Nothing to Write Home About

A few observations:

1. If you have taken photos of the forlorn toy kitchen and wooden play food and dishes that nobody cares about anymore, and set them by the door and begun to list them on your town’s online yard sale, suddenly everyone in the house can play with nothing else. Wooden watermelon triangles! Tiny metal muffin tins! An itty bitty beeping microwave! That lone plastic cob of corn! It’s Christmas in August, with stuff that has always been around.

2. When Jack begins screaming and crying for no apparent reason, and bangs his head against vacuums and walls and furniture, something is amiss. Today it was a sinus infection. Stickers Doctor did a good job sleuthing with our nonverbal boy to figure it out. I’m still waiting for someone to invent the diagnostic pediatric wand, which parents and pediatricians can wave in front of the nonverbal special needs child to scan and magically intuit what is wrong. Seriously, why can’t somebody invent this?

3. The last days of summer invariably turn us into a house of pirates. And not the jolly kind of pirates, unfortunately. Definitely not eyeliner-wearing, tipsy Johnny Depp/Jack Sparrow type pirates. Just dirty, ill-mannered, boorish salty dogs. We need to drop anchor and get the heck off this nauseating summer cruise ship.

4. When you have been married for sixteen years, you just may spend your wedding anniversary shopping for new carpet to replace the old carpet which has been beaten to death by your progeny. And you might feel resplendent about such a possibility.

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