This is the week of the Democratic National Convention. The Mayor of San Antonio, Julian Castro, is speaking, and the entire city is very proud. Mayor Castro has certainly been a calming influence on the usual seething cauldron of politics that passes for the City Council. He is always mild-mannered and reasonable, and San Antonio is slowly joining the 21st century as a result of his policies. I hope that the nation's Democrats love him as much as we do.
The last time we visited a bookstore, it was just a quick trip so Larry could look for some soccer magazines. I took Zane into the kid's section, and in three minutes flat, he had accumulated a nice sized pile of books. Funny, that's exactly what happens whenever I enter a bookstore: all of the books just jump off the shelf and attach themselves to my hands. At least that is what I tell my husband.
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| Please? I really, really NEED all these books, even though I can't read any of them yet! |
I am not a big fan of what is called "Chick-Lit", so I don't read a lot of those books. I view those books like the telenovelas(the closest equivalent=soap operas) that are popular on the Spanish stations. But I decided that I can't 'hate' on Nicholas Sparks and not read at least one of his books. Maybe all those horridly drippy movies were some director's interpretation rather than the author's. Stephen King has complained enough about how his books were mangled by the director, and he's credible. In order to be fair and balanced, I decided to read The Lucky One. So far, I am rooting for the dog, hoping that he gets to bite someone on the butt at least once. Probably not what most people do, but it's a German Shepherd. I wouldn't mind having a German Shepherd, except that it would probably eat my cats, and I'm attached to them.
Last night, my husband left to go to a meeting about...soccer. My son was coloring with markers, and before he walked out of the house, I distinctly heard Larry tell his son NOT to color on his skin with the markers. I was in the other room. Okay, I was in the bathroom. My point is that I was not in a position to monitor my son's behavior closely. When I came out of the bathroom, my son was standing in front of me in his underpants. He was grinning ear to ear, which is NEVER a good sign in my house. He turned around; he had colored all over his back with magic marker! He tried to blame it on his imaginary brother(who is named Copy, by the way); I was having none of that.
"Didn't your father specifically tell you NOT to color on yourself with markers?" I asked him in my most exasperated tone.
"Yes." The boy was unrepentant. With a heavy sigh, I started up the stairs to fill the tub with water. Once I got upstairs, when I was sure Zane wasn't listening, I giggled. After all, not many kids would have thought about drawing on their own back, let alone doing such a good job of it. Not many kids would have the 'gumption' to blame things on their imaginary sibling, either. Of course, when his father returned home, Zane told him that the markers coloring his back was "an accident". It's all about plausible deniability, you see. I am starting to worry that we have a budding politician in the house!
I am hooking up with Stacy this week at Stacy's Uncorked, and with Seriously Shawn and Impulsive Addict over at Talk To Us Tuesdays. Check them out!
