tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45114764074827648912024-02-20T23:40:36.818-08:00BrainThingLife is funny; laugh hard....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-25060991564985020692014-03-03T08:00:00.000-08:002014-03-03T08:00:06.566-08:00Miss Informed Helps Again!I was recently asked a great question, and having promised to answer any that are posted in my blog's comment section, I am obliged to help:<br />
<br />
<i>To Miss Informed: please tell me why there are so many different health
"ideas" out there. I am almost 83 and still do not know what is healthy
for me. I hear quinoa is good and has more protein than meat, but it is a
grain and grains are not supposed to be good for you because of
GMO...any help you can give would be appreciated!</i><br />
<br />
Ah, yes, I can see why you are perplexed by the myriad of information currently available. So allow me to condense <i>all </i>the experts' suggestions into a single recommendation: do not, under any circumstances, eat food. I know this sounds impossible, but it's really a lot easier than you might think. (I wouldn't know of course-- I've never tried it-- but it seems simple enough.)<br />
<br />
Hold on, you asked why there are so many different health ideas out there, and I haven't even addressed that yet. (I guess Carolyn Hax's job is safe after all...darn.) But I think the better question would be "How can I capitalize on all these health trends?" Ah! Now I can help!<br />
<br />
What do you like to eat? Then link it to something wonderful about you. For instance, do you love salt? Are you slender and healthy? Then start promoting The Salt Diet! Provide your own testimony about how salt has kept you thin, trim and vibrant. Once you start getting the message out, your next step is to write a cookbook. (Don't worry about having good recipes, just make sure there is a ton of salt in them.) When someone "science-y" tries to refute your claims (they are SO annoying), just increase your Salt Diet posse and send them out into cyber-space. (A.k.a. recruit family and friends to blast these "experts" in the comments section of any negative articles written.)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KN6lrDZSj_wk54aX_GZRLVuBAN1e1gAAeFHzsPHf-wfKafAp737M5_b163dQ7yA8zUeRz68AbHsEj7662gPkJv1aXmP6o2hTcZMsbCBi2PSJr9hXestcVUYm2VAARubpmdSohlg-M0jA/s1600/Salt+Diet+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KN6lrDZSj_wk54aX_GZRLVuBAN1e1gAAeFHzsPHf-wfKafAp737M5_b163dQ7yA8zUeRz68AbHsEj7662gPkJv1aXmP6o2hTcZMsbCBi2PSJr9hXestcVUYm2VAARubpmdSohlg-M0jA/s1600/Salt+Diet+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proven strategies for a thinner, healthier you!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?<br />
<br />
Okay, okay, in all seriousness, I do have a personal stance on health ideas, old and new. Here it is: If God (not man) provided it for food (and assuming you are not allergic or intolerant); eat it and enjoy. And the closer it remains to its natural state-- meaning organic, non-modified, and unprocessed-- the better. But you know what? Enjoy some naughty stuff on occasion too. It's fun.<br />
<br />
Hey, maybe I'm good at this advice stuff after all! (But really, consider moving forward with that Salt Diet idea-- I think we might be on to something! And besides, mmmmmmmmmmmmm...salt!)L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-18849185436223963662014-02-05T08:30:00.000-08:002014-02-05T16:29:21.309-08:00Just Ask Miss InformedI'm trying something a little different today. I have a lot of friends who admire my wisdomness and awesome mother-like skills. I mean, a <i>lot</i>. So I've decided to share some of my hard-won knowledge by answering a few inquiries. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
<i>I've noticed that whenever I come to your house, your son's room is in pristine order. How do you get him to keep it so clean?</i> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUXNOSHuZY4LtC69uM7qFZ073uiYOPzJFIeB7eR4PVGohQoUO04mEvA6UyheZy8URjBnrBpm40gfTtYEbAElNmd7eOO12lX3kkdUMC3zYRvdXUpct7U3E_fkFjIapCsIVA3RQHVR6paYv/s1600/IMG_2851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUXNOSHuZY4LtC69uM7qFZ073uiYOPzJFIeB7eR4PVGohQoUO04mEvA6UyheZy8URjBnrBpm40gfTtYEbAElNmd7eOO12lX3kkdUMC3zYRvdXUpct7U3E_fkFjIapCsIVA3RQHVR6paYv/s1600/IMG_2851.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The state of LM's room, as we speak.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ah, yes. I hear this one a lot. It's easy, really. First of all, encourage your child to dump their belongings all over the rest of the house-- the more rooms the better. For instance, they should throw their shoes and jacket in <i>your</i> bedroom, stash toys and electronics in the living room or dining room, pile schoolwork on any spare surface area they can find, and fling their dirty laundry in the bathroom. As long as none of their stuff actually remains in their room, it will never become messy. Regarding making the bed everyday...well, I don't think you can teach OCD, so you're on your own with that one.<br />
<br />
<i>I hear your kids aren't eating sugar for an entire year. They must have incredible discipline! What can I do to get my kids to eat less sugar?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3h9H6QyANj1ypqMzIOclkH8Eecsvn2-PY6-gjtVMrk_H9u_lAd3HX9QKYenQ7Z1NvdopqpMCO8gfOC56SxMjRP1EyXezlZceseR3W1IGl7Qo3vr4KWg7_x3iip87gQpyXPtoLcXGtjGRd/s1600/dates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3h9H6QyANj1ypqMzIOclkH8Eecsvn2-PY6-gjtVMrk_H9u_lAd3HX9QKYenQ7Z1NvdopqpMCO8gfOC56SxMjRP1EyXezlZceseR3W1IGl7Qo3vr4KWg7_x3iip87gQpyXPtoLcXGtjGRd/s1600/dates.jpg" height="250" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One word: dates.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is going to require some effort and expense. No big deal, though. Simply stop saving for retirement to increase your grocery budget, and set aside a few extra hours a day to search for (and alter) recipes that fall within your no-sugar parameters. When your kids beg you for a treat, you'll be ready to whip up a cake that nobody particularly enjoys, but cost $10 and took 2 hours to make. Time and money well spent, friends.<br />
<br />
<i>Our energy bill is through the roof. Any suggestions on how to keep it more manageable?</i><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHhJxc0on0WwPfEALpNakAnQP5Kh4N_M5UeMYlJ-GL1uCBbPWljIW0hJIZteyGpH6fNwiAdn7-QgYALhfHpppMVw_xmEAwIniwbb8A627q_YcHyaBYWtNJe7st_JTRPm7A7dUONCoRdE_/s1600/full-body-sweater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHhJxc0on0WwPfEALpNakAnQP5Kh4N_M5UeMYlJ-GL1uCBbPWljIW0hJIZteyGpH6fNwiAdn7-QgYALhfHpppMVw_xmEAwIniwbb8A627q_YcHyaBYWtNJe7st_JTRPm7A7dUONCoRdE_/s1600/full-body-sweater.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This would probably help.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yes. Are you married? Your husband can turn the heat down during the day from 9:00am-4:00pm while you're at home and he's at work. The theory behind this strategy is that <i>he is gone</i>, so why would the house need adequate heating? And don't worry-- your 63 degree environment won't bother him a bit while he's at his temperature-appropriate workplace. Of course, you'll have to compensate by blasting space heaters all over the house in order to function at a human level, but I'm sure a few of them are somewhat energy efficient...maybe. At night, go ahead and have him crank it down to 55 degrees. The added benefit here is that your kids will stay in bed all night long. If they even <i>think</i> about getting up to pee or grab a drink, their feet will literally freeze off. Oh, and a wintry house is a great excuse to buy that new coat or sweater you've been drooling over-- you know, the one from Nordstrom that costs $200? So I'm not sure how much money you'll actually save in the end, your husband can probably answer that better than I can.<br />
<br />
Well, I think that's enough for today! Hope I've been helpful! Feel free to comment below if you have any questions you'd like me to take a stab at sometime in the future. :) L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-61249891537561013012014-01-17T09:00:00.000-08:002014-01-17T14:51:14.530-08:00Sweet Surrender<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cNNPDmTT9vAxyb0TqLIeiVakRCXMog3dHLE2zKcHfVG45O_zH69Nxfj_8eEfXsp_W3eyRZDsXQ53m1lt7QXS2NiVTPka45ulNUxYeXg-g1iemffIX2xz6zQjZ60GQV-PRhVZHJSGL9bV/s1600/chocolate--texture--textured--streams_3122652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cNNPDmTT9vAxyb0TqLIeiVakRCXMog3dHLE2zKcHfVG45O_zH69Nxfj_8eEfXsp_W3eyRZDsXQ53m1lt7QXS2NiVTPka45ulNUxYeXg-g1iemffIX2xz6zQjZ60GQV-PRhVZHJSGL9bV/s1600/chocolate--texture--textured--streams_3122652.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
On January 1st, my kids took a bet to eschew sugar for the entire year. (Yes, I realize that eschew is not Greek for "chomp with teeth," although that would certainly make this deal easier on everyone.)<br />
<br />
I approved their decision-- which was motivated by money, of course-- until awareness struck: I'm the cook around here. I buy the food. I make the food. I eat the food. I love sugar.<br />
<br />
In an attempt to walk with them on their journey, however, I decided to forgo sweets for the month of January. You know, to help them navigate these uncharted waters. And it has been a challenge to satisfy our sugar cravings during what I now refer to as "The Withdrawal." (I'm told it'll take about a month before we don't feel like dying anymore.) <br />
<br />
Tonight we had an intense need for chocolate, so I found a Paleo fudge cake recipe. I think if I'd dusted cocoa powder over a deflated balloon and gnawed on it for a while, I might have had a similar result but with much less effort and expense. <br />
<br />
But after two weeks without sugar, the cake tasted like weeknight decadence. On a non-sugar-fast day my kids would have given me the "you're kidding, right?" glare. But tonight they asked for seconds. Desperate times....<br />
<br />
I'm already wondering where else I can leverage this new-found psychology. ("Hey kids, we're going to go without wi-fi for an entire year, but check out this dial-up modem!") The possibilities are endless.L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-1574919378952293772014-01-10T09:00:00.000-08:002014-01-10T19:56:31.013-08:0013 Things I Learned In 2013<style>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0g-rxq6ThB2o-djjdZpNVFvAFeQjO4Oo3fiYXnuLBmy-nBPM7lPzxBlW319OvyFwRHef9u6Pbwu1JCm7UuQ7l_M6KSR_UM5JHhvxFT05OnE3yfp2dHvlI3eWS29caaiv3bXLluq8SYusf/s1600/P1020089ed4x6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0g-rxq6ThB2o-djjdZpNVFvAFeQjO4Oo3fiYXnuLBmy-nBPM7lPzxBlW319OvyFwRHef9u6Pbwu1JCm7UuQ7l_M6KSR_UM5JHhvxFT05OnE3yfp2dHvlI3eWS29caaiv3bXLluq8SYusf/s1600/P1020089ed4x6.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this family photo adequately displays lesson #11</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I prefer to gain weight rather than lose it.
This must be true because I ended the year heavier than I started it. (2014 took care of that when it gave me its version of a New Year’s
weight-loss plan called “The Diarrhea Diet.” Thank you 2014, for helping me
lose 2013’s excess pounds! Should be at least a month before I put them back on
again.)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>My dog has some sort of mutant gene that causes
her to never die. Seriously, I'm sure every year will be her last, and yet…she’s
still here. Shedding more stupid fur than ever. And forgetting that we feed
her, then begging like a half-starved orphan puppy until we relent and feed her
again, because imagined or not, the poor thing is hungry!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>My life can suddenly change direction without my
express permission. When did this sort of disregard for my authority become
okay? I think it’s high-time Life and I had a little chat about this.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I’m a complete hypocrite about health. My grocery cart is one big contradiction and testifies against me every time
I shop. And yet, I continue to buy my organic fruit and non-GMO corn and
eat it alongside the processed lunch-meat and decidedly GMO white bread. I refuse to
use food coloring, but Jelly Bellies are somehow exempt. And on and on and on.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I enjoy reading my kids’ YA fiction as much or
more than they do. In fact, now when I read an actual meant-for-adults book I'm irritated that I have to decipher covert symbolism, and remain
confused as to whether I’m sympathetic to the complex protagonist or not. Makes
my brain hurt! YA is the refined sugar of the reading world, and we all know
how much I like sugar.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>No matter what my husband says (and you need to
trust me on this one) I do not snore. He’s never been able to prove it, and I
have witnesses who will corroborate my claim. It’s called “breathing heavily,”
for those who’d like to know the scientific term.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I don’t enjoy housework. Oh wait, I didn’t learn
that in 2013—I’ve known that my entire life. Moving on….</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>The pet store betta fish I was sure we'd be free of within a month has somehow survived the last six. Just like the wild frog that was supposed to kick the bucket
when my daughter surreptitiously brought it home from a field trip. We were
told, on good authority, that the creature would croak (no pun intended) within
weeks of domesticity. We’re going on year 3 now. Lord, why? Why do our pets
have such freakishly long lives?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I can still sleep in like an adolescent. I'm not as skilled as a
college student, mind you, but I give a pretty respectable teenage effort nonetheless.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>After
reading “Divergent” I decided my fear landscape would look something like
driving a stick-shift in San Francisco rush hour traffic, followed by keeping a
time log of my activities throughout the day, followed by being forced to wear belly-shirts, followed by eating Monsanto corn, and ending with “The Diarrhea Diet.” </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>The
happiest place on earth really IS Disney World. I know this for a fact now. (Which leads to lesson 11A: This 30-something can still ride teacups like a boss!)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>I’m
strangely addicted to reading the comments at the end of internet news stories
even though the human depravity reflected therein is almost enough to drive me
to drink. (Why are people so mean? Why?)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>And
finally, due to homeschooling, I’ve rediscovered all sorts of elementary school knowledge that I’d forgotten long ago (probably shortly after I took the test
on said information). Thus proving that there really is a lot of stuff you won’t
use later in life. (But I kinda feel smart knowing it again.)</div>
L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-37734135315186828162014-01-01T09:00:00.000-08:002014-01-01T09:00:00.218-08:00Dustin' Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Aack! Looks like this ol' blog hasn't been used for a while-- it's pretty dusty. <br />
<br />
What I thought was a month or two off to ponder the next phase of blogging turned into a year-plus hiatus. Oops. It's not that our crazy train has derailed, trust me. It's just that...I learned I need to change my approach when sharing about the ride. My kids are getting older, see, and more prone to embarrassment at the hands of their dear mother (who happens to lack a certain amount of discretion). <br />
<br />
The days of posting quotes are probably gone (sigh). Not only for the fact that someday my kids will read this blog and possibly disown me, but also because most of my son's musings are no longer appropriate for public consumption. I can't go posting about his pre-teen, Aspie-direct thoughts on female anatomy now, can I? (Hilarious as they are.) Oh, you may wish I would, but you see my quandary, don't you?<br />
<br />
A new era has dawned.<br />
<br />
Some of you wonder what I will write about in the absence of LM quotes and other slightly inappropriate kid scenarios. Ye of little faith! I suppose you'll just have to come back and see then, won't you?<br />
<br />
(Truth is, I haven't the faintest clue what I will post about next, but we should all pretend I have something brilliant in mind. Brilliant, I tell you!)<br />
<br />
Until then....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-17954172875261548782012-10-12T09:26:00.001-07:002012-10-12T09:26:33.058-07:00Non-Stop TalkHubby and LM are the stars of this post. Between the two of them, there is never a dull moment around here, whether it's 12:00 in the afternoon or 12:00 at night.<br />
<br />
1. Hubby: (asleep??) "Son."<br />
Me: (looking intently at hubby, trying to discern his level of consciousness. He cracks an eye open).<br />
Hubby: (asleep??) "I'm not sleep-talking, I'm just saying 'son'."<br />
(Hmmmmmm. Either he was sleep-talking, or hubby is super weird. Either answer is likely.)<br />
<br />
2. Hubby: (asleep-- for sure) "Let me be clear. You're knocking over sheets. You're crumpling them, kicking them off, getting them dirty. I think I'm going to get angry."<br />
<br />
3. LM: (smelling a whiff of something foul) "Whoever dealt it...eats it."<br />
(Whoa-- that's harsh.)<br />
<br />
4. Hubby: (asleep) "It might have been 93, I can't remember.... It was good, though!" (Proceeds to laugh hysterically.)<br />
<br />
5. LM: (after repeatedly being shot down when asking for items at the store) "Can you please just buy something so that I'll say, 'you're awesome, Mom'?"<br />
(Um. No.)<br />
<br />
6. LM: "Mom, I want a Monster energy drink for my next meet-- can you dig it?"<br />
Me: "Ummmm...yeah, I can dig it."<br />
(Groovy, man!)<br />
<br />
7. LM: (whole-heartedly singing his version of a popular Neon Trees song) "Whoa-oh, I want some more! Whoa-oh, what are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? Take the body off me!"<br />
<br />
8. Hubby: (asleep) "Soft boy!"<br />
<br />
9. LM: "The counselor asked me if I was having any problems, so I told her I live in an old house, we're a very poor family, and that it's all (blank's) fault we're in this situation!"<br />
(Aye, aye, aye, bud.... The school counselor meant any problems at <i>school!</i>)<br />
<br />
10. Hubby: (asleep-- giggling) "Ohhhhh! It's a problem when you're laughing and trying to chew gum-- you'll suck it right down your windpipe!"<br />
<br />
11. Hubby: (asleep-- very sarcastically) "Gee, can you think of a fine game to play where nobody has to leave right now? Oh good! October-- let's start there!"<br />
<br />
Yep. Never a dull moment.L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-88177667499322763182012-09-30T20:53:00.001-07:002012-09-30T20:53:22.146-07:00Next Time; Disco Ball!If our neighbors are inclined toward voyeurism, they'd have been treated to quite the show tonight. <br />
<br />
LM found me earlier this evening and asked if I might like to have a dance party with him in the basement. Um, did somebody just say "dance"? I'm <i>so</i> there.<br />
<br />
He disappeared into the bathroom for a while, and came out with spiked hair so intensely gelled, I could pop a balloon on it. Perfection!<br />
<br />
We traipsed down the stairs and I turned on the radio full blast. Truly, the next half hour that ensued will go down as one of the all-time best dance parties I've ever attended. Someday when this kid starts dating, he's going to make for a really good time. No girl is going to feel self-conscious about her dance floor prowess when beside the most uncoordinated, non-judgmental and uninhibited fellow alive. Does LM let a complete and utter lack of rhythm slow him down-- even for a second? Not on your life. And so, heck, I didn't either. No move was off-limits, no misstep acknowledged, no failed attempt laughed at. Full-throttle; no-holds-barred. (Well, except when he stopped for a potato chip break every now and then.)<br />
<br />
Talk about fun.<br />
<br />
And when he invited me to play a game of dance ping-pong I knew I was about to try something crazy. And, turns out, I'm still pretty awesome at table tennis even while oppa'ing gangnam style.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't until LM began handing me money on the dance floor that I realized just how unique this experience was. 'Cause, um, that's never happened to me before. (At least he didn't try to tuck it into my waistband.) Of course, I returned the $1.25 I earned while dancing to "Price Tag"-- 'cause we all know it's not about the money, money, money.<br />
<br />
Oh man, I can't wait until LM asks me to dance again. And if you're willing to leave your ego at the door, you are welcome to join us any time.L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-1160764996730616592012-09-18T15:34:00.000-07:002012-09-30T20:02:20.804-07:00Death By Fire EscapeLM's been a touch obsessed with devising a fire escape plan at our house. Normally I would be thrilled at his initiative, but after hearing his ideas...I'm hoping that we don't experience arson in the near future. I'm pretty sure LM wouldn't die in a house fire-- he'd die trying to escape it.<br />
<br />
Here are a few of his ideas:<br />
<ul>
<li> “Dad can get some boards and we’ll nail the boards right by my screen outside my window. Then I can kick in my screen and step on the boards."</li>
<li> "If that doesn’t work, I’ll run out onto the deck and jump at the last second."</li>
<li> "Then I’ll meet at our meeting spot and we can climb the fence into our neighbor’s yard.”</li>
</ul>
Yikes. Apparently we've advanced way beyond "Stop, Drop and Roll."<br />
<br />
1. LM: (after hubby pinched his booty) "Dad, don't touch my butt-- you don't know where it's been."<br />
(On the contrary-- we know exactly where it's been. It's irresistible regardless.)<br />
<br />
2. LM: "Mom, if we don't have money to pay for food, we're going to have to become couponers."<br />
Me: "Nooooooooooo!"<br />
LM: "Well, would you rather starve, or coupon?"<br />
(I actually need to think about that one.)<br />
<br />
3. LM: "Get outta my way, bloody dog! ...Mom, is bloody a cuss word?"<br />
Me: "Well, it sort of is-- if you're British."<br />
LM: "<i>Phew</i>! I'm not British."<br />
(Ah, by all means, then, use it with impunity!) <br />
<br />
4. LM: "Mom, I'm going to keep my room isolated while I'm gone, which is to say, I'm going to keep it cold."<br />
Me: (???)<br />
(Ohhhh! I get it! ICE-olated.)<br />
<br />
5. LM: (watching a bunch of kids dance to French music) "Ugh. I could easily paralyze one of those French mon amis."<br />
(So, I take it he's not impressed....)<br />
<br />
6. Me: (watching a little boy sing on TV) "Do you like him, LM?"<br />
LM: "Well...does he have Asperger's?"<br />
Me: "No...I don't think so."<br />
LM: "Oh. He's just okay."<br />
(Ah-ha, I see the measure by which you judge-- and I think I like it!) <br />
<br />
7. LM: "Mom, Ruby hit me! I was only mocking her, and Jesus says not to fight back!"<br />
(Uhhhh. I think we're forgetting a few other things Jesus may have said as well.)<br />
<br />
And now for a few sleep-talking quotes from hubby:<br />
<br />
8. Hubby: (asleep) "Ummm...yeah. Rinse it clean in the bathtub. The buckets too. Mmmmmm-hmmmmmm."<br />
(This is just a snippet from a lengthy monologue he was engaged in-- I couldn't get it all written down in time.)<br />
<br />
9. Hubby: (asleep) "Yeah, I have to know how they're doing-- 'cause that's a lot of air, baby!"<br />
<br />
10. Hubby: (asleep) "You are so young and beautiful...so young and beautiful."<br />
(All I know is he'd better been dreaming about me!)<br />
<br />
That's all I got for now!L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-47702846091160187842012-09-11T16:29:00.000-07:002012-09-11T20:38:14.838-07:00Mini Date<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cute little fella, isn't he? My taste usually lies with tall, dark and handsome sorts-- but this short, blonde and adorable kid is exactly my type. He and I ventured out on a date today.<br />
<br />
Mister turns 4 this week, and I felt the occasion warranted a special outing. So I called his mom and set up arrangements for the afternoon. I even wore a dress. A <i>dress</i>! After all, a dress is appropriate for the first date with a good-looking guy. (Go ahead and stick with sweats if you'd prefer not to see the gentleman again-- or if your first date is to the gym....)<br />
<br />
I picked Mister up and my sister met me at the door.<br />
<br />
"Did you get all dressed up just for Mister?" She asked.<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
"Mister-- what do you say?"<br />
<br />
"Thank you."<br />
<br />
Uh, you're welcome? In Mister's defense, the question "what do you say?" is almost always a mom's prompt for gratitude. But my sister nudged him, suggesting a different response instead.<br />
<br />
"Oh! You look beautiful!"<br />
<br />
After putting his carseat in my car (I've never dated a guy who had to sit in a harness in the backseat) and reminding her little man to act like a gentleman, my sister bade us farewell.<br />
<br />
Our conversation was...interesting.<br />
<br />
"Do you like having your sister gone at school all day, or do you miss her?"<br />
<br />
"I like having her gone."<br />
<br />
"You know what? When I was little I liked it when your mom went to school and I got to stay home, too."<br />
<br />
"I remember that! Even though I wasn't born, I remember."<br />
<br />
"Ohhhhhhh."<br />
<br />
"Hey Lindsay, why are you always impressed?"<br />
<br />
"Impressed?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. You're always impressed."<br />
<br />
This question threw me for a loop. I think I'm going to ask an adult why they're always impressed so I can find out how to answer that one.<br />
<br />
<i>Hey Susie, why are you always impressed? I'd really like to know.</i><br />
<br />
We arrived at Starbucks and I informed my date he could order anything he wanted.<br />
<br />
"Do they have pink milk?"<br />
<br />
"Yes!"<br />
<br />
"I want pink milk and a pink cake pop."<br />
<br />
So that's what he got. (Well, actually, he got 2 pink cake pops-- it's my job as auntie to make sure he gets more than he bargained for.)<br />
<br />
Instead of sitting down and chatting, like my usual dating M.O., Mister bounced here and there, finally finding entertainment in shaking the umbrella pole outside.<br />
<br />
"Uh, Mister-- you probably shouldn't do that. It might upset the workers here."<br />
<br />
"Will they punish us?"<br />
<br />
"They might."<br />
<br />
"What will they do?" His eyes widen, envisioning heinous torture, no doubt.<br />
<br />
"They might make us leave."<br />
<br />
"They might make a sleeve?"<br />
<br />
I could see him trying to process this unusual form of discipline. I tried to imagine it too. Starbucks employees, feverishly sewing a sleeve to present to us in disapproval of Mister's behavior. Indignantly tossing it in our direction upon its completion. Maybe a short sleeve indicates less anger, and a long sleeve implies you'd better not show your face at this particular Starbucks again. And a whole shirt? You're probably headed for jail. I didn't correct the misunderstanding.<br />
<br />
After Starbucks we went to the park, and when he tired of playing alone (Auntie's dress was a bit short for running and jumping) we went to McDonald's for french fries and more play. There he unceremoniously dropped me for two cute little numbers closer to his age. Although, he did take a few breaks to come profess his love to me. Player.<br />
<br />
"I love you so much, Auntie!"<br />
<br />
"I love you too, Mister!"<br />
<br />
"I love you more."<br />
<br />
"Not possible-- I love <i>you</i> more."<br />
<br />
Then he'd scamper away again. Off with <i>Sophie</i> and <i>Eva</i>-- the tiny date stealers.<br />
<br />
At the end of our outing he thanked me. "Can we go again tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, I'd love to, but I can't, Mister."<br />
<br />
"The next day?"<br />
<br />
"Tell you what, we'll go out again really soon. Okay?"<br />
<br />
"Okay!"<br />
<br />
I wonder when it will stop being cool to date his aunt.... I think I have a few more years to enjoy. And after that, I'm not averse kidnapping.L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-8574268987605757292012-09-06T18:07:00.001-07:002012-09-06T18:07:21.892-07:00Hab SoSlI Quch!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm a little early for Halloween, but I have the perfect opportunity to dress as a Klingon at the moment (although my forehead ridge is a bit off-center).<br />
<br />
I ran into a tether ball pole today. Really. Hard.<br />
<br />
There I was, enthusiastically waving good-bye to my son as he traipsed into school. Couldn't take my eyes off him in fact-- which explains why I didn't notice the tall metal beam blocking my path.<br />
<br />
SMACK!<br />
<br />
It took me a second to even realize what I'd done. My bell got rung <i>good</i>. It wasn't until an excited mother came barreling toward me yelling, "Oh my gosh-- are you okay?" that realization dawned.<br />
<br />
<i>Quiet, lady! Sheesh, do you want the whole school to know?</i><br />
<br />
"You hit that <i>hard</i>!<i> </i>Those poles don't normally even move, but you made that thing shake!"<br />
<br />
I clung to the pole like a drowning girl to a life preserver-- it was the only thing between me and the concrete. But I felt like I needed to convince this gal I was okay (after all, the sooner she left me alone, the less likely others would come flocking to my aid as well). So I let go of the pole and waved my hands around in an attempt to look nonchalant. Epic <i>fail</i>.<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, I got this. I'm <i>good</i>."<br />
<br />
But I wasn't good. I believe the term "punch-drunk" would have been an apt way to describe my state. I'm surprised I didn't hug her and profess my undying love.<br />
<br />
"Are you gonna faint? 'Cause I'd feel awful if you fainted."<br />
<br />
<i>Faint? What a wonderful idea! Why didn't I think of that? Dang, is it too late to try?</i><br />
<br />
I assured her yet again that never in my life had I been better. Why-- cracking my head on metal beams was akin to drinking a stiff espresso! What a way to wake up-- good morning, world!<br />
<br />
I toddled home, eyes and nose running, head spinning, embarrassed like heck. I'm sure Miss Good Samaritan watched my progress with a craned neck. I did my best to walk straight.<br />
<br />
And what do I have to show for this adventure? A small ridge running down the right side of my forehead, and a cut lip. So I think I may don whatever black patent leather I own and growl at hubby tonight-- because I may never have this natural Klingon look again. (Although I'm sure the Klingons would unceremoniously do away with anyone stupid enough to accidentally brain themselves.)<br />
<br />
Ugh. My head hurts.<br />
<br />
<br />L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-49761600867675879852012-08-30T22:10:00.001-07:002012-08-30T22:10:30.320-07:00Er...Yeah, What He Said!One last weekend before school starts. I'm pretty sure this was the shortest summer on record.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have nine new quotes today. And if you like hubby's sleep-talking bits, then you're in for a real treat-- he's been chatting up a storm.<br />
<br />
1. LM: (praying) "And God, please give my dad a job-- because you haven't been treating us very kindly lately."<br />
(I've typed and erased a half dozen parenthetical thoughts here, but I decided this quote just speaks for itself.)<br />
<br />
2. LM: (talking about what he'd do if a deer chased him) "I'd stay and fight back! Or maybe just run like a coward...."<br />
(Well, which is it? Those two options are pretty diametrically opposed.)<br />
<br />
3. Ruby: "At camp they had Lake Night every night where they'd do funny stuff. And they showed a video called 'Camp Tits'...."<br />
(Say whaaaaaaaaaa?!)<br />
Ruby: (mortified) "Wait a second...I meant 'Camp TIPS'!"<br />
(Good, because for a second there I thought I may have sent her to the wrong camp.)<br />
<br />
4. Me: (aghast) "LM, are you using a sharp nail to dig out toe jam?"<br />
LM: (sensing my disapproval) "Mom, I'm not two. I can handle it."<br />
(Okay, Mr. Mature.)<br />
<br />
5. Hubby: (asleep) "Sheesh! Just slam yourself down a little harder there, hmmmmmmmmmm?"<br />
<br />
6. Hubby: (asleep) "Lindsay, you need to explain that. You said that out loud like a <i>champion</i>. What?"<br />
<br />
7. Hubby: (asleep-- putting his hand on my hip) "Ahhhh! It's a rocky spot right here!"<br />
(At least he said "rocky" and not "fluffy".)<br />
<br />
8. Hubby: (asleep) "The cops wanna find out what happened first. Then they'll probably write a ticket...at <i>least</i>."<br />
<br />
9. Hubby: (asleep) "Gross...negative." <br />
<br />
I so wish I knew what he was dreaming about sometimes....<br /><br />
<br />L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-73983997664911694622012-08-20T22:23:00.000-07:002012-08-20T22:23:52.154-07:00I'm Serious...No, Really!I thought perhaps I'd try to write something serious for a change. You know, to show another deeper side of me. 'Cause I sure as heck wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a one-trick-pony, or that I don't have the needed maturity to tackle challenging subject matter.<br />
<br />
So I'll just share what's been on my mind lately. I'm gonna freestyle a bit here, so bear with me as my profound thoughts flow freely from brain to screen.<br />
<br />
Shame. Shame and prejudice. The shame that accompanies prejudice. Ugly, shameful prejudicity...prejudiceness...prejudicism...oh, whatever.<br />
<br />
I feel I can speak out on this topic because I have a wart on my elbow. Now hear me out; this is a really ugly wart. (I would post a picture, but when I googled "warts"...{shudder}. Free advice: do <i>not</i> google warts.) Anyway, I've had it for at least 5 years now. My doctor says the wart will go away on its own, and if growing exponentially larger is part of this "going away" process, then she is absolutely right.<br />
<br />
I've tried numerous remedies. Kombucha, garlic, tea tree oil, prescription wart remover, OTC wart remover, nitrogen, canola oil, and now, duct tape. This thing is stubborn like nobody's business!<br />
<br />
You're asking what any of this has to do with shame and prejudice. I'm not exactly sure.... Hey, I said this was going to be free-style! <br />
<br />
Okay, okay, I'll tie this all together. Just give me a sec.... Ah-ha! I feel shamed by the prejudice I experience from this wart. You should see how kids stare at it! I mean, it's sooooo shameful.<br />
<br />
Ach. Never mind. I can't do it....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-61841145590904393732012-08-14T23:16:00.000-07:002012-08-14T23:18:02.279-07:00Hiiiiiiiiii-YA!Holy cow it's been a busy week. But that's neither here nor there....<br />
<br />
LM went back-to-school shopping with hubby's mom tonight. And I'm almost 100% sure I will regret allowing him to keep some of his selections, including this one:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Yes, that is a jacket. A ninja jacket. The hood zips all the way down his face to give that charming criminal look. But how do I say no to this face?<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I can't.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have some quotes today:<br />
<br />
1. Bopper: (on the phone with me) "Auntie, I lost two teeth!"<br />
Me: "I know!"<br />
Bopper: "I'm just soooo cute!"<br />
(Two teeth gone; self-esteem still very present.)<br />
<br />
2. LM: "...and then one dinosaur took the guy's legs in his mouth, and the other dinosaur took the other end of him and ripped him in two...."<br />
Me: (interrupting) "Yikes!"<br />
LM: "Actually, it was pretty godly to share their human."<br />
(Yep, no doubt about it, those dinosaurs must have been Christians! Wait....)<br />
<br />
3. Mister: "Ruby, you know, I'm just like God."<br />
Ruby: "Why, Mister?"<br />
Mister: "Because I eat bread."<br />
(Well, if that's all there is to it, I have arrived!)<br />
<br />
4. LM: "Dad can't even make the velociraptor sound-- like in Jurassic Park. But if we got a resonating chamber for him, he'd love it!"<br />
(Amazon.com has those, right?)<br />
<br />
5. Me: (to Bopper) "Carson sure likes you!" (Carson is our ancient Boxer.)<br />
Bopper: "Yeah, I give her good rubbers."<br />
(Yikes...can we please just call it petting instead?)<br />
<br />
6. Me: "Will you grab me that book, Monkey Butt?"<br />
LM: (trying to clarify this odd new term) "Are you calling me the monkey and Carson the butt?"<br />
Me: "No. But Carson <i>does</i> smell like a butt...and you smell like a monkey."<br />
LM: "But Mom, monkeys smell like butts, too."<br />
Me: "Oh, I guess you might be right. Sorry about that, Monkey Butt."<br />
LM: "Mooooooooommmm!"<br />
(It must be hard having a mom who is barely more mature than you are....)<br />
<br />
7. LM: (after I'd been reading to him for an <i>hour</i>) "Keep reading!"<br />
Me: "I can't anymore, bud. My voice is tired."<br />
LM: "Mom, I don't think in studies they've ever found that voices can be tired."<br />
(His Aspie literalness...gets me every time.)<br />
<br />
8. Me: 'LM, please go wash your hands before dinner."<br />
LM: (hucks a loogie into his hands and rubs 'em together).<br />
Me: "Uh, no, go wash them for <i>real</i>."<br />
(I have no words....)<br />
<br />
9. Hubby: (asleep) "Hands-offy! Too many times people reach for that stinkin' math! I said hands-OFF! That'll teach 'em." <br />
<br />
10. LM: "Dad, I don't like it when you do all that explaining stuff. It annoys me."<br />
(By "explaining" he of course meant "lecturing". And kids all around the world cheered.)<br />
<br />
Well, that's it for today, folks!L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-91090782358559433482012-08-03T16:07:00.000-07:002012-08-03T16:07:06.354-07:00Honest And OpenI have 10 random confessions I need to get off my chest. You know, in case these dirty little secrets of mine change whether or not we can still be friends. In the interest of full-disclosure, I feel you should have all the facts about me: <br />
<br />
1. Bacon. I believe I find it repulsive. In fact, just thinking about it right now makes me wanna yak a little in my mouth.<br />
<br />
2. I like naughty children. Not too naughty, mind you. Just naughty enough to make me giggle.<br />
<br />
3. I routinely stare at people, and then pretend I was just gazing off into space if they catch me. I specifically like to look at hair, shoes and butts. Diagnose <i>that</i>.<br />
<br />
4. Coffee tastes like burnt water. I judge the palate of coffee-drinkers and find it wanting. C'mon, don't deny it-- you had to <i>learn</i> how to like that stuff.<br />
<br />
5. While it's probably more accurate to say I'm neurotic, obsessive, and borderline reclusive, I prefer to say I have an "artistic temperament". Join me in that little fantasy, will you?<br />
<br />
6. I can't stand it when my hands are sticky. If my hands are sticky and we're having a conversation, I'm not listening to a word you're saying. There is only one thing running through my mind, "Let me gooooooo! I need to get to a sink STAT!"<br />
<br />
7. I find poop, fart, burp, and other junior-high humor hilarious. If you don't, I will probably offend you at some point.<br />
<br />
8. I think it's hilarious when people fall. Realizing this is not socially acceptable, I've trained myself to laugh in my head instead. It's genetic.<br />
<br />
9. I am one half granola/green/hippy, and one half...whatever the opposite of that is. I am not disturbed by the hypocrisy in this.<br />
<br />
10. I still run up the basement stairs so the monsters can't catch me.<br />
<br />
Soooooo, do you still like me?L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-91280604655100493952012-07-31T11:16:00.000-07:002012-07-31T11:19:47.178-07:00Bag-O-QuotesI've managed to gather lots of quotes recently-- and they come from a variety of sources! From nieces and nephews, to sisters and first-cousins-once-removed. And, of course, LM.<br />
<br />
1. Mister: (singing to himself) "I'm a bottomy, I'm a bottomy-- I'll toot your face off!"<br />
(I suppose if there ever were such a thing as a bottomy, that's exactly what it would do.)<br />
<br />
2. Carmenita: (excitedly eyeing a jar of peaches) "I want peaches!"<br />
Me: (getting ready to dole them out) "Okay-- how much do you want?"<br />
Carmenita: "I want toooooo much!"<br />
(Now that's my kind of girl!)<br />
<br />
3. LM: (avoiding my motherly advances) "You can't smooch me until you give me something proper to eat."<br />
(Okay then, would a knuckle sandwich constitute as "proper"?)<br />
<br />
4. LM: (approaching a gentleman with his canine) "Can I pet your dog? Hey, kind sir, can I pet your dog?"<br />
(Kind sir.... Works every time.)<br />
<br />
5. Hubby: (sleeping-- groaning as he spoke) "Champs-Elysees...Champs-Elysees...."<br />
(If he's speaking French in his sleep, all I gotta say is he better be dreaming about <i>me</i>.)<br />
<br />
6. LM: (after hubby had collected and deposited a number of LM's belongings into his tidy room) "Stop putting stuff in my room! I'm tired of having that, that, this, this all over the place-- it's like I'm a hoarder!" <br />
<br />
7. T: (said loudly to her husband in public) "Stop dinkering with your dinker!"<br />
(If only people knew she'd been talking about his phone....)<br />
<br />
8. Bopper: (upon seeing hubby) "Well, hey there Branting!"<br />
(I waited for her to give him a smack on the rump to complete the male athlete greeting, but she missed that part.)<br />
<br />
9. Me: (observing LM and Mister working hard outside) "Good job, boys! You're doing awesome work!"<br />
Mister: "Thanks! You're pretty!"<br />
(I think he felt he needed to answer my compliment with one of his own. Hey, I'll take whatever I can get.)<br />
<br />
10. Me: (hearing telling "number two" noises come from the bathroom) "What's going on in there?"<br />
LM: "Something awesome."<br />
(Doesn't smell awesome....) <br />
<br />
11. LM: "We only have one rated-R movie, which I'm disgusted about!"<br />
(I'm confused. He's disgusted that we have it, or that we have only one?)<br />
<br />
12. LM: (looking for a small Lego piece) "It's like trying to find hay in a needle-stack!"<br />
(Sounds painful. And not that difficult, actually.) <br />
<br />
13. Me: (lying next to LM in bed, reading to him) "Hey bud, can you scoot over? You're crushing my shoulder."<br />
LM: (after I'd adjusted to a comfortable position...for me) "Ugh! Now I'm in the same state you were in!"<br />
(A terrible state, that.)<br />
<br />
Last, but not least, a little gem I ripped from my cousin's Facebook page. It makes me laugh every time. With her permission:<br />
<br />
"As my family and I were sitting at the dining room table eating
breakfast this morning, the little one was being delightfully naughty.
She continued to dip her fingers in her bowl of maple syrup after I had
told her to stop. I looked at her and with a half smile told her that I
had brought her into this world and I could taker her out if it. She
smiled and said that she would then get to go to God<span class="text_exposed_show">.
To which her daddy replied, "But you know what happens to naughty
children when they go to Heaven, don't you? You grow a third arm on your
back that spanks you over and over for all of eternity." The whole
family erupted in hysterical laughter. Thanks, Babe. We'll go ahead and file this day in the "Awesome Parenting" category :-)"</span>L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-13577406777294335862012-07-27T22:09:00.001-07:002012-07-27T22:09:56.785-07:00Puss In LooShe instills fear into the very core of my being. She is Kezzy, my aunt's kitty-cat.<br />
<br />
Kezzy likes to hide in wait until I enter the bathroom, at which point she races through the door ahead of me and takes up her post in front of the toilet. The first time she did this I just shoved her aside so I could get down to business. (Fail.) The second time she pulled this trick I'd learned what it means to have kitty-kitty in the bathroom with me, and I reconsidered just how badly I needed to go. Perhaps digging a trough outside and squatting would be in my best interest instead.<br />
<br />
See, Kezzy likes to torment you while you're on the pot. Oh, it starts out nice enough. She rubs up against your legs and purrs. You think she's trying to befriend you, albeit in an unconventional way. But this is simply to give you a false sense of security so that you'll loosen up and let your drawers drop a little lower to the floor, thus giving her more fleshy surface area to attack.<br />
<br />
She thinks it's quite funny to try and hop up in your lap, and when that fails ('cause there's no freakin' way I'm letting a cat sit in my lap while I'm using the facilities) she likes to use your bare legs as a scratching post. Yeah, I know she's just "playing", but it feels a little less like fun, and more like sadism to me. I mean, how brilliant is this cat? She catches you partially clothed with no way to escape! My only hope is to pee as fast as humanly possible, and to not make any frantic motions with the toilet paper, thus inciting kitty's pounce instinct.<br />
<br />
Then, like a psycho lover, she'll nuzzle her head against you like nothing ever happened. But at this point you're toast, because she is about to bite...your...hand.<br />
<br />
Love bites. Or should I say, "love bites."<br />
<br />
My favorite time was when I thought I'd made it into the bathroom alone, only to discover after I'd shut and locked the door that Kezzy was already <i>in</i> the bathroom. Waiting. Seriously, I might have nightmares.<br />
<br />
She may look like this:<br />
<br />
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<br />
But this is what's in her heart:<br />
<br />
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<br />
For now, my strategy is to avoid drinking liquids at any cost. But eventually I'll be forced to cross my legs tight and dance. So at that point I'm just praying that Kezzy will already be deep in sleep somewhere so that I can pee in peace. Maybe, like, at 2:00am that can happen.<br />
<br />
One can only hope....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-6135536215329129822012-07-26T13:30:00.001-07:002012-07-26T13:30:51.543-07:00Dumb BumpkinMy feet hurt.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we had an adventure in the Big City. Traffic. Masses of humanity. Exorbitant parking fees. Shopping. Fashion. And there's no better way to feel like a country bumpkin than to tool around a major metropolis.<br />
<br />
So, in an effort to feel less like a country bumpkin, and more like a city-dweller, I chose to tool around in a pair of my younger (more fashionable) sister's three-inch heels. At least, it felt like they were three inches. They might have been two and a half....I wouldn't know, because I never wear heels. (That should have been my first red flag.)<br />
<br />
"They're comfortable!" She assured me, smiling as she handed them over.<br />
<br />
Mmmm-hmmm. Looking back on her comment, I'm sure what she meant is that they are more comfortable than these:<br />
<br />
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But only slightly. (Or maybe she just hadn't anticipated that I would choose to wear them for miles.) <br />
<br />
Here is where my pride took over. You see, my head told me, "Wear a pair of comfy walking shoes ya big dork!" But my heart said, "Everyone, and I mean every single person, will laugh you right off the sidewalk if you wear comfy walking shoes. Even the transients will laugh!"<br />
<br />
My mother and aunt advised against my decision, but I assured them that I could endure the pain for the sake of fashion. So I did.<br />
<br />
And by the end of the night, my feet felt like this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeoBIH6BgY9uItyDYvrYtyAbN5IwR_Y2Z7GSlWm8rnYorahWhgoDqm1vkFx-5Emt8qysbnKW2mkSfkQli8qjCzKRq34F4gLD_BKHGo7klxPkrnNNowiaHtMKs_b_yxaev7I2E1ur2KeX9/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeoBIH6BgY9uItyDYvrYtyAbN5IwR_Y2Z7GSlWm8rnYorahWhgoDqm1vkFx-5Emt8qysbnKW2mkSfkQli8qjCzKRq34F4gLD_BKHGo7klxPkrnNNowiaHtMKs_b_yxaev7I2E1ur2KeX9/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://6tolerancesallyngxinhui.blogspot.com/2007/07/china-bans-foot-bindings.html</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
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<br />
But, hey, at least I didn't look like a tourist! Until I realized...this is Seattle. Not New York. Not Hollywood. Not Paris. Not Rio. And almost everyone was in comfy walking shoes.<br />
<br />
Dang.<br />
<br />
It's okay, though, nothing a little rest, ice and elevation won't cure. But the thick-headedness? There is no cure for that.<br />
<br />L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-10162662361174500282012-07-21T19:36:00.000-07:002012-07-21T19:36:12.300-07:00No, That's Not An Easy ButtonThat angry red spot in the middle of my face? Yeah, that's a humongous high school throw-back zit. And, yes, it hurts. Hurts like a mother.<br />
<br />
So go ahead and stare next time you see me; you have my permission. 'Cause there's no point in trying to avert your gaze. The monster practically begs you to admire its awesomeness. (And has an amazing resistance to concealer might I add.)<br />
<br />
Stupid dummie-head juvenile hormones...I'm supposed to be a grown-up now....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-1753244789708555622012-07-17T11:49:00.002-07:002012-07-17T11:49:40.340-07:00Have A Nice Stay!I think if we had a motto for this week it would be, "Um...that wasn't in the plan." At least...not in <i>my</i> plan.<br />
<br />
But apparently my plans are boring and predictable, as they do not include flooding the laundry/bathroom floor with backed-up sewer water. And while I can agree that the aforementioned situation is infinitely more interesting than the plans I had previously arranged (which involved sipping cool drinks on the deck while chatting with my beloved cousin), I cannot say it was <i>better</i>.<br />
<br />
However, the good news is, the plumbing has been cleaned out and our guests will not have to take a shower while standing in a lake of poop water after all. (We do try to treat guests better than that. Unless we hate our guests, of course. And then not only must they stand in the poop water, they must brush their teeth with it as well. But I digress....)<br />
<br />
All in all, our guests have been marvelously resilient to all the "non-plans" that have been happening during their visit. Now if we can only convince them to come again sometime.... Maybe we can arrange for someone to get electrocuted by a faulty outlet or something. You know, just to keep it interesting.L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-69322549123872223172012-07-13T03:06:00.001-07:002012-07-13T03:06:10.081-07:00Man Up!Hubby went backpacking and decided to appoint LM as "man of the house" while he's gone.<br />
<br />
Nice one, hubs. He might as well have said, "Hey LM, here's a free pass to do whatever you want for the next three days! Have at it, bud!" Hmmm, maybe next time I leave I'll appoint Ruby as "princess". Should give him about the same effect.<br />
<br />
But the upside is that LM is taking his role very seriously. When we returned home late this evening, he even insisted on checking the house for burglars before letting me inside.<br />
<br />
"Hey, is anyone in here?" he called out through the barely cracked-open door. When no heinous criminal answered, he figured we were safe to enter. <i>Phew</i>!<br />
<br />
Anyway...haven't done quotes in a while, and surprisingly, I only have a few to share: <br />
<br />
1. LM: (to his sister's friend) "Beware of my sister, she tends to have a lot of problems." <br />
(Needless to say, he didn't earn any points with his sister on that one.)<br />
<br />
2. Hubby: (stepping on the dog's bed) "Gross! There's something wet there." (He bravely bends down to take a whiff.) <br />
Me: "Is it pee? Puke? Drool?"<br />
LM: "Maybe it's time we get her some diapers."<br />
Me: "Bud, at the point we need to get this dog diapers, it'll be time to take her down to the vet for a permanent nap."<br />
Hubby, Ruby, LM: (in chorus) "<i>Nooooooooooooo</i>!"<br />
(Seriously? I can't be the only one who sees the logic in this.)<br />
<br />
3. Hubby: (asleep) "Cascading Ken. Dude, I would totally pick him-- he's the perfect match! And Alfonso...that guy <i>rocks</i>! Or is it Alonso? Alfonso or Alonso? Alfonso, that's it."<br />
(Cascading Ken? Was he dreaming about Malibu Barbie's boyfriend or something?)<br />
<br />
4. MIL: (referring to a person whose intellect does not impress her) "Yeah, she's not the sharpest cook in the drawer."<br />
(Ummm...never mind.) <br />
<br />
5. LM: (fed-up with his misbehaving little cousin) "Somebody needs to overthrow that brat!"<br />
(No worries, son, his parents have already staged a coup.)<br />
<br />
6. LM: (speaking to his great grandma) "Gigi, have you ever been hit where it hurts?" (Points to his crotch and nods knowingly) "I have."<br />
<br />
7. Mister: (after his sister hit him for being a pest) "Mom, Bopper hit me!"<br />
Bopper: "That's not hitting, that's sign language for 'Mister, knock it off!'"<br />
(I'd like her to teach me her version of sign language sometime-- sounds useful!)<br />
<br />
That's all I got for now. Until next time....L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-87893516737101783082012-07-07T19:53:00.001-07:002012-07-07T19:56:09.463-07:00Duct Tape Cures AllDrive the truck to the Oregon coast-- it seemed like a benign enough idea. Ten hours in a small cab with hubby, two antsy kids and an ancient dog whose breath smells like rotten fish. Luggage packed in the truck bed in Rubbermaid bins, alongside an organ and bumper pool table-- to be dropped off in Beaverton with relatives on the way. Um, why did we think this was a good idea? <i>Why</i>?<br />
<br />
We were on the road not fifteen minutes before the hubster had to pull over and adjust the tarp we'd haphazardly thrown over the whole lot. Then another ten minutes before he decided to just give up and pull the worthless tarp off altogether. Unfortunately, upon removing the tarp, lids began to fly off the Rubbermaid bins as we drove. Stop truck. Retrieve lids from highway. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't until one of the sleeping bags flew onto the highway that hubby <i>really</i> lost it. Oh wait, I think I have a picture of that. Yes, here it is:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPRV4W4bb6GcF5o2zmtTFsnNgJLVgY-EP4jV8whkDSw6kP089lo87iEFilJgKtihSm7pT77xp8srC-l6AAaknDpk8FyhUgW1nBFzOXkkXJ-1m7wuygBYHPthN6aZCFA0TaxrO0bTXQVyBl/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPRV4W4bb6GcF5o2zmtTFsnNgJLVgY-EP4jV8whkDSw6kP089lo87iEFilJgKtihSm7pT77xp8srC-l6AAaknDpk8FyhUgW1nBFzOXkkXJ-1m7wuygBYHPthN6aZCFA0TaxrO0bTXQVyBl/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The kids would be happy to tell you what he said, I'm sure. :)<br />
<br />
"We're not moving until we can duct tape these lids on!" Hubby announced on the shoulder of I-90, tossing the errant sleeping bag back into a bin.<br />
<br />
"Do we have any duct tape?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"No. We have to buy it."<br />
<br />
I looked around me. Nothing but barren fields. "Sooooo...are you going to conjure a store out of thin air?"<br />
<br />
I'd stumped him. So, we decided to put the tarp back on until we once again entered civilization, since duct tape does not exist in the wild. <br />
<br />
By the time the store was reached our tarp was in shreds, and so was hubby's sanity. But a quick stop into the hardware department for duct tape reinstated order, and we were able to continue on our merry way. Duct tape even ensured our dog's rancid mouth stayed shut, and the kids' arms and legs kept to themselves the entire way! And when they complained, a little duct tape over their mouths restored peace and quiet. Lovely!<br />
<br />
Actually, after the purchase of duct tape, the trip went wonderfully smooth. Hey, I guess taking the truck wasn't such a bad idea after all!L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-75899909640011243252012-06-27T15:22:00.000-07:002012-06-27T15:22:30.563-07:00Boys Will Be BoysLM just returned from camp a few days ago, only to start another day camp immediately after. This means he's had a lot of exposure to non-family members as of late. And I kid you not, I've had at least three people come up to me in the last 24-hours with some sort of variation of this statement: "Guess what I heard your son say!"<br />
<br />
I always look forward to hearing these little tidbits. I'm rarely embarrassed by them anymore. But today.... Well, LM got me to blush a bit.<br />
<br />
Our children's pastor at church happened to be LM's cabin leader last week, and when he saw me today he pulled me aside for a chat. I could tell he had an LM story.<br />
<br />
"So, we were all hanging out in the cabin talking and joking, and suddenly LM announced to the group, 'Hey, we should stop talking about inappropriate things-- like boobs!' Only thing was, we hadn't been talking about boobs, but the boys' ears sure perked up at the new subject!"<br />
<br />
LM was standing next to me during this recitation. And this is where it got...awkward.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I told them we shouldn't talk about these!" He then proceeded to point one finger of each hand at both of my ta-tas. But he wasn't finished. (Because there are even more parts on a lady you shouldn't talk about, of course.) A hand then snaked down, pointing just inches away from my crotch.<br />
<br />
"Or this!" LM exclaimed.<br />
<br />
Even fully dressed, I felt the need to use one arm to cover my chest and the other to hide my nether regions. I mean, where was this poor man supposed to look during this whole exchange? A person's eye is compelled to follow a pointing finger. But this gentleman was giggling so hard (doubled-over), that it saved us both from having to figure out the eye-to-finger logistics of the situation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
"Okaaaaaaaay!" I said quickly, shoving LM's fingers away from my bod squad. "That certainly is inappropriate buddy-- I'm sure glad you didn't speak with the boys about that stuff!"<br />
<br />
Aye, aye, aye....<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO27MX82bbdlSqJzAXloHSWFgBKFHzyYPJVCzrr0duT-ovTedQCj7hav1caT6-an-4305Ly6q_Q3PjEcwe1v2zz4QwQB-wTZDpCt5_rsJpI4bqlyrucRD7yGY-x7hv8IA_X1QV3lMAK6Zo/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO27MX82bbdlSqJzAXloHSWFgBKFHzyYPJVCzrr0duT-ovTedQCj7hav1caT6-an-4305Ly6q_Q3PjEcwe1v2zz4QwQB-wTZDpCt5_rsJpI4bqlyrucRD7yGY-x7hv8IA_X1QV3lMAK6Zo/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://www.tressugar.com/Boobs-Bread-1093538</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-1174699744527446982012-06-25T22:09:00.004-07:002012-06-25T23:41:34.189-07:00FYIAs you can see, I'm in the middle of revamping my blog. I'll keep you posted if I end up scrapping this one and starting fresh, or if the remodel is enough to suit my needs. Stay tuned! (And do tell me what you think, won't you?)L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-31990844462755949452012-06-19T00:12:00.004-07:002012-06-19T00:12:53.052-07:00With Love, XOXOXOXOLove letters. When I was 18, 19, 20...apparently I wrote lots of 'em to hubby. I have no recollection of doing this, but I did. And I have proof-- I just found it the other day in a previously unexplored corner of the house. (A whole stack of proof, in fact.)<br />
<br />
That's one of the advantages to living in your husband's former home; finding little pieces of history you didn't even know existed.<br />
<br />
You know what another advantage is? Finding all the love letters the <i>others</i> wrote too. And oh, I found some juicy ones! In fact, I discovered many that made me wonder why on earth his mother chose to save them. (I mean, didn't they make her blush tomato red?) All in all, they made for a very interesting afternoon of reading.<br />
<br />
But every now and then I couldn't hold it in....<br />
<br />
"Hubby! What did Bambi mean when she said---?"<br />
<br />
"Hubby! Why did Trixie tell you that---?"<br />
<br />
"Hubby! I <i>cannot</i> believe you did/said/thought---!"<br />
<br />
"Hubby! Did Candy really---?"<br />
<br />
"So, Cherry was pretty hot then, eh?"<br />
<br />
Pretty soon hubby came traipsing into the room, curiosity getting the better of him, only to find me surrounded by a pile of letters. Letters written on napkins, letters written on Hallmark cards, letters on paper towels, on notebook paper, letters with pictures, letters containing confetti, lipstick kisses, the remnants of old fragrance.... Letters proclaiming undying devotion, heartsickness over break-ups, letters pieced together from magazine clippings, memories of good times together (sometimes too "good", in all honesty).<br />
<br />
"Where did you get those?" he asked, looking a bit sick.<br />
<br />
"Your mom saved them. Did she read <i>this</i> one-- hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" I proffered one of the more interesting notes. He sputtered.<br />
<br />
"Ugh! Throw them away!"<br />
<br />
"Are you sure? They're your history!"<br />
<br />
"They're evil."<br />
<br />
"They're a lot like the ones I wrote," I said flatly.<br />
<br />
"That's different...."<br />
<br />
(You got that right, buster.) But, reluctantly, I did as he asked and threw them away. Sigh.<br />
<br />
And the ones I wrote? Well, I kept those, as ridiculous as they were. (Who <i>was</i> that girl, anyway? Was I really that...insipid? Good grief, give me a pen and paper and see what kind of letter I can write <i>now</i>.)<br />
<br />
As for hubby's fake I.D. I found...that's another story altogether. (Unfortunately, hubby got his hands on that one and shredded it too.) Oh, I just love treasure hunting in this house!L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511476407482764891.post-12207480921933690792012-06-12T23:13:00.001-07:002012-06-12T23:13:54.595-07:00Two Aspies Are Better Than OneYesterday was my last day of mentoring for the current school year. And since LM is already out of school, I asked him if he wanted to come along with me-- you know, to help.<br />
<br />
"Why?" He asked. He always asks such awesome questions.<br />
<br />
"Because LPB has Asperger's just like you! And I thought you'd like to meet him-- he doesn't have very many friends."<br />
<br />
This got LM to thinking. He's a champion of the underdog, after all, and I knew I'd reel him in with that little tidbit.<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
When we got to the school and caught sight of LPB, my little man walked right up to him. Shy is not a word in his vocabulary. <br />
<br />
"Hi! My name's LM, what's your name?"<br />
<br />
LPB didn't answer at first, but then reluctantly proffered his name. LM then stuck his hand out to shake (the wrong hand), and LPB took it (with the doubly wrong hand) and I smiled down at their awkward exchange. This was gonna be fun.<br />
<br />
We sat down to play a game together and I marveled at these two boys. One would say something, the other would completely ignore it, and neither seemed offended by this trend. I thought to myself, "Sheesh-- why bother with conversation at all?" but for some reason unbeknownst to me, this style of communication was working for them.<br />
<br />
The game soon morphed into a sort of imaginary scenario in which game pieces became bombs and all hell broke loose. I don't know when or how it happened-- but they were totally tracking with each other.<br />
<br />
"Pretend this is their ship and they are going to attack the enemy."<br />
<br />
"This one's army is about to bomb the bad guys!"<br />
<br />
"I'm sending a spy to see what the enemy is doing."<br />
<br />
Sometimes they'd listen and go along with the other one's idea, but more often than not, they played in a sort of parallel manner rather than actually intersecting. And yet, they managed just fine. (Neither of them talked to me one iota, by the way. I could have gone out for coffee and wouldn't have been missed.)<br />
<br />
At the end of our hour, LM and I left, and you know what? He hasn't mentioned LPB since. And I'm pretty sure LPB hasn't given LM any thought either. Aspies.... <br />
<br />
<br />L. Noll Brantinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03157738564041688382noreply@blogger.com1