never heard the word impossible

This is what Top Management sang as she got up this morning.  

In case you were still wondering if I were really married to a Disney character who grew up in the real world 1970s. 

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Mother’s Day: an appreciation

For the guy who made the whole damn thing possible

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I think that's what makes Top Management so very special: she knows who should really be celebrated today (and every day). 

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she is not large…and yet…

I walk into the room just in time to hear Top Management say, as she's sorting stacks of papers into various piles, "I've gotten them all mixed up." 
 
I say, "what, your emotions?"
 
She says, "yes, that's right. My emotions are all a jumble." 
 
The Brawn says, "Because you contain multitudes?" 
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It’s Friday

I'm in love. 

LissaBloomingTree

(She'd just been taking a picture of that amazing tree—since she hadn't photographed anything blooming in nearly two and a half minutes—and caught me taking a photo of her taking a photo. You can see how irate she immediately was.) 

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(I am the world's worst damn photographer. But when she's the subject, even I can take a good one once in a while. Or a series of good ones.) 

I have no idea why she's still with me. But I'm approaching the point where I also don't care why. I'm just so glad she is. 

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comedy is in the ear of the behearer

So it's breakfast. The Bean, The Golden Weasel and the Brawn are all nomming their favorite cereal, a kind that's usually too expensive to be able to buy for that many rapacious maws but which happens to have been on sale. The Weasel and the Brawn had been doing a puzzle, and one of the answers had been "eclair," so naturally, then, the Golden Weasel says something about how good one sounded. I, being the paternal figure present, make a joke about how I thought it sounded a little flat.

The Bean indicates she heard but will not deign to respond by the slightest flicker of an eyebrow as she continues resolutely staring at her phone. The Brawn puts his head in his hands and says, "no. Just…no." 

I say, "you know, when I'm trying to decide whether a musical joke is funny or not, I imagine telling it to Beethoven, and if he says, 'what?' then I know it is." 

The Brawn looks puzzled. The Bean seems to sigh ever so slightly. But the Golden Weasel, after her characteristic pause, starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Which makes me laugh. Which makes her laugh. Which makes me laugh. 90 seconds later, we're still giggling. The Brawn still looks confused and a bit annoyed. The Bean finishes eating and leaves. 

It's been a good Wednesday so far. 

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my home, now and forever

So today is the 29th anniversary of the first date Top Management and I ever went on. We've always considered it more of a real anniversary than our wedding, since that just made legal what we'd already known, at that point, for five years. 

Oddly, the song that best encapsulates how I feel about her, I realized a while back, is from an artist I've always liked but very much never loved. But with this one, he said what I never could, not being good with words and all. 

Home could be the Pennsylvania turnpike

Indiana's early morning dew

High up in the hills of California

Home is just another word for you

Truer words. 

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the perils of being a self-taught reader

The Brawn says, "So. Dad. Scrohjum and…what's the name of the one who always yells 'that's it!'?"

I am momentarily poleaxed by the name I cannot possibly have heard properly. I therefore reply, cogently, "…what?" 

"What's the name of the one who always yells, "that's it!"

I look down at the book he's holding and things become slightly more clear. 

"Lucy." 

"Right. So. Scrohjum and Lucy are talking and" and he proceeds to recount to me a strip he's just read which he loves. 

I very much look forward to reminding him of this when he's a teenager and feeling (mainly correctly) that his dad's an idiot. 

TheOriginalNiceGirl?
TheOriginalNiceGirl?

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