I did good this week; I stuck to my cooking schedule and managed to come out on top. Monday's Shepherd's Pie was a smash hit. Tuesday I was at a loss so I improvised some Spanish Rice, which was still a win. Wednesday I made the Tomato bacon Chowder which was superb, and we have some leftovers for tonight. Thursday was the amazing win of tilapia, mango salsa and cilantro rice. (I have requests to make that again.) Yesterday I made fried rice. Rice week, I guess, but it was all cheap and all eaten. All eaten is the key. The Quinoa Vegetable salad held up well for lunches at work, and wasn't as boring as I thought it would be. So, all in all, grocery money was well spent and we averaged about a dollar a meal again.
This morning's breakfast of bacon and pancakes filled the place with warm smells, which was very comforting and calming. Even now, as I'm finishing my coffee and again plotting ways to encourage Keith to read more books, I'm calm and content.
Keith's first week of school remains a mystery; I still have no clue who his teacher is. I have seen her, and I have shaken her hand. Beyond that, I have no idea. I have written a letter to the principal and cc'd to the Superintendent, but I have yet to send it. I don't want to end up really liking this person and then regret sending a harsh missive earlier. I think I will wait until Curriculum Night, which is the 15th of this month.
There's some discussion starting at the PTA regarding making the school lunches healthier, which should be interesting to watch. I've never imagined that school lunches could be a healthful standard. If you want healthy things, pack it yourself.
We're reading Despereaux and nearly halfway through it. I am thinking of starting the Narnia series for winter, but I'm still not sure. I may start the Oz series, but that depends on what I can find at the library. Keith enjoys me reading to him more than he likes reading independently, which is nice in some ways and not so nice in others. Wouldn't it be great if he would read quietly for awhile?? Mom is getting him a subscription to Highlights, which is fantastic. The last time I got him a Highlights magazine, he pored over it.
I had Jazz Fest on the schedule for today, but Keith says that he would rather not go. So, our trip to the library will be calm and leisurely. Fine by me. We can spend a little time in downtown Evanston. Tomorrow is a free concert by the Chicago Chamber Orchestra, which just so happens to to be across the street from the Crown Fountain. Seems that a picnic lunch and a romp in the fountain are in order!
I suppose we could start thinking about Halloween... but I may wait until this beautiful weekend is over first.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Six Years Old, and What a Party
Well, it's done. And true to form, I didn't take many pictures. I was far too busy wrangling children to deal with the added stress of "Okay, now pose for me!"
Typical of suburban fashion, folks arrived about twenty to thirty minutes late. I had planned for this, saving the big games for 4:30. We played one of the water balloon relays, but the temptation of three bags of water balloons proved to be too much for the kids. The second game quickly devolved into an all out war. Kids were dashing all over, playing out a dozen little psychologies at once. Kids were hoarding balloons, kids were stomping balloons, kids were aiming for adults, kids were chasing and threatening each other, but everyone was screaming with laughter. Some kids were offended at getting wet, other kids had come in their bathing suits. The parents were standing off, enjoying the show.
I rounded them back up for pinata time, and I was overwhelmed by the shouts of "me next! Me next!" at who would take the next three swings. I resorted to closing my eyes and laying a hand on a kid, it was the only way. The pinata was great, it broke up fast enough that no one got impatient yet slow enough to provide some suspense. The fast grab free-for-all left a few of the slower kids crying, but I don't think it's truly a party until someone cries.
Dinner, with hot dogs and hamburgers, was enjoyed by all. All save the ONE vegetarian who did not identify herself. This kind of irritated me. I asked for dietary restrictions. No one said anything. Had she said, "I am vegetarian, please provide some tofu," I would gladly have brought it. But no. Argh. The funny part was that her husband had two hamburgers and remarked to Patrick that they were a "rare treat."
As I had an enormous cake, I began slicing and said, "I expect everyone to eat lots of cake." The kids were happy to oblidge. One of the girls ate two pieces, and the rest had one huge slice apiece. Ice cream cups were distributed, candy divided, and then the kids ran around the park for the rest of the time we had. The parents were fine with this; they were burning off their excitement and sugar-fueled enthusiasm. It was a gorgeous day, and best to spend it outdoors.
Patrick made s'mores for the kids who stayed long enough, and those were well recieved. They enjoyed watching him carefully toast their marshmallows and sandwich them up. I gave some kids some temporary tattoos while they waited.
Everyone told me that the party was a smashing success, and I wish I felt the same. I think we had about eighteen kids. Eighteen. I'm not sure because I lost count. At some point, I think it was during the massive water balloon fight, I looked around myself and wondered how in the hell this happened. Here we were, in the thick of kids I barely knew, and they were all friends of my son. My SON'S FRIENDS. I was aware of these children on some plane, but I didn't know them well enough to tell anyone what kind of candy they liked or what they were allergic to. But Keith could tell me.
It hit me; My son is old enough to socialize on his own terms. He makes friends relatively easily, and keeps them rather well. I'm sure that there will be the usual passing into and out of his life, but if all these children stay at Oakton for the duration of his five years there, then some measure of camaraderie will stay with them.
Not only can he follow directions, feed the cats, write the alphabet, spell "Kwik-e-Mart", read with a large degree of skill, clean up basic things, and perform basic addition and subtraction, he can make subjective decisions for his own person. We're reaching an age where he can definatively state what he likes and does not like, decide who he wants to play with, and what kind of games he wants to play.
It's not that he doesn't need me anymore. I don't feel less needed. On the contrary, I feel more needed than ever before. He doesn't need me to do basic, black and white things for him. He can do that on his own. What he needs me for now is guidance through an incredibly complex world of media and stuff and Hannah Montana and Transformers. He might want to watch X-Men, but he needs me to put it into some perspective for him so he can make sense of it. He can play car crashes with his toys and on video games, but he needs us to reinforce that while driving on the sidewalk is fun in a game, it's not appropriate in reality. These are hard things to teach, because I have to do it constantly and there are so many things out there that would steer him down a negative path. These lessons test my own resolve, my own values, and even my own person. Diaper changes were easy by comparison.
We've already learned some lessons; that the toys on TV look a lot more fun than they really are. That sometimes things are too expensive for us to buy. That malls can be boring. Sometimes hand dryers don't work and we have to wipe our hands on our pants and this is okay. Sometimes the kids on the playground can be little jerks. That beauty is in the small things. Love is best expressed every day and not just on "special" occasions.
There are some life skills we need to work on. Understanding that you can't get your way all the time, and sometimes bad things happen but we need to move on from them. And that failure doesn't inherently make one a "loser." We can work on those things as we move forward. I'm sure year six and first grade have a lot to teach us.
We'll get there.
Meanwhile, I'm left looking at the pile of toys left in the wake of this. Speed Racer and Hot Wheels and Transformers. I don't think I can keep back the Action Figures and Boy Toys much longer, and I'm making peace with that. We also got a cool "Battleship" game! I'm thinking that we may hold a "kiddie yard sale" to get rid of some of his older toys. He could learn about earning more money and clean out his clutter in the process. (The new allowance system is turning out to be a dream! Already I'm saying that if he wants X he can buy it himself.)
Today we learn the art of the Thank You note. And eat leftover cake and watermelon.
Typical of suburban fashion, folks arrived about twenty to thirty minutes late. I had planned for this, saving the big games for 4:30. We played one of the water balloon relays, but the temptation of three bags of water balloons proved to be too much for the kids. The second game quickly devolved into an all out war. Kids were dashing all over, playing out a dozen little psychologies at once. Kids were hoarding balloons, kids were stomping balloons, kids were aiming for adults, kids were chasing and threatening each other, but everyone was screaming with laughter. Some kids were offended at getting wet, other kids had come in their bathing suits. The parents were standing off, enjoying the show.
I rounded them back up for pinata time, and I was overwhelmed by the shouts of "me next! Me next!" at who would take the next three swings. I resorted to closing my eyes and laying a hand on a kid, it was the only way. The pinata was great, it broke up fast enough that no one got impatient yet slow enough to provide some suspense. The fast grab free-for-all left a few of the slower kids crying, but I don't think it's truly a party until someone cries.
Dinner, with hot dogs and hamburgers, was enjoyed by all. All save the ONE vegetarian who did not identify herself. This kind of irritated me. I asked for dietary restrictions. No one said anything. Had she said, "I am vegetarian, please provide some tofu," I would gladly have brought it. But no. Argh. The funny part was that her husband had two hamburgers and remarked to Patrick that they were a "rare treat."
As I had an enormous cake, I began slicing and said, "I expect everyone to eat lots of cake." The kids were happy to oblidge. One of the girls ate two pieces, and the rest had one huge slice apiece. Ice cream cups were distributed, candy divided, and then the kids ran around the park for the rest of the time we had. The parents were fine with this; they were burning off their excitement and sugar-fueled enthusiasm. It was a gorgeous day, and best to spend it outdoors.
Patrick made s'mores for the kids who stayed long enough, and those were well recieved. They enjoyed watching him carefully toast their marshmallows and sandwich them up. I gave some kids some temporary tattoos while they waited.
Everyone told me that the party was a smashing success, and I wish I felt the same. I think we had about eighteen kids. Eighteen. I'm not sure because I lost count. At some point, I think it was during the massive water balloon fight, I looked around myself and wondered how in the hell this happened. Here we were, in the thick of kids I barely knew, and they were all friends of my son. My SON'S FRIENDS. I was aware of these children on some plane, but I didn't know them well enough to tell anyone what kind of candy they liked or what they were allergic to. But Keith could tell me.
It hit me; My son is old enough to socialize on his own terms. He makes friends relatively easily, and keeps them rather well. I'm sure that there will be the usual passing into and out of his life, but if all these children stay at Oakton for the duration of his five years there, then some measure of camaraderie will stay with them.
Not only can he follow directions, feed the cats, write the alphabet, spell "Kwik-e-Mart", read with a large degree of skill, clean up basic things, and perform basic addition and subtraction, he can make subjective decisions for his own person. We're reaching an age where he can definatively state what he likes and does not like, decide who he wants to play with, and what kind of games he wants to play.
It's not that he doesn't need me anymore. I don't feel less needed. On the contrary, I feel more needed than ever before. He doesn't need me to do basic, black and white things for him. He can do that on his own. What he needs me for now is guidance through an incredibly complex world of media and stuff and Hannah Montana and Transformers. He might want to watch X-Men, but he needs me to put it into some perspective for him so he can make sense of it. He can play car crashes with his toys and on video games, but he needs us to reinforce that while driving on the sidewalk is fun in a game, it's not appropriate in reality. These are hard things to teach, because I have to do it constantly and there are so many things out there that would steer him down a negative path. These lessons test my own resolve, my own values, and even my own person. Diaper changes were easy by comparison.
We've already learned some lessons; that the toys on TV look a lot more fun than they really are. That sometimes things are too expensive for us to buy. That malls can be boring. Sometimes hand dryers don't work and we have to wipe our hands on our pants and this is okay. Sometimes the kids on the playground can be little jerks. That beauty is in the small things. Love is best expressed every day and not just on "special" occasions.
There are some life skills we need to work on. Understanding that you can't get your way all the time, and sometimes bad things happen but we need to move on from them. And that failure doesn't inherently make one a "loser." We can work on those things as we move forward. I'm sure year six and first grade have a lot to teach us.
We'll get there.
Meanwhile, I'm left looking at the pile of toys left in the wake of this. Speed Racer and Hot Wheels and Transformers. I don't think I can keep back the Action Figures and Boy Toys much longer, and I'm making peace with that. We also got a cool "Battleship" game! I'm thinking that we may hold a "kiddie yard sale" to get rid of some of his older toys. He could learn about earning more money and clean out his clutter in the process. (The new allowance system is turning out to be a dream! Already I'm saying that if he wants X he can buy it himself.)
Today we learn the art of the Thank You note. And eat leftover cake and watermelon.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Look, It's a MOUSE!!
Look, it's a MOUSE!!
Well, that's that.
Now I have gauranteed that it will rain.
Oh, and I also bought some Crayola 3D EXPLOSION while I was at the craft store.
BAD IDEA.
Apparently the magic is in the moisture. The "markers" are moist, which takes off the black coating on the "magic" paper. Underneath the black coating are the vibrant colors that appear 3D with the magic glasses.
Well, it's really humid today. So, Keith had black crap from hand to elbows, and even some on his face.
I was a little hesitant in the store, buying one pad of paper and four markers, all packaged together without any sign of replacements or refills. But once I got home I saw why: the markers are essentially demolished in the process of drawing and coloring the "magic" paper. New paper would be a waste of time without buying new markers, and losing the glasses is a virtual promise, so the whole set just makes sense.
Ugh. Sometimes I hate crayola, seriously. But Keith loves it....
back to Bacardi NAO.
Summer Learning
Seeing as how "the Wunderkind" (as my aunt calls him) was at the top of his kindergarten class, I've decided to undertake a massive effort in keeping him ahead of his game for the upcoming year. Mom sent me some kindergarten textbooks and I am armed with a library card. What I wasn't prepared for was the unending dramatics of trying to get a kid to read and learn during the summer.
Keith has been tasked with reading one book per day. One. And not even anything difficult. I'm asking him to read through the series that the school sent home with him, a collection of simple paper books. Easy.
No.
The Eye Rubbing. Keith seems to rather rub his eyes out than read these books. He reads out loud in a monotone, as though he's milling flour rather than reading. Both hands are at the eyes, rubbing and digging away, and I'm not even sure how he's seeing the words. His hands get moist from the tears he generates, as though he's precipitating CRYING at the fact I'm asking him to read these books.
Math books?
"Please practice writing your numbers."
"AWWWWWWUGHHHH."
And then in a script resembling late Picasso I get a figure 8. The lined paper has no meaning for Keith. He scrawls through it fast, trying to get away so there's enough time to play more "Simpsons Hit and Run."
So, he's smart enough to remember the cheat codes for this game, something I told him how to do once, but yet not smart enough to write out sevens and eights? I don't think so, kiddo.
And even though "reading is boring," he always begs me for another chapter of the book we're reading in the evenings before bedtime.
Keith has been tasked with reading one book per day. One. And not even anything difficult. I'm asking him to read through the series that the school sent home with him, a collection of simple paper books. Easy.
No.
The Eye Rubbing. Keith seems to rather rub his eyes out than read these books. He reads out loud in a monotone, as though he's milling flour rather than reading. Both hands are at the eyes, rubbing and digging away, and I'm not even sure how he's seeing the words. His hands get moist from the tears he generates, as though he's precipitating CRYING at the fact I'm asking him to read these books.
Math books?
"Please practice writing your numbers."
"AWWWWWWUGHHHH."
And then in a script resembling late Picasso I get a figure 8. The lined paper has no meaning for Keith. He scrawls through it fast, trying to get away so there's enough time to play more "Simpsons Hit and Run."
So, he's smart enough to remember the cheat codes for this game, something I told him how to do once, but yet not smart enough to write out sevens and eights? I don't think so, kiddo.
And even though "reading is boring," he always begs me for another chapter of the book we're reading in the evenings before bedtime.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Pinata
It's done. Sort of. it still needs painting but I can run out tomorrow and get poster paint. I only need black and white, I can mix the rest. It's supposed to be a mouse...
Yes, I know. It's not much now but let me get done painting it. The silly part is that we're reading Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh at the moment. So, I guess we're going to bash some mice!
But other than that, I think we're ready. He's looking forward to it, and so am I.
Maybe if I painted it to look like Despereaux.... God that was a depressing book.
I told the PTA moms that I would try and think of some kind of thing for a dramatics deal at the school, but the only thing that I can think of is a talent show. Would that be such a bad idea? It would irritate the "professional singers" who want to be involved, but I want the kids to have fun, not the parents... I'll toss it on the Yahoo group and see what the reaction is. Yargh.
Okay, OKay, I'm lazy
But my other laptop died awhile back and it was hard for me to get online with anything other than the Berry. And Berry is no good for doing this sort of thing.
Anyhow - we've been up to a lot and I hope to start catching up with everything. Keith "graduated" kindergarten, we went camping, he's in summer camp, Patrick and I are still working, and life seems okay for now. I'm still having chest pain and things, but I'm dealing with that the best I can and moving forward.
Keith's sixth birthday party is next week, and I guess I should finish the pinata tonight. So far we have quite a few of his classmates showing up, and a few of my adult friends might be there as well. Saturday will be a day rife with birthdays, as it's also Virginia's birthday. She's having her party in the morning at Whole Foods.
Yes, Whole Foods does birthday parties. I have no idea what goes on at a Whole Foods birthday party and I have no desire to find out I will be dropping Keith off to do whatever they do with Organic Food and then Patrick and I will be picking up food for his party later on that day. V's mom tells me that it involves cooking, kitchen safety, and something about a target made out of ice cream. Whatevs, so long as they have fun.
Keith's party will be at the park by the lake, where hopefully we may escape the 90 degree temperatures. Even if we don't, I have water balloons. I have a slate of games for the kids to play for prizes, we're having a little cookout, and I don't know how I will keep the ice cream cold for the afternoon. I just don't think I can carry that much ice.
Keith has taken to reading comic books for the summer. I honestly don't care, I'm just glad he's found something he enjoys reading. Keith is selectively smart. He seems to choose who he is smart with and when. It's kind of strange.
This past weekend was the Custer Fair up the street from us. It's a big Hoo-Doo, with the usual stages and performers, food and craft booths. I love craft fairs, but the more of them I attend, the more I realize that they all have the basic weird stuff. There's always the weird jewelry types, the uber-weird clothing booths, the knitting booth, the sad guy selling landscapes, the weird wall hangings, and the super weird furniture made of knotty wood. Variations on these themes abound, but there they are. I like jewelry, but I tend to look and move on, thinking I'll come back later if I still want it. By the time I'm done wandering, I forget what it was and decide it wasn't that memorable. I never, NEVER buy clothing at a craft fair. Lord knows what was involved in that.
This fair had some Kid's Clothes that looked like a virtual gaurantee of getting creamed on the playground; rainbow print short dresses, red and white polka dot smock tops complete with matching beret, blue pinstripe shorts with flower print tops, and gaudy suspenders as far as the eye could see. I've always been a big proponent of "never put your kids in anything you wouldn't wear yourself." None of these things were anything I would consider putting my pet in, much less wear myself. I didn't bother looking at the price tags, but I can only imagine that she was grossly overcharging for what amounted to kiddie clownwear and a trip to the ER.
I had spent the morning volunteering at the school PTA booth, trying to sell t-shirts and water bottles and few of the other things they sell to try and raise money. I learned the hard way that folks realy don't like being spoken to at craft fairs. My usual cheerful and engaging tradeshow manner was rebuffed! The dumpy old women were grumpy, the hawkish types were outright mean, and no one wanted to buy any notecards! Towards the end of my volunteering stint, I was being so nice I could have peeled paint, just to see how awful and mean the craft fair patrons would be in response. I love me.
We gave Keith ten dollars to spend at the fair. Before anyone says we're too lenient, this would include treats. Some asshat was trying to push a ridiculous duck pushtoy on Keith, and Keith was starting to look longingly at said Duck. Okay, pushtoys are for toddlers. And this "made in China" plastic duck was nothing I wanted in my home. Upon giving Keith his ten dollars, I stated that all toy purchases had to be approved.
Then it was official. I became THE WORST MOM EVER.
Keith whined and moaned, dragged his feet and gave a performance worthy of Shakspeare. Worst mom ever. "You never let me buy ANYTHING. I just want the DUCK."
"No. There are surely other things you will find interesting here." Looking amongst the windchimes made of old spoons, the flat rocks with little flames coming out of them, and the scary mask sculptures, I wasn't sure he would. But there would be ice cream for sure, and ice cream heals all wounds.
Did I mention the Peruvian people? At every craft fair there's two or three booths of Peruvians, and they're all selling little handbags, sparkly stuffed animals, pipes and flutes, and small toys. Maybe an ocarina. The Peruvians had INVADED this fair. I counted SIX Peruvian booths, all with the same wares. This time, they had made bows and arrows out of PVC pipe and dowel rods, selling them for five bucks. Keith wanted one. Perfect. Now I can stop feeling guilty about never buying anything from the Peruvians.
I got an amber and silver ring, as I've always wanted a piece of Amber jewelry.
We ate some greasy fair food, followed by ice cream and dancing in the square. The musicians started out playing some fast and cheerful tunes, but once the kids started dancing they decided to play some slow and somber stuff inspired by their trips to indian graveyards in the Black Hills. As a result, the kids dances looked like interpretive movement. I just wanted to stand up and scream, "can't you go back to the happy crap? Please??"
But all that's done now, and the arrows from the bow and arrow set have become tollbooths at the various doorways around the apartment. Fortunately I am the favored parent and I get through for free.
Anyhow - we've been up to a lot and I hope to start catching up with everything. Keith "graduated" kindergarten, we went camping, he's in summer camp, Patrick and I are still working, and life seems okay for now. I'm still having chest pain and things, but I'm dealing with that the best I can and moving forward.
Keith's sixth birthday party is next week, and I guess I should finish the pinata tonight. So far we have quite a few of his classmates showing up, and a few of my adult friends might be there as well. Saturday will be a day rife with birthdays, as it's also Virginia's birthday. She's having her party in the morning at Whole Foods.
Yes, Whole Foods does birthday parties. I have no idea what goes on at a Whole Foods birthday party and I have no desire to find out I will be dropping Keith off to do whatever they do with Organic Food and then Patrick and I will be picking up food for his party later on that day. V's mom tells me that it involves cooking, kitchen safety, and something about a target made out of ice cream. Whatevs, so long as they have fun.
Keith's party will be at the park by the lake, where hopefully we may escape the 90 degree temperatures. Even if we don't, I have water balloons. I have a slate of games for the kids to play for prizes, we're having a little cookout, and I don't know how I will keep the ice cream cold for the afternoon. I just don't think I can carry that much ice.
Keith has taken to reading comic books for the summer. I honestly don't care, I'm just glad he's found something he enjoys reading. Keith is selectively smart. He seems to choose who he is smart with and when. It's kind of strange.
This past weekend was the Custer Fair up the street from us. It's a big Hoo-Doo, with the usual stages and performers, food and craft booths. I love craft fairs, but the more of them I attend, the more I realize that they all have the basic weird stuff. There's always the weird jewelry types, the uber-weird clothing booths, the knitting booth, the sad guy selling landscapes, the weird wall hangings, and the super weird furniture made of knotty wood. Variations on these themes abound, but there they are. I like jewelry, but I tend to look and move on, thinking I'll come back later if I still want it. By the time I'm done wandering, I forget what it was and decide it wasn't that memorable. I never, NEVER buy clothing at a craft fair. Lord knows what was involved in that.
This fair had some Kid's Clothes that looked like a virtual gaurantee of getting creamed on the playground; rainbow print short dresses, red and white polka dot smock tops complete with matching beret, blue pinstripe shorts with flower print tops, and gaudy suspenders as far as the eye could see. I've always been a big proponent of "never put your kids in anything you wouldn't wear yourself." None of these things were anything I would consider putting my pet in, much less wear myself. I didn't bother looking at the price tags, but I can only imagine that she was grossly overcharging for what amounted to kiddie clownwear and a trip to the ER.
I had spent the morning volunteering at the school PTA booth, trying to sell t-shirts and water bottles and few of the other things they sell to try and raise money. I learned the hard way that folks realy don't like being spoken to at craft fairs. My usual cheerful and engaging tradeshow manner was rebuffed! The dumpy old women were grumpy, the hawkish types were outright mean, and no one wanted to buy any notecards! Towards the end of my volunteering stint, I was being so nice I could have peeled paint, just to see how awful and mean the craft fair patrons would be in response. I love me.
We gave Keith ten dollars to spend at the fair. Before anyone says we're too lenient, this would include treats. Some asshat was trying to push a ridiculous duck pushtoy on Keith, and Keith was starting to look longingly at said Duck. Okay, pushtoys are for toddlers. And this "made in China" plastic duck was nothing I wanted in my home. Upon giving Keith his ten dollars, I stated that all toy purchases had to be approved.
Then it was official. I became THE WORST MOM EVER.
Keith whined and moaned, dragged his feet and gave a performance worthy of Shakspeare. Worst mom ever. "You never let me buy ANYTHING. I just want the DUCK."
"No. There are surely other things you will find interesting here." Looking amongst the windchimes made of old spoons, the flat rocks with little flames coming out of them, and the scary mask sculptures, I wasn't sure he would. But there would be ice cream for sure, and ice cream heals all wounds.
Did I mention the Peruvian people? At every craft fair there's two or three booths of Peruvians, and they're all selling little handbags, sparkly stuffed animals, pipes and flutes, and small toys. Maybe an ocarina. The Peruvians had INVADED this fair. I counted SIX Peruvian booths, all with the same wares. This time, they had made bows and arrows out of PVC pipe and dowel rods, selling them for five bucks. Keith wanted one. Perfect. Now I can stop feeling guilty about never buying anything from the Peruvians.
I got an amber and silver ring, as I've always wanted a piece of Amber jewelry.
We ate some greasy fair food, followed by ice cream and dancing in the square. The musicians started out playing some fast and cheerful tunes, but once the kids started dancing they decided to play some slow and somber stuff inspired by their trips to indian graveyards in the Black Hills. As a result, the kids dances looked like interpretive movement. I just wanted to stand up and scream, "can't you go back to the happy crap? Please??"
But all that's done now, and the arrows from the bow and arrow set have become tollbooths at the various doorways around the apartment. Fortunately I am the favored parent and I get through for free.
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