In which, by the purest of coincidences, I turn around on Inauguration Day to behold the following sight:

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Fridge Art

The three of us, by Julia

Julia, by Robin

Wow. Lotta tags for a post with no text.

An Easter Egg Story

This is not a story about Easter eggs. It is a story about eggs, and it occurred at Easter time.

Just so you know.

I don't usually buy my eggs in trays of 30, but it's true I didn't specify, when Dad asked what we needed from the store, that a dozen or so would suffice. I also didn't specify, because I like to live on the edge, that he might look for a tray in which Egg #27 hadn't been sitting there, broken an unrefrigerated, for 10 days.

Fortunately, I smelled Egg #27 even before opening the plastic seal - I'm lucky like that. So I took it outside to open it.

Dad watched through a window.

I brought in all the unsullied eggs and put them away. Then I went back for the sullied ones. A couple of them had become very attached to Egg #27, and had to be pried off of the cardboard carton.

I always thought eggshells were porous. Isn't some sort of oxygen exchange necessary for the (hypothetical) wee little developing chicks? And if so, wouldn't the rotten egg-ness osmose into the neighboring eggs? Well, I was assured that no such osmosis would occur; that the unbroken eggs wouldn't be any the worse for wear for spending 10 days next to--yea, bathed in--the slowly rotting guts of Egg #27, so I went ahead and washed them off.

I think, though, that the consuming of those particular eggs should be a voluntary affair, so I also took the liberty of marking them so we'll all know which are which at egg-selection time.


By the time I had the sullied eggs properly situated and went back outside with a plastic bag in which to seal Egg #27, its neighbor to the west (which was also cracked), and the rotten-egg-permeated cardboard, I made an intriguing discovery.

It seems that dogs like rotten eggs. They also like rotten-egg-permeated cardboard.

Note to self: No kissing the dogs.

See? The "J" really is pronounced like an "H"

Robin's handiwork:

Ladies and gentlemen, we have punctuation

Welcam!

They were due in at 1:30 this afternoon, but missed their connecting flight and were put on one that was supposed to get here at 9:55 pm. They're presumably on that one, but it's delayed too, so now they're due in at 10:37 pm.

The girls cried this morning when I told them they wouldn't be able to go to the airport, but they got over it. And I realized that we probably wouldn't have been able to get four large suitcases, two carry ons, two children and three adults (two standard size and one extra long) into the car, and would have had to have a taxi follow us home. So, silver lining and all that.

I'm having a cup of coffee and will head out in a minute. Hopefully immigration and customs will be simpler, since there won't be any other flights arriving this late, and the airport personnel will want to get everyone processed and shut things down. Maybe.

The latest entry...

...in what has apparently become a series. (Click here for previous ones.)



Translation (in flawless Spanish): Julia farted.

ETA: On a relevant (?) note, sounds like good news for expats.

A little knowledge is a humorous thing

This is what it looks like when a bilingual child is taught to read in a Spanish-speaking classroom, then puts her newfound skills to use in an English-speaking household, using as her medium a generous but by no means inexhaustible supply of refrigerator magnets.

Supar job

She would like it to be known that she ran out of S magnets, so the Z at the end is really an S. Although I think the Z is cooler anyway. The lack of an S also led her to ask if any other letter combination made the "sh" sound, to which I replied that some words have a TI instead. Other than that, it's all her.

Read between the lines, people

It's gone now so I can't take a clearer picture, but it says BUHSZROKT.

So as a concerned mother I not only have to worry that Julia may be a throwback to the Republican Tuckers (the Bushes "rocked"?!?), now she's using leet to try to throw me off. Crafty, these three year olds. Crafty.