Day 17: Luck O' The Irish

Conversation between Jarrah and her friend, Jared, while washing their hands after school:


Jared: My mommy knows everything.

Jarrah: No, she doesn't.

Jared: Yes, she does.

Jarrah: No, she doesn't.

Jared: Yes, she does!

Jarrah: She doesn't know what God says.

Jared: Yes, she does.


You know what I love? That my daughter is brilliant enough to play the God card (go big or go home!) and she STILL didn't win. (For the record, I know Jared's mom, Jared's mom is a friend of mine, and I wouldn't want to argue this point with him.)

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Strange coincidence: Robyn and I returned to the scene of the Fro-Yo Cell Phone Debacle this afternoon, and I'll eat a gummy-worm-covered hat if the SAME WOMAN wasn't sitting at our old table, looking as territorial as a salmon after spawning. (Just go with it, okay?) And I'll be an egg on toast if there wasn't a SIGN on the table, in BLOCK LETTERS, saying "PEOPLE WITH FRO-YO. WE DON'T LIKE YOU. WE DON'T LIKE YOUR FRO-YO. IF YOU SIT AT THIS TABLE, WE WILL TAKE YOUR FRO-YO AWAY AND THEN CALL THE COPS." That is not strictly accurate, but it's pretty close. So I guess there hasn't been a revolution in cell phone etiquette, just in passive-aggressive etiquette. Which explains why I hadn't heard about it.

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Got a little depressed today when I saw this article on "mommy bloggers" from the New York Times. Not so much when I saw the article, as when my friend Cheri directed me to the comments, where a famous blogger was defending a Mom's Right To Blog as a fundamental freedom of parenthood. Which is great. The part that depressed me was where she lists her blogging-related accomplishments, including "numerous magazines and anthologies" and an upcoming book. Because, hello? I am blogging EVERY DAY and I haven't gotten even one Pushcart Prize. Or a measly monthly magazine column. Harumph. Now that IS strange.