annie blog

Note to Self
Self, when your four-year-old is in the shopping cart and is sweetly holding the bananas, don’t assume that he will continue to hold them. He will not. But, since he is a tidy sort of fellow, in some instances, he will decide that they need to be placed in the storage area of the cart and he will get the bananas there by casually tossing them over his shoulder. Which does nothing for the bananas — as we all know.

Self, also, don’t underestimate how cute this four-year-old will be when he misunderstands when you tell him the name of the melons with green interior and delightedly and loudly tells everyone he sees while gesturing to the melon, “Look, we got some HONEY DUDES!!”.

Note to Self
Self, when your four-year-old is in the shopping cart and is sweetly holding the bananas, don’t assume that he will continue to hold them. He will not. But, since he is a tidy sort of fellow, in some instances, he will decide that they need to be placed in the storage area of the cart and he will get the bananas there by casually tossing them over his shoulder. Which does nothing for the bananas — as we all know.

Self, also, don’t underestimate how cute this four-year-old will be when he misunderstands when you tell him the name of the melons with green interior and delightedly and loudly tells everyone he sees while gesturing to the melon, “Look, we got some HONEY DUDES!!”.

Sometimes You Have to Change Directions
And, in this instance, I’m talking about books. I’ve been on an Elizabeth Gaskell kick of late, reading North and South, Wives and Daughters, and Cranford. I enjoyed them all very much and probably North and South most of all.

So, while waiting for other Gaskell books to be ready at the library, I decided to read The Life of Charlotte Bronte. Well, I have to say that it was definitely an interesting book. I haven’t read enough biographies to really be able to critique Gaskell’s take on Bronte’s life. They were, however, friends in real life and natives of the same northern area of England, which, I am sure, made Gaskell an excellent choice for a biographer.

What a life Charlotte Bronte led. Tragedy after tragedy, nearly constant ill-health, depression — the list of trials in her life is very long. And, yet, it was fascinating, too, to learn about her, about this era in England’s history, also to learn what she thought about other writers (including Austen!), and about the area of the country in which she lived. It was fascinating and also more than a little depressing — which I will acknowledge that I don’t need right now. So I’ve changed gears, so to speak, and have begun reading The Essays of E.B. White. So far, so good.

Sometimes You Have to Change Directions
And, in this instance, I’m talking about books. I’ve been on an Elizabeth Gaskell kick of late, reading North and South, Wives and Daughters, and Cranford. I enjoyed them all very much and probably North and South most of all.

So, while waiting for other Gaskell books to be ready at the library, I decided to read The Life of Charlotte Bronte. Well, I have to say that it was definitely an interesting book. I haven’t read enough biographies to really be able to critique Gaskell’s take on Bronte’s life. They were, however, friends in real life and natives of the same northern area of England, which, I am sure, made Gaskell an excellent choice for a biographer.

What a life Charlotte Bronte led. Tragedy after tragedy, nearly constant ill-health, depression — the list of trials in her life is very long. And, yet, it was fascinating, too, to learn about her, about this era in England’s history, also to learn what she thought about other writers (including Austen!), and about the area of the country in which she lived. It was fascinating and also more than a little depressing — which I will acknowledge that I don’t need right now. So I’ve changed gears, so to speak, and have begun reading The Essays of E.B. White. So far, so good.

Sometimes You Have to Change Directions
And, in this instance, I’m talking about books. I’ve been on an Elizabeth Gaskell kick of late, reading North and South, Wives and Daughters, and Cranford. I enjoyed them all very much and probably North and South most of all.

So, while waiting for other Gaskell books to be ready at the library, I decided to read The Life of Charlotte Bronte. Well, I have to say that it was definitely an interesting book. I haven’t read enough biographies to really be able to critique Gaskell’s take on Bronte’s life. They were, however, friends in real life and natives of the same northern area of England, which, I am sure, made Gaskell an excellent choice for a biographer.

What a life Charlotte Bronte led. Tragedy after tragedy, nearly constant ill-health, depression — the list of trials in her life is very long. And, yet, it was fascinating, too, to learn about her, about this era in England’s history, also to learn what she thought about other writers (including Austen!), and about the area of the country in which she lived. It was fascinating and also more than a little depressing — which I will acknowledge that I don’t need right now. So I’ve changed gears, so to speak, and have begun reading The Essays of E.B. White. So far, so good.

Last Day of School
sigh. Where did all that time go? Now is the time of leftover school supplies coming home, of the feelings of excitement, of thinking of all the summer fun that is yet to be had, and of the buying of more wine. I’m kind of kidding about the wine. No, I’m not. Anyway, since I blogged some of my oldest son’s poetry last week, I thought that I’d share some of my 8-year-old’s, today.

Yawn

Yawning, yawning,
yawning reminds me of many things.

Wind is a symbol for another reminder
called stopping the airflow.
It’s like stopping the music.

When you’re in bed you’ll hear a vent
blow air.
Air is the last reminder.

Oh, air, without air you couldn’t yawn.
And without yawning I wouldn’t have
written this poem.

Last Day of School
sigh. Where did all that time go? Now is the time of leftover school supplies coming home, of the feelings of excitement, of thinking of all the summer fun that is yet to be had, and of the buying of more wine. I’m kind of kidding about the wine. No, I’m not. Anyway, since I blogged some of my oldest son’s poetry last week, I thought that I’d share some of my 8-year-old’s, today.

Yawn

Yawning, yawning,
yawning reminds me of many things.

Wind is a symbol for another reminder
called stopping the airflow.
It’s like stopping the music.

When you’re in bed you’ll hear a vent
blow air.
Air is the last reminder.

Oh, air, without air you couldn’t yawn.
And without yawning I wouldn’t have
written this poem.

Last Day of School
sigh. Where did all that time go? Now is the time of leftover school supplies coming home, of the feelings of excitement, of thinking of all the summer fun that is yet to be had, and of the buying of more wine. I’m kind of kidding about the wine. No, I’m not. Anyway, since I blogged some of my oldest son’s poetry last week, I thought that I’d share some of my 8-year-old’s, today.

Yawn

Yawning, yawning,
yawning reminds me of many things.

Wind is a symbol for another reminder
called stopping the airflow.
It’s like stopping the music.

When you’re in bed you’ll hear a vent
blow air.
Air is the last reminder.

Oh, air, without air you couldn’t yawn.
And without yawning I wouldn’t have
written this poem.

He’s Not to Be Outdone
Last night, I was called back downstairs after lights out to give out a few more kisses and hugs to my youngest. It seems that he had only had, like, 900 kisses during the day and he thought that he needed a few more before sleeping.

While I was down there, my 2nd oldest demonstrated how well he can do the worm on his bed. He really does a good job with that — maybe more breakdancing is in his future? Anyway, the youngest was not to be outdone. After 2nd oldest had said, “Look, Mom, I can do the worm!”, the youngest promptly got up on all fours and said, “And, look, Mom, I can do the cow!! MOooooooo.”

He’s Not to Be Outdone
Last night, I was called back downstairs after lights out to give out a few more kisses and hugs to my youngest. It seems that he had only had, like, 900 kisses during the day and he thought that he needed a few more before sleeping.

While I was down there, my 2nd oldest demonstrated how well he can do the worm on his bed. He really does a good job with that — maybe more breakdancing is in his future? Anyway, the youngest was not to be outdone. After 2nd oldest had said, “Look, Mom, I can do the worm!”, the youngest promptly got up on all fours and said, “And, look, Mom, I can do the cow!! MOooooooo.”