Saturday, February 04, 2012

T.G.I.F., mofos

Sooooo glad it's the Friday.  The Big Yam woke us up at 5am this morning and I was exhausted by 11am (when I had already been up and working for SIX G-D HOURS!)  Any time he does something wrong he likes to lean in, reeeaaaallll slow, with his mouth gaping open, for a big, passive, dead-fish-mouth kiss.  It's pretty cute.  Sometimes, it's less cute.  Like when he does it after trying to bite my nipple off.  I said to the Dotytron, "I think he misunderstands the point of the 'sorry' kiss.  He thinks his kisses can fix anything."  We looked at each other for a beat and then said, "He's not entirely wrong about that."  Seriously, the dude could have just blithely chomped down on my boob with his bajillion teeth and hung on like a pitbull with lock-jaw, and then he'll lean in with one of his kisses and I completely forget that I was mad at him.  

I keep telling him he's a super-genius and I don't know if it's working and I have no idea what child development milestones he's supposed to be meeting, but I'm fairly convinced that he is one (you mean, you can't will your child to be gifted?!?  Not on my watch!)  When I tell him to go get his socks and shoes, he does it.  His "bum!" noise in the dancing video below we've figured out his him trying to say "jump!" and do the action.  He also tried doing up the zipper on his hoodie this morning.  I can't wait until he can help me fold laundry and wash dishes.  That should be in like, 2 months, right?  

Speaking of genius kids, the Dotytron teaches a gifted class at his middle school who sound HILARIOUS.  They do things like come up with mathematical equations for the bottom number in a time signature or when he plays "musical jeopardy" for them, one of them will write down the different category values as "2 to the power of 6 - 10" or something and I'm always joking that the Dotytron is laughing along with them but in his head is like, "HAHAHAHAHAHA!  I don't know if that's right."  Anyway, they're not gifted kids in the way I was a gifted kid.  Oh, you mean I haven't mentioned before that I was gifted?  I was.  No biggie.  Quit asking me about it, really.  These are gifted kids in the math-y/robotics extra-curricular class kind of way.  Anyway, the Dotytron was telling me that he was telling them yesterday about how he always wanted to do a musical installation based on Pi and the kids lost their s**t.  They basically thought it was the coolest thing ever and were already wondering where they could find some "open source software" to compose the thing.  Today the Dotytron told me that two of his kids wrote the program last night.    The Dotytron loves his little nerdlinger gifted kids the mostest.  Why are nerds so endearing?!?  I love nerds, but I absolutely LOATHE (on sight) kids who look like this:

Kids in fedoras are the worst.  Even worse than that are kids in fedoras wearing dress shirts with loosely knotted ties.  That's like, every privileged kid whose parents indulge them (ie. the kids who go to the alternative school close by us.)  

We've jettisoned Friday Night Take Out Night in the name of household austerity measures.  We always have plans to eat at least one meal out (frequently more) on the weekends with friends/family and I didn't want to spend the whole weekend eating out.  So Friday Night Take Out Night has morphed into Friday Night Junky Food night.  Tonight we had moco loco, which is that Hawaiian dish we're crazy for - traditionally hamburger patties on white rice, with fried eggs and canned brown gravy.  DEEELICIOUS.  I also made us Momofuku Milk Bar Compost Cookies - which have potato chips, graham crumbs, coffee grinds (fresh, not used!), butterscotch chips and chocolate chips.  

My plan this evening is to eat like a pig, watch a million episodes of Top Chef: Texas (rooting for Paul from Austin, obvs) and then pass out on the couch at 8pm, fall fast asleep, then wake up in a fury at 10pm and instantly start shriekily accusing the Dotytron of "keeping me awake" (I generally repeat this ritual about once a week).  


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