more random weekend thoughts

After dinner, Sunday evening.  Photographed with Nikon D300, ancient 50mm manual lens.

I am still wrestling with what my proper response should have been to Alex suddenly calling out from her bedroom Saturday morning:  "MOM?  Can I have a whip like Indiana Jones?"  Should it have been laughter?  Pride in her choice of a successful and adventuresome anthropologist as her role model?  Curiosity in her motives for needing a whip in the first place?  Unmitigated concern in my own parenting skills?

When I mentioned to Marcus that I thought I wouldn't like to have a funeral upon my death, he suggested that he have me cremated, throw a party in celebration of my life, and combine my ashes with the grated nutmeg that would garnish the rum punch he served the guests in my honour. I am vacillating between being deeply horrified by his suggestion, and dumbstruck with admiration at his ingenuity.

Also? If I die, and Marcus invites you to a party, don't drink the rum punch.

Alex has taken up beatboxing.  In describing the visual, I woudn't be exaggerating if I told you to imagine a somewhat flatulant (or at the very least, raspberry-making) mouse, doing, inexplicably, Riverdance.  Marcus and I have decided we can forgive her form, since it turns out the kid actually has some rhythm.


SongLoveStoned/I Think She Knows Interlude by Justin Timberlake.  Just 'cause it's all about the beatboxing.

Karen Walrond16 Comments