I'm sorry for the lack of posts. I just haven't had the energy. But this morning, I thought I'd drag my pathetic self upstairs to my office and make an attempt.
Tera's downstairs in hog heaven. Spread out before her is a gigantic pile of those annoying magazine inserts offering "deals" on everything from panty hose to garden hoses. Her dad was looking through the bulging packet of inserts last night, tossing one after the other on the floor, when she squealed.
"Oooh! Are you throwing those away?"
"Yep." When Dave is not in the pulpet, he's a man of few words; few syllables.
"Can I have them?" she asked.
But it was bedtime. Past bedtime, actually. So the coveted pile had to wait until this morning. And even though we need to be starting school soon, she whizzed herself down those stairs a la Tazmanian Devil the second her eyes flew open, grabbed a pen, and settled herself in front of the bounty.
Why, you might ask? I'll let Tera tell you in her own words: "I love those things. When I fill them out, I feel like I'm a businesswoman ... like I'm paying bills or something."
I'm ridiculously fond of Brussels sprouts--and few people can understand or relate to that, either--so I'm not going to comment on the strangeness of Tera's delight. I don't mind if she sits in her happy puddle of paper for awhile, giggling and x-ing out boxes. She can't stay there all day, mind you. I mean, if she's going to grow up to be an actual, bill-paying businesswoman, she's going to need to get a little more math under her belt. But she can have herself a brief party before I go back downstairs and ring my school bell. And after I've infused a bit of education in her, she can return to her pile. In fact, she can spend the whole rest of the day sitting on the living room floor, filling out those squares, if she likes ... as long as none of them actually find their way out to the mailbox.
We have all the panty hose and garden hoses we can handle at the moment.