Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s acquired here and there in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.
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I’ve been neglecting the physics around here lately.
That stops now.
(Thanks, Watson’s friend!)
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Okay, I’ll stop complaining about the weather
Until it snows again.
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Pancakes and Panic
I think I’m getting the hand of this breakfast thing, at least for other people.
Cereal—-check! Oatmeal that the kids will actually eat—check(ish)!
Quesadillas—check! Fruit—check! Hummus—check!
And, of course, pancakes.
Last time we made pancakes, Sunny requested a squirrel.
So I made her a squirrel.*
I was especially proud when my husband said, “Nice squirrel!” before the kids told him what it was.
But, as we all know, pride goeth.
And when I came home from work yesterday, this had taken up residence in the kitchen:
And now I’m afraid to make toast.
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Bare Naked Alphabet
When you say your family’s new favorite kids’ CD is by the Bare Naked Ladies, people either think you’re being ironic or they surreptitiously locate the number for Child Services . . .
But then you play them this—and maybe the Popcorn Song—and all is well:
The final line of banter was cut in this, by the way:
“Yeah. Rachmaninoff with a W.”
Image of an actual child gettin’ jiggy with the Popcorn Song.**
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*Jane asked for a parabola. she was less than impressed when I gave her a plateful of rounded triangle and asked me to put chocolate chips on the plot points next time. So now I have to find a food-grade protractor . . .
**Please for to note the old toaster oven. It was cranky and like to spit its handle at unsuspecting people, but it had one dial and a lever and I didn’t need a manual to work it. Burn cream, yes, but I knew the risks going in.
Earful of Cider 