My Photo Research Paper!?

Please sit back and enjoy the following photo essay of my life during the holiday weekend:

I have a dream that one day I'll be able to build a master bedroom big enough to fit two California King beds so the whole famdamily can slumber pArTaY during the holidays.


When I suggested this to my hub he said simply, (if not concisely), NOPE!


He hasn't said NOPE like that since I suggested the twin toilets.



My geraniums officially bit the dust.



And the blizzard finally hit. On Sunday. That's the reason we broke the sabbath. If there hadn't been a blizzard, the sabbath would remain unbroken.









BTW, breaking the sabbath is so much more fun with Lulu.


And with my next door neighbor, Jane.

Is she a cutie patootie or what?


P.S. Jane isn't just cute. she's also useful.






Stunning news: I captured photographic evidence that suggests my 14-year-old may be haunted.


Check out all the orbs hovering around him! (Do you think I should send this photo to Ghost Hunters?)


Hey, btw, if you're wondering how to get to my house, just go through the wardrobe . . . past all the fur coats . . .


Then turn right at the lamp post. If you get lost I'll send Mr. Tumnus to find you.

(You're welcome.)


On the home front: we got our roof repaired because it was causing damage to the ceiling.


The kind of damage resulting in big pots in the middle of the hallway in which to trip over and stub my toe in the middle of the night.


My eyeballs got a little sweaty over the roof repair. Not because I wasn't happy to lose the big pots, but because I was sad to lose the skylight above the tub. I used to lay in the tub (is that TMI?) and look at the sky turn various shades of RAD.


Check out my view now:


sniff . . . sniff . . .


The hard part about letting your roof leak is that everything else thinks it's okay to leak too. What's good for the goose is good for the gander.


So they say.


So the dishwasher followed suit and started leaking too. All over the wood floor.

But my hub fixed it.

He did it by pulling all of the above out of the little drainy thingy.


And then he started listing all the things he's fixed since we've lived here.


"What are you doing?" My daughter said.


"Listing the things I've fixed since I've been here," he said. "Car window. Door knob. Drawer. Dishwasher. Trees." Then he shrugged and added, "I'm just saying."


(For the record, he didn't fix the trees, he cut the trees.)


(I'm just saying.)


In other news, my twins are making scarves for the homeless.





And my daughter joined the poetry club.


I know! I did a double take too. She says she's only doing it for the extra credit. She says it's just a club full of sappy, emotional girls. But I think deep down, way way way deep deep down, she might be related to me.


HA! Knew it!


Can I just interject something deeply personal and private here? I overheard her studying for her English test and just between me and you, I didn't know what the heck she was talking about.




Fer reals. This was her first study card.


"Why are you studying calculus for your English test?" I asked.


But it wasn't calculus. it was grammar, and she wouldn't stop asking me annoying grammar questions, like "what is the predicate nominative rule?"


"I dunno."


So she told me.

"When you have a subject linking verb and a pronoun, the pronoun comes from the subject/nominitive case."


"Oh, that predicate nominative rule," I said.


"Mom, you should know this stuff. You were an English teacher for 12 years."


Correction. I taught literature. And composition. I never taught predicate nominative rules. That's for high schoolers.


So then my daughter asked me the five types of sentences.


"HA! There's only four," I said. "Declarative, Interrogative, Exclamatory, Imperative."


Apparently, according to her teacher, there's a new one. Interrobang.


INTERROBANG!?


Who!? Thought!? Of!? That!?


Interrobang is a sentence that ends in an exclamation point followed by a question mark.


Can anyone just make up a new type of sentence?

Allow me to introduce a new type of sentence of my own: Interrochittybangbang--a sentence which ends with a question mark and Dick Van Dyke singing in a flying car.


The weirdest thing about my daughter's English teacher is that he wants her to know what words MEAN, not what they ARE.


For instance, the word essay. He doesn't want her to know what it is, but what it MEANS.


Do any of you know what essay means, off the top of your head?


Take a stab at it.


Nope, it means to try.


To try what!? To try and write five paragraphs beginning with an intro and thesis and ending with a conclusion!?


So am I just trying to post a photo essay of my holiday weekend?


As Yoda would say, "There is no try, there is only do."


If essay means, "to try", what word means "to do"? Research paper?



In that case, I hope you enjoy this photo research paper of my life during the holiday weekend.


And I hope you enjoy clicking here and voting while you're at it.