in Toddlerese?) and read for awhile. He cheerfully obliged. For about six seconds. Until he climbed on my back and starting bouncing up and down on me like a supermarket pony ride. Between this and grabbing me by the hair to give me slobbery juice-reek kisses and slamming my head in the toilet I think Packy and I might be developing an abuse cycle. He hurts me but I love him so!
Last night I made an emergency grocery run for cornichons. Cornichons are those little pickles that need to accompany paté otherwise it just tastes like liver- liver and mustard on French bread. Patrick is a paté fiend and I usually pick up a wedge of mousse truffée for him once a month or so. Unfortunately, even the hungriest little gourmand can only put away so much of the stuff in a sitting and it has a shelf-life of about a minute. Thus the necessity of my weighing in to dispose of it, and equally thus the need for cornichons. Tout de suite.
While at the store I also bought a fancy counter-top cleanser that promised to smell like Lemon Verbena but actually smelled so much like my kindergarten classroom I was overcome and cried for my m-o-t-h-e-r all over again. Most embarrassing. Oh, and two bags of Peppermint Patty Bites.
My final impulse purchase was a copy of the (weekly? daily? I know not) local newspaper, "W Bulletin." By local, I mean it reports on the monster suburb that is our neighbor to the west, the place where all the stuff is, like Target and Home Depot and every other big box retailer you can think of. I am new to local newspapers and confess that I am utterly, utterly enchanted by this one. What's not to love about the headline: "People promoted at Wells Fargo." Or "Travel agent attends event."
My favorite favorite favorite, though, was the reader's letter that described a poetry workshop held by a nearby Catholic school for their first-graders. Apparently, they spent a week discussing "the depth and reality of homelessness and hunger" and then asked the students to articulate their thoughts on the subjects through poetry.
This is great:
House is burnt
Out of the house
Mom said, "We will go to a shelter."
Excellent, we're here!
Let's go and sleep.
Excitement for all.
Um, so, do you think they really nailed the reality of homelessness or do you think this is just a cheerful kid.....