Overheard at a wine tasting

Host slash wine-expert opined:

When you taste this one, it will give you wood.

Literally.

Sarchasm: The abyss between the creator of witticisms and the intended recipient who does not find the humor in it.

* * *

There was an email-go-round at work among the Summers today, trying to decide between two profferred "mandatory fun" activities. There was some debate, but everyone seemed to agree on one thing -- we all wanted to go to the same event, whichever we chose. And no one really wanted to be the one to commit. It was all variations on "I'll do whatever you all want to do."

One of the Summers suggested setting up a conference call to settle the issue. Since I was scheduled to be elsewhere, I emailed (just him) and said I couldn't be on the call but was leaning toward Activity B.

He replied and kindly told me he was kidding.

Everyone else obviously got the sarcasm.

I read the email literally.

I'm a dork.

Mixed feelings

Clownfish is mad at me.

Well, not so much mad at me as (temporarily?) more enamored with Bullshark. Bullshark is around more now -- school is out for summer -- and mommy is working and commuting.

In the evening, when I'm home in time, Clownfish rarely wants anything to do with me. He'd rather play instead of help me cook dinner.* And he'd rather not let me play along with him, or tell me stories, or read books.

Saturday morning family time . . . Bullshark is getting the snuggles and attention and the imaginary cookies and pretend milk.

Clownfish snuggled up on Bullshark's chest and emphatically told me to go away.

Ok, I am happy that they're really bonding and have an excellent relationship. But I am also a little jealous and sad. I haven't gotten a hug all day. I think Mommy is being punished for being away so much.

I am keeping on a happy face because it would be wrong to guilt my child into giving me a little love or attention.

But a tiny *tiny* part of me wants Clownfish to stub his toe or bang his elbow, because no matter who the "favorite" parent is at any given moment, he always brings his boo boos to me -- the Mommy with the magic kisses that make the pain go away.

I am a terrible person.



* Bullshark cooks dinner too -- he grills outside, I do the salad or veggies and/or starch. So its not like I work all day and then slave over a hot stove -- didn't want to falsely give that impression.

Sister Polyester

I recently re-visited my Catholic elementary school for reasons that defy explanation, so I won't even bother. Amazingly, many of the nuns who seemed ancient when I was a child are still alive and teaching.

And they're wearing the same 1970s polyester outfits.

I can always recognize a nun when she's out in plainclothes because most of the sisters I've known dress that way daily. There is a definable quality to sister-fashion -- the short-hair, the neutral/muted/cool shades of the skirt-and-jacket polyester combination, the sensible shoes, the white blouse -- they're all give-aways, long before I see the cross.

Also, in a random religious-clothing-moment . . . I passed about a dozen Buddhist monks on the sidewalk yesterday. Either that or orange is the new black. True story.

If you're expecting this post to have a point, you clearly haven't been reading very long.

Zoo haiku

Giraffes, elephants, tigers
Happy pre-schooler
Tired parents drink much wine

Summer a--hole

I don't mean this to be too personal . . . but don't you feel like you're missing out by not having gone to an Ivy League school? I mean when I interview, its like they already know I have the smarts, they just want to see if I'm a good fit. I'll bet its different for you. Like do they quiz you?

What I should have said: Hey asshole, look around. We've got the same summer job, same salary. So blow it out your ass.

What I did say: At least I won't be crippled with student loan debt and have the freedom to pursue the legal career of my choice . . . whatever that may be.

Summer job posting policy

As a pre-L, I was annoyed when I read law student blogs who wouldn't describe their summer jobs. "How am I supposed to learn anything if you're too scared of Big Brother to divulge even the tiniest details?" I thought.

I get it now. The first rule of Fight Club -- you do NOT talk about Fight Club. Divine Angst nailed it here. Will I able to stick to it? We'll see.

I am nervous as I chose a summer job in a legal field well outside my comfort zone.

I am nervous because I've never worked in a corporate environment.

I am nervous because I always have a nagging sense that I am a giant fraud and everyone is going to see through that.

Irony

It all went down hill from here.



Edited to add: Ok, no. It isn't that bad. Its just a very different from last semester, and very different from what I know I am capable of. So I am disappointed and licking my wounds, but now that all of the grades are finally posted, I have moved much closer to "acceptance."

Superlative Clownfish

Overheard in my house in the last 24 hours:

• It is beautiful outside, Mommy.


• This is a wonderful story.


• Ian is a wonderful tiger. He is my favorite.
  
• Look at your pajamas, Mommy. Its beautiful, with hearts and stars. I see them.


• Your fingers are so pretty Mommy. When I am big I will have shiny pretty fingers too. But you have to cut them. They are too big.*

*Mommy has had her first manicure in over 3 years because my nails have finally grown long enough for it to be worth it. Clownfish is used to my clipping my nails when I clip his. Now my nails are (gasp) not quite long enough to be seen when you look at my palm. But the vitamins I was taking made them wicked-strong.

ALSO: I was just reading over old posts about Clownfish and got a glimpse into his development. I was so happy I had recorded some of the gems, including phonetic pronunciation. So for the record: solidly counts to 20; counts backwards from 10 (thank you rocket-ship song); says alphabet clearly (even L-M-N-O-P); tells short stories about his day or recent days (including trips to the zoo and dinosaur museum); can identify numerous dinosaurs and four different birds in the yard (robin, chickadee, cardinal, sparrow) plus ducks and geese; sings every song on our kid music CDs; still rabidly obsessed with Thomas trains; still hates getting water on his face, but the screams have subsided to 'mistaken for no cookies' levels, as opposed to 'mistaken for scalding/beating.'

Too much information

Don't say you weren't warned.

Yesterday, I met my OB for a follow-up. He noticed a I hadn't had an annual since 2005.

Whoops! How did I miss that last year . . . hmmm . . . big mystery.

I hate getting my annual. No, I mean no one enjoys the annual. Its uncomfortable and on some level violative, humiliating, awful. I am worse then most -- it usually involves tears.

And those lame pictures on the ceiling of cute animals doing something smile-worthy are just not distracting enough, damnit. Aww, its a cat chasing a puppy. That does not make me ignore sharp instruments in my hoohah.

I'd have used my sister's solution (valium and liquor and a designated driver), but OB kind of sprang it on me -- alas, no time for a quick pop out to the Mexican place next door for tequila shots.

Proof I am Hermione Granger

. . . with better hair.

I observed on this blog at least once before that I identify with Hermione a bit.

Which Hogwarts house will you be sorted into?

I liked this sorting quiz... much better than the ususal "Do you like Lions? Is your favorite color gold?" Because, duh. This is a bit more personality-based.

So, according to the points, I tied between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, but "the hat" put me Gryffindor.

Hmmm...

"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at
Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"

"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider placing me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end."

Harry Potter and Order of the Phoenix. Ch. 19

OOTP Movie: July 13, 2007
Deathly Hollows book: July 21, 2007

Law Review Write On

Ok, it is becoming increasingly clear I am going to have to do the write-on competition in July. The top half of the class gets invited to write on, and I'll definitely land there, just not in the top [miniscule] percent that walks on. Sh*t.

Frequent Citations, LawDawg, and others have described the write on process at their schools -- a closed memo or note and a Bluebooking assignment. They describe a process that takes about a week.

We get a weekend to do the same thing. As in pick up Friday night, drop off Monday morning at something like 7:00 a.m. weekend.


Hmmm... law review as a suicide pact.


Anyway, any others care to share their write-on experience, advice, or share links to blog posts of others who have successfully written on?

What is up with dinosaurs?

A few weeks ago, I took Clownfish to a local museum of natural history -- a small one with a decent sized hall of dinosaurs. A few full grown dinos and a bunch of skulls, plus some skeletal crocodiles and sea turtles mixed in.

We bought a little dino book and some dino puzzles -- it seems the "I love dinosaurs" phase of pre-school was in full swing. Since I had never outgrown my love of dinos, I was looking forward to it.

Clownfish loves Parasauropholus and Stegoceras -- not Stegosaurus -- and Torosaurus. He likes this one armored dinosaur that he calls Buttonsaurus, but that's not its real name. He is excited that Compa-something** was the size of a chicken because he's seen chickens and can relate. He loves to identify Heterodonosaurus for three reasons: 1) it has teeth just like his, 2) its only slightly taller than him and 3) it reminds him of Miss Heder (Heather) from his school.

Wait. Parasauropholus? Heterodontosaurus?

What the hell happened to dinosaurs?

I knew maybe four dinosaurs as a kid: T-Rex, Brontosaurus, Stegosaurus, and Triceratops. Later, thanks to Jurassic Park, I added Velociraptor, and I had heard of some others (including Compys? Didn't they attack Newman?)

Now Bronty is Apatasaurus. Steggy and T-Rex are still around, but just don't have the cachet I remember their having when I was a kid. There are a bunch of horned dinosaurs -- Triceratops and Torosaurus being just two.

I thought maybe I didn't thoroughly immerse myself in dino-topia as other children, or just don't remember the details. But I've asked around other adults and parents, all of whom remember having a dinosaur phase, who have pretty much the same reaction: Who are these dinosaurs?

I can't help wondering if something is lost in the complexity and detail of this new generation of dinosaur play -- Mommy is that Ankylsaurus or *insert other armored dino here*? I don't know, Sweetie, I have to see if there is club on its tail.

So much less certainty . . . placing dinos into simple categories and knowing which ate plants and which ate meat, and telling those basic stats with glee to grandparents and whatever other adults would listen. That's the dinosaur phase I was expecting -- cute, uncomplicated.

Maybe my "younger" readers who grew up in the Jurassic Park era (book 1990, movie 1993) had a different experience.

**Forgive my dino spelling throughout, but I am not going to seek out the book on dinos to do this post.