(because I didn't want to use the word random)

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My kids play with cat toys. A couple years ago, as part of an assortment of small birthday-related objects, Eric's grandma gave Beth a small, sparkly, pink plastic ball with a bell inside. Later, watching her bounce it and jingle it with glee, we looked at one another and frowned. It certainly seemed a lot like a cat toy. But we had no first-hand proof of this.

Last week, I visited a lady who has several cats. While there, Lucy picked up a pink-and-orange plastic ball with a bell inside. "Oh, that's the kitty's toy," I told her. "That's all right, the cats haven't played with that in ages," our hostess told us. I tried to pry it out of her hand as we left, but our hostess generously bestowed it upon her. So, after multiple scrubbings with disinfectant, Lucy has a new toy. There's no doubt this time--it is, in fact, a cat toy. So what if it's actually meant for animals and not people? It's brightly-colored and jingly and bouncy. Lucy adores it.

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After breakfast, Cheerios cover the floor. Tiny crunchy landmines, each one lurking, waiting for the careless foot to drop and detonate beige crumbs all over the tiles.

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If my family were the Seven Dwarfs, Lucy would be Screechy Dwarf, and also Smiley Dwarf. Beth would be Bi-polar Dwarf, sometimes Sweet and Silly and Happy, and other times Weepy and Whiney. (come to think of it, Lucy has quite a bit of Angry Dwarf inside her as well). Eric would be Sleepy and also Doc because he is smart. I would be Snow White because I am a beautiful maiden who cooks and cleans and sings lovely songs. (I charm small woodland creatures in my spare time, but I don't like to show off my menagerie of hand-trained animals to friends because I am just so modest, so don't ask to see them as proof of my talent).

I guess Eric has to be the Handsome Prince as well, because I don't think Snow White is allowed to have amorous relationships with the dwarfs.

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I wish I were as funny and as good a photographer as this lady. (thanks to Rachel for the link). I am definitely going to make her Man-Pleasing Sandwich for Eric.

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I visited a really weird bookstore in downtown Albany last week. No Garbage Books. Has anyone else ever been there? From the looks of it and the customer service we received, I may have been their only customer of the day. Or ever. I'll tell the tale of the trip sometime in the future, but I just wanted to mention it because I got an old copy of The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling there. I thought I had read it before, but it is now clear that I had not (though I'd seen the Disney-fied movie, which so does not do justice to its source, and also a movie of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi that my school librarian used to show us every year and that made me want a mongoose for a pet. I think Heather needs a mongoose to fight off snakes for her).

And anyway, it is an awesome book. Kipling has exactly the kind of writing I like: simple, clean, compelling, creative prose that keeps the reader hooked in without resorting to tricks--tricks of unusual style or big words or "poetic" language. Think E.B. White. Think Hemingway. Think windowpane.

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I am getting kind of tired of telling stories about "me and Oakray and Goldilocks and me and me."

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"There never was a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him asleep."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson