"Crazy Day" and Other Daily Insanities

L's school appears to go all out for the theme day thing. A month or so ago we had "Pajama Day." Last week they had "Crazy Day." Crazy day evidently teaches all the children the fine nuances of silliness and irony. (Like L doesn't get enough of that at home.) L celebrated the event with a reversed sweatshirt and trousers, mis-matched gloves, shoes and socks, and Mommy's coup de grâce, a forward-facing ponytail. Stacy thought it looked like a fountain head. I just thought she looked like a vintage 80's pop wanna-be.

Like totally.

Later, after L was at school, N was discovered in some less-than-fully-sane attire of his own. Evidently he managed to find L's Pretty, Pretty Princess game.



While Stacy insists that he is wearing a tiara, I am choosing to believe that he is wearing a Greek laurel, commemorating the virtues of wisdom, honor and sanity.

Our kitchen remodel is well underway, and it is scandalous. Our cupboards are bare and our walls are stripped; we have pipes that have no shame in showing a little copper. Our dryer took advantage of the chaos to die on us, so now we are joining in on the exhibitionism, flaunting our undies for anyone who wants to venture into our backyard to see. At least the lights are all in, so you have a bright, clear view of the brazen nakedness all about.

Stacy was feeling rather under the weather tonight, so rather than cook, we decided to take advantage of the love, kindness and cholesterol of the Good Colonel. Back home at the table with our plenitude of poultry, we dished out each plate and fell to eating. L, inspecting her plate asked what kind of chicken she got.

"You got two wings, because little girls are like angels and they'll help you fly," I said. She considered this skeptically for a moment, then asked about N's allocation.


"He got a drumstick, because boys like to beat on things and play the drums." Of course then she wanted to know about Stacy's piece.

"She got a breast,..." A withering look from Stacy ensured I could explain no further, but was not quite effective in preventing a somewhat naughty snicker. Our daughter's attention was then turned on my plate. "Daddy got a thigh," I said.

Her response was immediate and the epitome of innocence. "Is that like a big belly piece?"