Last night, I had a dream that I was playing with Daphne, and she kept calling me Old Gray Mommy. WHAT!? OLD GRAY MOMMY!? Listen, I've got news for you, Dream Daphne, I am NOT your Old Gray Mommy. I am your Old SILVER Mommy. And please don't forget it.
And really, I may be old, but I'm still sorta cool. I play RockBand! (My new goal is to get 100% on Spoonman on medium drums - I think my highest is 95% so far).
I was telling Kev the other day that I never ever have any good dreams. Like the kind with the ability to fly, or baby ducks, or trips to Maine. I only have stressful dreams. Recently, I dreamed I worked in an office and everyone there was mad at me. Also, I dreamed I got kicked off American Idol somehow, even though I never actually sang anything, and it was really traumatic. I constantly dream I'm being chased but can't run. Kev said maybe I DO have good dreams, but just don't remember those because they aren't as shocking. All I know is, I always wake up sorta stressed out, and the day hasn't even begun.
On a happier note, and I hope this doesn't jinx it, we are going on three days here with no time-outs or arguments or lost privileges. There is the promise of Dairy Queen if we can make it to Saturday. And I think we can. The biggest threat to shooting off the wheels is the possibility of school being closed tomorrow. More snow is coming. Not a lot, but it doesn't seem to take much to shut things down around here. So we'll see. But there may be Dilly Bars in my future. Go Daphne!
OK...off to tackle my naptime activities for today. Tonight, there will be Herbed Bread. Tomorrow, there will be pictures...
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Why the Lazy Russian Horses Show?
Because one day Kev was singing "Sway," and if you know Kev, you know he is a notorious low-talker, so when he sang "like the lazy ocean hugs the shore," I thought he said "like a lazy Russian horses show," and it seemed like a good name for something. Sorta Sgt. Peppery. No offense to Russians or horses is intended.
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4 comments:
I've been having dreams about people I knew from college.
Curiously, I don't think I've **ever** dreamt about my kids...
--GG
I think Kev is right about only remembering the bad ones. I feel like I only remember the bad ones.
Speaking of Kev, that comment, plus a comment he wrote on my blog about tissues killing people in a car accident that I revisited recently, reminded me that Kev has good ideas. He has disappeared off of the blogging landscape. Please talk him into returning.
I'm glad SOMEBODY thinks I have good ideas. I don't get any respect around here.
My wife pretty much hasn't believed anything I've said in eight years. And lately, my own daughter has taken to saying "Oh, daddy!" and smacking her forehead whenever I try to tell her something. Here is a typical conversation:
ME: "Daphne, do you know that lizards smell with their tongues?"
DAPHNE: "Oh daddy!" (Smack)
Or, the other night at a fancy pub:
ME: "You have the prettiest hair in the room."
TARA: (with eye roll) "Crocodiles in the basement."
No respect.
-K.
"Crocodiles in the Basement" - is this some Texas phrase? What's it mean?
I tried Googling it, but didn't get any meaningful hits.
(Thx!)
--GG
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