First day of school

Tomorrow is Beaster’s first day of school.

Like most first-timers — remember, he’s never done daycare, only ever been here at home with me — I’m moving back-and-forth along this continuum with astonishing speed and utter randomness.

This post is yet another installment of “Graphakery,” an occasional series of fake graphs based on semi-real statistics.  Other fascinating topics I’ve abused with my MS Paint-style talents: to-do lists, clutter, boogers, coffee, shampoo, PMS, TV, irony, kids’ soccer and sunscreen.

A toddler’s “to do” list

Found this one under Juno’s pillow.  She’s at 50% for the quarter.

This post is yet another installment of “Graphakery,” an occasional series of fake graphs based on semi-real statistics.  Other fascinating topics I’ve abused with my MS Paint-style talents: boogers, coffee, shampoo, PMS, TV, irony, kids’ soccer and sunscreen.

Spelunking (now with added dinosaurs!)

P keeps threatening to install a kick board underneath our living room couch, to avoid the daily — sometimes twice-daily — annoyance of having to search under it for missing toys (etc.).

I’ve managed to put him off thusfar, knowing that an exhaustive tally would be needed first, in order to create this accurate rendering of contents:

This post is yet another installment of “Graphakery,” an occasional series of fake graphs based on semi-real statistics.  Other fascinating topics I’ve abused with my MS Paint-style talents: boogers, coffee, shampoo, PMS, TV, irony, kids’ soccer and sunscreen.

Plague house

Hey, new readers!

This post is part of “Graphakery,” an occasional series of fake graphs based on semi-real statistics.

Other fascinating topics I’ve abused with my MS Paint-style talents: coffee, shampoo, PMS, TV, irony, kids’ soccer and sunscreen.

On with it …

For the last week and a bit, pretty much since Seve’s birthday, we’ve been sick.  Juno and I with a nasty, lingering cold; Seve with some kind of gastritis horribilis that is taxing his entire system and challenging my own will to live.  If there is an orifice out of which bodily fluids can drip, ooze, seep or explode, I have wiped it.

And so it is that I find living this dream/reality/Helltrip:

A few things to note:

1. The angel had time to get her hair coloured and straightened, so I think it’s pretty clear that that’s not me, regardless of our collective health status.  Angry lady provides an accurate representation of my current level of my (deliberate, thanks for asking) grey.  Also how well I handle plucking my own brows.

 

2. When my patience hits critical levels I do, in fact burst into flames.  That baby from The Incredibles?  Based on yours truly.  True story.

 

3. The “Kleenexes consumed” curve approaches, but never touches zero.  That’s because there is never a time — there is never EVER a time — when I’m not wiping something off some kid.   Our old forest kill rate is unparalleled; the face of climate change is ours.

If you think I’m talking about you here, yeah, you’re probably right.

If you think I’m talking about you here, yeah, you’re probably right.