After a two week hiatus, I am once again joining the Friday Fragments party. Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting this weekly collection of random thoughts.
I've decided that I am going to wear a stocking hat when I don't feel like doing my hair. In other words, EVERY DAY. The look I'm going for is hippie-starving artist. Unfortunately, the reality may be more along the lines of the Beastie Boys, circa 1991.
Since everybody is all, "Swine Flu! Swine Flu! OMFG Swine Flu!" I now have my home hand sanitizer and my car hand sanitizer. Since the boys are sick, I'm wiping noses, and rubbing my hands with 60% alcohol goodness.My life has become an unholy union of Silkwood and As Good as it Gets.
Consequently, my hands have the consistency of industrial strength sandpaper.
My cousin David, who lives in Chicago, introduced me to this: Neutrogena Norwegian Formula Hand Cream.
(I am the answer to all your problems. Worship me!)
I promise you that I'm getting no kickbacks from the Neutrogena folks, because that would involve an audience beyond my Mom (Hi, Mom!) Rather, I offer this to you as a simple public service: this lotion can kick your lotion's ass. Just a little dab, and my hands are as soft and supple as a Snuggie wrapped in bacon grease.
Owen and I went to the library last night and found this book: Hogwash, by Arthur Geisert
The alternative title of this book could be: "Holy Shitballs! PIGS & SILLY MACHINES!"
Owen really, really, really likes this book. It has no words, just a bizarre story involving a creepy pig-industrial complex where young piglets are washed in an elaborate Rube Goldberg cleaning machine. It involves water, lots of tubing, and machinery. Owen cannot get enough of it.
He woke up at the ungodly hour of FIVE AM to use the restroom. Then, he flipped on the light and read this book for an hour. We found him slumped over it, asleep. The lights were blaring, and he was drooling on this, his most sacred of texts.
If any grandparents or other family members are looking for the perfect Christmas gift, This just might be your page.
Speaking of books, I just read that Stefanie Wilder-Taylor, author of Sippy Cups are Not for Chardonnay, and Naptime is the New Happy Hour, has decided to stop drinking. I guess this means that there is a gaping hole in the Mothers-Who-Drink nonfiction genre. Hmmmmmm...
I am editing a friend's dissertation, and I find myself writing margin notes like, "Refer to additional studies regarding collective and individual self-efficacy from Bandura." I then step back and think, "How do I know this stuff? When was I ever smart?"
I feel the same way whenever I read old papers from college and graduate school. I once knew enough about Plato to write a ten page paper? Where did it all go?
Enough Friday Fragging for now! Happy Weekend, everybody!