For those of you with that “attention to detail” thing I’ve heard so much about, this is the correct volume 48 of 7 Quick Takes. Last week Tami Boesiger pointed out that I skipped 47.
How was my day on Wednesday? Glad you asked. Allow me to answer you with a photo:
It’s a picture of what I saw when I came downstairs at one particularly rough patch of the afternoon: A doll, lying face-down in a puddle of urine on the couch. My first thought? “I know how she feels.”
“Why was there a puddle of urine on your couch?!” you ask with a horrified look on your face. Potty training. Each of my children seems to find new and more creative ways to make potty training difficult. The problem with my son was that he reacted as if our bathroom contained the TOILET O’ DOOM, the most loathsome, fearsome object in the whole universe that one must avoid the same way one avoids rattlesnakes and downed power lines. I believe at some point I wished in God’s general direction that I could have a child who was a little more laid back about the whole potty thing.
And now I have my three-year-old daughter, who is perfectly happy to sit on the potty…or not. She’s also perfectly happy to just go in her pants. She doesn’t even tell me when she’s had accidents; I’ll see her playing cheerfully with a puddle at her feet (or, in the case of the above photo, on the couch). I know that I should be putting her on the potty at regular intervals, but with all the chaos around here I always forget, and, long story short, we end up with dolls face-down in urine on the couch. It is this sort of thing that makes me wonder if I missed a call to the cloistered consecrated religious life.
For some reason I just can’t get over the fact that Linus Torvalds has a family blog. I guess I’d always pictured him as residing on Mount Olympus, occasionally handing down code from his throne upon the clouds. To read about him taking his kids to summer camp and having neighbor kids hang out at his house just blows my mind.
My poor husband has been subjected to more than a few emails from me musing about what life might be like at the Torvalds house. Projecting my own personality onto Mr. Torvalds, I picture the neighborhood kid making a random comment about playing solitaire on Windows prompting Torvalds to recollect loudly, “Yes, that reminds me of the time I was WRITING MY OWN OPERATING SYSTEM…” And I imagine any know-it-all attitude from his kids being met with, “Well, gee, I only WROTE THE LINUX KERNEL, so what do I know?”
Oh, man, if I were his neighbor I would drop his name so often it wouldn’t even be funny. I would seek out nerd parties to go to just so I could wow people with my stories of watching Mr. Torvalds (noting with a conspicuous chuckle that he insists that we call him “Linus”) wash his car and mow his grass.
If I had a different kind of blog, I would have already written five posts about this. At least.
I am amazed at how much value it adds to our lives to have cut-up fresh fruit handy — the cut-up, ready-to-eat part being critical. My husband left a big bowl of diced cantaloupe out yesterday, and the kids and I snacked on it all day long. It felt good to fill up on something so healthy, and it kept the kids from begging for junk food.
I need you guys to help me articulate something that I’ve been pondering since I talked about rewriting my book yesterday afternoon: Why is a book so much different than an essay? Why is a book harder to write? I’ve had a surprisingly hard time articulating exactly why a book is not just a long essay. Obviously the two are very different, and not just in length, but I’ve been having trouble explaining it in detail. Any help would be appreciated!
Want to read something creepy/interesting? This Wall Street Journal article about “third-man phenomenon” gave me chills. (For anyone worried about getting too much done today, there’s all sorts of other interesting stuff like that to distract you over at my links blog.)
I look forward to reading your posts!
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