The Burrow

I refuse to let Donald Trump ruin my birthday. I'll be back tomorrow with thoughts.  For today, enjoy FlapJilly's slo-mo jumping.

Then. Now. Wow.

This, apparently, is My Plate. It's the newest incarnation of The Food Pyramid.  Every school child listening to our Nutrition Expert knew that. I felt very old, especially when I realized that I was the only one who noticed the voices on the television during her entire presentation.   She engaged the kids, though, and that was as important as engaging the adults.  They acted out bran and germ and carbohydrate to demonstrate the beauty of whole grains.  We had fun with those My Plate stickers, affixing them to their appropriate sections.   Yes, I said, I did want a mask although the Brussels sprouts were my first choice.  And then, there was the forklift. The youngest member of our group looked through the door into the warehouse and raised his hand. "I want to ride on the forklift!" "Oh, we all want to ride on the forklift,"   our docent sighed. It is that kind of place. Respect  is the first item on the ub...

FlapJilly is being promoted. She's leaving the world of The Two's  and crossing the parking lot to The Three's .  Her first friend at school moved over a month or so ago, so she'll have a familiar face in unfamiliar surroundings.  The play equipment is bigger and more challenging and the curriculum is less pre  and more school .  She's ready for the challenge, and her parents couldn't be more proud. And then Little Cuter and I exchanged the glance that said it all: OH, Where has my baby gone?   It's a mixture of joy and yearning and overwhelming heart exploding love.... and it left us both just a little bit teary.  She's such a big girl now.

This is the only one I could find. Yesterday, I waxed eloquently about the items I retained from the kids' childhood. I said that I had kept Little Cuter's trolls. I did not. Although I could swear that I saw them in a box, with the striped jacket Kathy-The-Babysitter made for one of them, when I went to pack them into a box for FlapJilly today they were not there. Now, did I lie? No, because in my heart I truly believed what I was saying.   Was I truthful? I thought that I was, but apparently I was not.. Is this an alternative fact? No, because I know, now, that it is not a fact. It is a figment of my imagination. Is it a misrepresentation of fact? Probably, although that was not my intention. The difference is that I am acknowledging the error and accepting the opprobrium which is rightly due me for writing that which is not true.  I'm not trying to create a phrase to cover my mistake.  Please, accept my apology.

After a tough morning at the pediatrician, replete with a flu shot that really hurt a lot, FlapJilly and Little Cuter plan to retire to the couch this evening. Apparently, trolls have made a comeback, on the big screen and in toy stores. They are streaming on home tv's nationwide, including that of my little girls. I missed this development entirely.  It's only because I've been organizing our storage that I knew the answer to her question. I saved everything. I have cardboard boxes of various shapes and sizes, labeled with memories of The Cuters' childhood - Construx, Leggo, Brio, Dinosaurs, Playmobil.  I have boxes and bookshelves filled with the literature of their youth - Ramona and Black Beauty and Christopher Robin are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next generation to listen to them as read-alouds.  I have Little Cuter's small glass animals and her pog book and yes, I have her trolls. There is much to be shed when one moves, whether up-sizing or...

There were a dozen of them on the counter.  TBG bought them, in part, because the original plan for the day included Mr 11 and 13 and the lifting of heavy boxes in our garage. He thought they'd like the treat after their work was done. But it was cold and rainy and none of us wanted to be in the garage so I took the boys home and returned to a white cardboard box filled with that-which-I-cannot-resist. Glazed.... powdered sugar.... cinnamon dusted... cake or air puffed up nearly three inches high... doughnuts are my nemesis.  Like Ado Annie, I'm just a girl who cain't say no. He's done this before, brought irresistible treasures like these into my house.  Yes, my house.... my kitchen.... because the smell of them permeates every room and I have no where to hide.  This time, I decided to take matters into my own hands - I ate one as soon as I saw them. It was perfect.  Absolutely perfect.   Unfortunately, there were 5 more just like it, si...

"I'm not ranting and raving... you're just dishonest people." There's a Russian intelligence ship 30 miles off the coast of Connecticut and the President's (fired) choice for Director of National Security lied to the FBI and nobody seems to be minding the store. Peter Alexander wondered what to do when the President, after reviling the media for presenting Fake News, presents as fact that which is demonstrably untrue.  "The leaks are absolutely real.  The news is fake because so much of the news is fake," may make sense to the Commander In Chief (pause... catch your breath.... I know.... I know...) but it wasn't much help to anyone else. Alexander Acosta, nominee for Labor Secretary, wasn't at the press conference ostensibly called to announce his selection.  MSNBC's Kasie Hunt couldn't get a Republican member of Congress to admit to having watched the press conference, let alone appear on camera. For fifteen minutes, the news...

" What did the President know, and when did he know it?" I've been trying to hold it together, immersing myself in reading aloud to kindergarten kids,  but I've had enough.   The New York Times  is not fake news. You can argue if Flynn was a rogue actor or if the President has any idea what a two-state solution actually means or if Jeff Sessions can possibly oversee an impartial inquiry but one thing I cannot countenance is calling The New York Times fake news. "Don't do anything you wouldn't want printed on the front page of The New York Times " was Daddooooo's mantra.  When  The New York Times  ran a bold headline that fact was reported by other outlets.  Having your wedding or death reported there in anything other than a paid advertisement signified something.... I'm not sure what, but it was something.  A friend counts their publication of his Letter to the Editor as a milestone achievement in an otherwise quite successful life. ...

It started out neatly, on 4 cafeteria tabletops. That didn't last long. There was happiness. and there was seriousness and there was silliness. They worked alone. or together and some shared a bench and inspiration There was candy and there was love (please note the foam press on earrings) and there were lots  and lots of balloons. As I was leaving, I stopped to hug Miss Levine and to admire this last heart of the day. Happy Day After Valentines Day.