Ginger Unplugged

So. I haven't posted very often since Sleestack developed a personality. Or should I say, even more personality? She is currently three years old, is growing out the haircut she gave herself, and is sporting a black eye I assume she also gave herself. Here are Sleestack favorites from just this week: 1. Sitting in church. The little boy in front of us keeps dropping his bouncy ball and Sleestack retrieves it for him several times. It happens again until she decides the best way to remedy the situation is to hurl it as far as possible into the congregation. I don't know whose head it hit, since I covered up my face in what I hoped looked like pious shame but was truly hysterical laughter. 2. Playing "Ponies" with me, Slee decides her pony is the teacher and mine is the student. She decides to teach me that flower stems are green because they get the energy from the sun for food that way. Okay!? Who's been teaching my daughter photosynthesis on the sly? I ta...

So, I think it's very possible that I'm losing some of my hearing. This first occurred to me several years ago at the Disneyland equivalent of a book club where a woman I didn't know was trying to talk to me while 50 other women I didn't know chatted in a crowd around the divine artichoke dip. Not being able to even yell loud enough to convey the thought, Hey! I can't hear you!! I dutifully smiled and nodded and before I knew it she had completely held and exited the conversation I had no idea was coming to a close. As she wended her way through mobs of passionate book lovers, I deeply hoped that I hadn't smiled and nodded at something terribly embarrassing to us both. My family has caught onto this and there have been a lot of whispers around here which sometimes I DO hear, and sometimes I've been told about. Here are my favorite three from just the last week. Whisper 1 Sleestack: Waaaa-haaa-haaaa (this was not the whispered part). Monkey: That...

In case my husband Facebooks this, I wanted to get the real story in writing...because I like to think was justified! Back Story: Around bedtime tonight, Sleestack whines and whines for me to put her to bed. I explain many times that she has to actually get ready for bed before I can put her in it. Her father is trying to help her with this but she keeps crying and yelling for Mom to put her to bed. Ack. She is finally ready and asks me to change her pajama shirt because there is some undetectable something in the elbow that is causing her great pain. Fine.  She is finally in the bed, and I'm sent to get her water. I sing her choice of song. It's time for her to pray and she's suddenly forgotten how and I am out of patience. Normal people would probably just say the prayer for the child. Do I? No. I'm sick of being ordered around by a two-year-old. Me: You're not going to pray? Sleestack: I don't know how. Me: Seriously? Fine. Then we won't...

I want to be Watson. Like, really. And no one understands (except perhaps my mother and how pathetic is that). So here's my logic. The Short Answer: He can shoot anything, anywhere. It's a fact--shooting stuff is just cool. He gets to go on dozens of adventures without the stress of everything (or oftentimes anything) depending on him. He still gets family and friends of which Sherlock has neither (outside of Watson). He has his own distinguished medical career, so if he shoots someone accidentally he can just fix them up.  He gets to be the writer. Shooting, adventure, friends, family, doctor-ness, and writing. What's not to love about being Watson? Honestly. The Long Answer: I don't know when I first read The Hound of the Baskervilles but I will admit to being disappointed. Severely disappointed. I also remember reading it again some years later, because surely I must have missed something. I was so bored, I'm not even sure I finished it that s...