All A-Twitter

The problem with Twitter, for me anyway, is that after using it for awhile, I tend to start to think in 140-character blocks. For example, if I had been able to Twitter this weekend, it would have gone something like this:

“Wow! the Sewickley Farmers Market is amazing. Why haven’t I come here before?”

“Going to the playground was a giant mistake. Hot slides + hot swings = no fun.”

“DearDR just offered to make dinner! OK, brinner. But still! Mama’s not cooking tonight.”

“Nothing is funnier than watching a 4yo trying to jump rope. Not funny? Convincing her that she doesn’t suck at everything.”

“Vantage Point is pretty badass, right until the end. And then it’s crap.”

“Matthew Fox speaking Spanish is hysterical.”

“Too hot to be outside again. We’re going to the Children’s Museum.”

“Went to the Children’s Museum for the waterplay room. Guess what room the kids didn’t want to go to?”

“We’ve been members of the Children’s Museum for more than two years. This is DearDR’s first visit. He sez, “I work a lot.” Boo!”

Admittedly, I am weird. The narrating voice in my head (what, doesn’t everyone have one of those?) tends to reflect the tone of whomever I am reading at the time, for example, Margaret Atwood or Stephen King or Neil Gaiman. So as a Twitter user, I am parsing my life into 140 characters in my head. Even without an iPhone or a laptop. It’s kind of odd.

Also, I think it’s affected my blogging, resulting in less. I’m trying to think up clever tweets instead of entire posts. I’ll sit down to post about something, and get caught up in the immediate gratification of Twitter. It’s like a drug! (No, really.)

Anyway, it was a nice, uneventful weekend. I got a good handle on the laundry, and the general cleanliness of my house. DearDR was around a lot, which was also nice. We ate as a family, twice. Almost everything we ate was from the Sewickley Farmers Market: green beans, corn on the cob, a fruit salad of blueberries and nectarines, even DearDR’s brinner of sourdough French toast — so delicious. So going back there.

The winning tweet this weekend would have been: “Monkey to DearDR: I love you. DearDR: I love you, too. Monkey: I’ll always care for you. Me: Dude, I think she just broke up with you.”

The Spoken Word

Things I wish I had never said within my children’s earshot:

1. “Fine!”

Remember the show “Moonlighting”? Back when Bruce Willis had some hair and was actually funny? Remember how he and Cybil Shepherd, when they were arguing, would end the argument by saying, “Fine!” and then storm off?

That’s “Fine!” in my house.

Fine in my household does not mean, “Yes, dear, that is perfectly all right with me.” Or, “Yes, of course, Monkey, I will get that for you right away.” It has more bite to it. It means things such as, “Okay, great, you go right ahead and do that, don’t say I didn’t warn you” and “All right, already, get off my back!” So when my children say, “Fine!” to me — with the exact same intonation that I use with them and with DearDR, it drives me bugshit. But it’s my fault. We have to find another word for “fine” in the true sense.

2. “You’re pushing it.” This, too, is my fault. And you know what, she is! Anyway, this is Monkey’s defense of choice when I’m asking her to do something she doesn’t want to do, and I get upset. “You’re pushing it.” And like the mature adult I am, I retort, “No, you’re pushing it.”

3. I don’t recall teaching her, “I’ve told you a million times.” That may come from DearDR or maybe school. But that’s what she was saying Wednesday night as she was finally putting on her pajamas: “I’ve told you a million times. You’re pushing it.”

Why is it on Lost night, it seems to take forever for the kids to go to bed?

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Two Monkey conversations

While holding her shamrock made at preschool: “Myself, this will guard my gold so the leprechaun doesn’t get it.” To me: “I’m talking to Myself.” I see.

On the way to preschool with DearDR:
Monkey: “The world is so big. I want to go up in a rocket and see the whole thing.”
DDR: “Well, if you study, honey, you can do that.”
M: “I want to take you with me.”