Oh, you’ve never heard of this? Well let me just…yeah. There you go.
The following are actual phrases typed into the search bar on this laptop over the past 48 hours, by various adult members of our household, and in lieu of an actual thought-provoking and potentially time-consuming post, I’d rather distract you with our ineptitude at all things parenting and domestic.
Oh my gosh, until you’ve moved to a foreign country and can’t call your mom/sister at the drop of a hat, you don’t know how truly stupid you might be.
Don’t believe me? How about some proof pudding:
“How to cook oats”
“What do Russian people look like?”
“How late is too late to potty train?”
“Is it too late to potty train?”
“Self potty-trained children”
“Natural remedies for ants”
“How to kill ants”
“Does cinnamon kill ants?”
“Why am I so fat?”
“Mexican restaurant in Rome”
I believe the last two items may be related, but I will have to do some more research to let you know for sure.
In utterly unrelated news, I’ve embarked on an ambitious homeschooling effort on behalf of Joey’s atrophying brain. In lieu of an actual preschool program, since we A. can’t find one that costs less than $350 per month and B. the last one I looked at involved children ages 2.5-5 running wild through 4 open classrooms wearing color-coded smocks and yelling at each other in Italian and even I was scared of them, I’ve decided to take matters into my own capable hands and unschool him here at home.
Today’s lesson: the color red, or rosso, if you’re being geographically particular. We gathered a bunch of red stuff, including a pepper, a tomato, an empty pill bottle from (sob) Target, and a blunt vegetable peeler into a bowl and dumped it all out on the coffee table, where I proceeded to drill him on names and colors in two languages. I also happened to be wearing a red shirt and bright red lipstick, courtesy of Dave’s selection during a weekend shopping trip.
The end result? He knows the color red, and Mommy is, it turns out, a Montessori goddess. I mean I (unwittingly) coordinated my outfit in order to facilitate synapses in his brain. Come on.
Homeschooling: nailed it.
He might not be any closer to potty trained, but thanks to Google inc. and a bowl of fresh produce and household items, he is well on his way to Harvard. And is currently watching Calliou in Italian. Which is even more obnoxious than the original version, if you can imagine that. On second thought, please don’t try to imagine that. I don’t hate you, and I’d hate for you to suffer so.