Language acquisition

Boy Star has developed quite the imagination. He is also quite adept at expressing himself.

BS: What's for dinner tonight?

MS: Spaghetti.

BS: I don't want pasketti. I don't like it.

MS: I didn't ask if you like it. I told you what's for dinner.

BS: That's not fair, mommy.

MS: Fair's a place you take your pig, baby.

BS: No mommy. You go to the fair all by yourself. And take your noodles with you.

So after I stopped laughing, I told him I had to call Grammie Imelda. He needs to know this because he has appointed himself keeper of the phone.

"Don't talk on the phone. It'll kill you. I don't want you to get killed."

Seriously, three year olds are aliens. He spent all afternoon throwing a pillowcase over his head telling Baby Star he was a flying Dutchman ghost.

Aliens.

Haiku

A day late, but here you have it.


The golden daybreaks
Have quietly faded to
Bright crimson sunsets.

Asthma

I hate asthma. I hate that Boy Star has asthma.

I hate nebulizers and Pulmicort and Albuterol. I hate the hyperactivity that Albuterol causes. I hate having to travel with an extra bag for the inhaler and spacer and mask. I hate that Xopenex isn't covered by our insurance.

I hate that the common cold turns into asthma flares, expecially the one day a week we try to get out and have fun.

I hate the asthma cough. I hate what avian flu would mean for an asthmatic.

I hate asthma.

Morality (graphic content warning)

So, first it was We didn't use chemical weapons in Fallujah.

Then it was White phosphorous is an incendiary device, not a chemical weapon.

And then it's The United States isn't bound by that part of the Geneva Convention.

Whatthefuckever.

If you voted for current administration, look closely at this picture. It's not like we didn't tell you they were a pack of lying sleazebags.



But hey, just as long as gay people can't get married.