A Rather Heckish Day

I must be brief. I feel I’m starving, and none of this fare my husband likes to call “rabbit food” seems tolerable at the moment. After wrestling with Johnny for hours on end I’ve been overtaken by the urge to replenish my emotional welbeing by eating something warm and savory and very, very lonely. But a word is enough on a subject so mind-splitting. Soon I must go and hunt down my missing husband and when I find him (frolicking with his brothers, no doubt) I am going to leave Johnny with said husband and said brothers, while I go and watch a movie and get a bowl of soup, preferrably French Onion Soup with melted cheese in it. Ahh…I feel better just for having said it.

Fun fact: Do you know it is illegal in some places for people in prortait studios to blow bubbles during a photography session? Apparently electroction is a big problem in these places.


When I have my big house someday, along with the dance studio and dozen servants and adjacent homeless shelter I plan to install, I am going to have my very own protrait studio where I will photograph my children blowing bubbles to my heart’s content.

On that optimistic note I leave you, my dear readers, for I must wrestle Johnny into his clothes and wrestle him out the door and wrestle him into his seatbelt and then…

We’re gonna cotch that Daddy
Yes we are
We’re gonna cotch that Daddy
And put him in the car.

Go car, go car, go car, go car
Go car, go car!

 This is the carol you would hear us sing as we drive, should you happen to have bugged our automobile.

Yours in frivolity and frustration,


P.S. It’s about twenty minutes since I typed that last. After finishing I went to find Johnny and there he was, rolled up in the top comforter on my bed, fast asleep. Of course, he had refused to take a nap of my arranging all afternoon, but it’s absolutely impossible for any but the most heartless to be angry with a sleeping baby. I slid him back a little further from the edge and came out and finished my dishes. Now I’m temporarily sating my cravings with a frozen fudge bar, and I’ve decided my missing husband can jolly well find himself.




  1. Yep. That’s the way to do it. I almost think that when I write about frustrations in this way they become an adventure, or are perhaps revealed as an adventure.


  2. I wanted to say
    “Go car go car go car go”

    We have lots of silly songs at our house that we made up for one purpose or another – our (mostly) grown children still bring them up occasionally! So as a parent I think making up songs is very worthwhile.


  3. They still remember them? I’m glad to hear that. I’ve sometimes wondered whether ours will fall by the wayside. I made the “Go Car” song when Scottie was living at Fort Gordon and Johnny and I would go to have lunch with him every day. In return Scottie made up the “Where’s Nana” song (I’m Nana.) What’s really cute is watching Johnny change the words to apply to other objects and persons.


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