I’m eating a tuna sandwich with a knife and fork. Y’know, just because.
My son is the King of Flatulence. He has identified no less than 10 kinds of farts:
- the Loud fart;
- the Soft, Squishy fart;
- the Musical fart;
- the Explosive fart;
- the Smooth fart;
- the Whistling fart;
- the Silent, Stinky fart;
- the Bubbly fart;
- the Fart that Doesn’t Sound like it comes from Your Bum; and tonight’s addition
- the Bum Juice Fart (trust me, you don’t want to know).
This research is a work in progress. The child is a connoisseur.
Is it possible to have other realities existing in this moment of “now?” Other realities with you at their centre? What happens if those moments begin to touch? What happens if you hear their echoes – echoes of different you(s)?
Can you be addicted to your children?
I was just wondering this because when the lad is not around, I feel lost – almost. If I’m away for a couple of days I miss his laughter and the way he still looks like a baby when he sleeps. I miss his constant talking and his flashes of incredible insight. I miss the person he is and I can’t help but fill up my minutes thinking of the person he will be. Sometimes, when I’m up at night, I have moments when I miss him already even though he hasn’t grown away yet. And heaven help me, when I’m away, I even miss his howling at bathtime. That’s an addiction, right?
You know you’re watching too much football when …
The shower sounds like fans singing a footie song.
I think I’ll save “No. 26” for random thought days.
And to my boy Random Dave. No dude, I cannot have a random thought everyday. Then it’s not … y’know … random. (He’s Random, not Bright.)