Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Ask the Tolerant Mrs, ask the beloved grandparents, ask the Twin Tyrants. I'm over feeding them and getting much too upset about them not finishing the meal. The plate heaped high with vittles that I've slaved over a hot stove all week to produce. Going so far as to rip strips of flesh from my own breast to feed them and calling it bacon. And then they have the audacity to cast a jaundice eye upon the meal, insisting that pudding or jello is now the preferred vehicle for nutrition delivery. When I was a kid we ate dirt, worms and rocks. And we were happy to have that! I'm trapped between a world of affluence, abundance, luxury that I have been half born into and half crafted, and the world that I knew as a child where you finished what was put on your plate because it was damn hard to come across and Mom spent all damn day baking that bread. Damn Good Bread. Bread made from the ground bones of those who would try to take sustenance from our mouths. Ask the Grandparents and they will tell you that I'm so full of poop that my eyes are brown of course. Truth be told, I think I need to back off on the quantity before I give the kids some sort of eating disorder. I'll still probably end up eating the leftovers and gaining a ton of ugly fat. Dammit.
Swim lessons. Gotta have them. Even if it is inconvenient. And so it will be. I finally managed to corner the new swim director with a barrage of phone calls and she fessed up: no more Wednesday Night Lessons unless they are private. They will have Monday night at 1800 hours though. Starting this past Monday. Thanx for the advanced notice. I had some interesting words to use but I kept them to myself. It looks like I'll be in the pool tonight. Pray that the Behemoth and Kraken don't pull me under.
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