Overheard on the Street

"I'm not sure whether to be pleased or concerned that my pee smells like champagne and strawberries."

To the Stranger who Stopped Me on the Street to Give Me Parenting Advice

I think Wendy Molyneux says it best:

"Oh nice lady, you are probably right! I should definitely cover his face always so he doesn’t get sun on it. If he is exposed to the sun for even one moment, even as I am simply walking from the mechanic to a coffee shop where I have to unexpectedly stop to feed him because my car broke down, he will probably immediately get sun disease or burst into flames."

Overheard on the Street

Mom: You want ice cream?  You think that's a good idea before your dentist appointment?

Child: ... yes?

More Legalese for Parents, or Why Children of Lawyers Become Lawyers

The other day on Facebook a friend of mine complained that she felt her two children were miniature lawyers, and every day she was adjudicating cases like Kids Who Want to Dress Crazy v. Winter or Kid v. Vegetable.  I'm quite familiar with that caselaw, and as I wrote earlier, I've had my own experiences with forum shopping and adverse possession.   Another person pointed out how with children there is "a significant lack of attention to precedent,"and that's true too -- no matter how many times I say no to a cookie before dinner, they will not stop asking.

My friend has a theory: those of us who are (or used to be) lawyers are inadvertently teaching our kids semantics and rhetoric and how to argue.  And it's true -- like the good little litigator I was, I back up my arguments with facts and reason and I use words carefully, thereby modeling how to make arguments stronger.  Add to that a child's natural propensity to argue, and we have effectively bred mini-lawyers.  It makes sense; my father was an attorney, and our arguments over the dinner table used to drive him nuts. I seem to have passed down the same trait.

Which is how then-four-year-old Beadboy2 came to defend his scribbling on a closet door, by pointing out that I told him not to draw on walls.  We live in fear of his teenage years.

Overheard on the Street

"I'm not drunk! I'm just having trouble walking."

Overheard on the Street

Father: Madeline, if you don't come now I'll . . . uh . . . I'll make you get a tattoo!

Little girl: [giggle]Noooooo![giggle]

You Gotta Try this Recipe!

Ice cubes.

The sad thing is, I once had to teach Fr. Beadbrother how to boil water.

Hat tip: Catholic and Enjoying It.

See, This Is Why the Internet Is Great

Stuff like this happens: Uranium for sale on Amazon.

Hat tip to Jen at Conversion Diary.

Things the Beadboys Have Used as Ornaments on the Tree

Various toys
A spoon
A fork
A bowl
My car/house/office keys
Scraps of paper
Used tissues
A pair of Diego underpants

Ha!

Your Crafts Are Not Renegade Enough for the Renegade Craft Fair.

Legalese for Parents

When I had to give up my job as a litigation associate for Beadboy1, little did I know that the legal profession would not let me go. I'm not talking about the legal issues Mr. Beadgirl and I discussed with regard to estate planning or Beadboy1's city benefits, or even the unofficial legal advice I've given friends and family over the years. Instead, I've been keeping track of the legal terms that apply to parenting.

Adverse Possession: "A method of acquisition of title to real property."* Statutory requirements vary by state, but in general it must be hostile (you claim the property as yours, not the owner's), exclusive (only you have access to the property), continuous (for the prescribed period of time), and open (you don't try to hide what you are doing) (BAR-BRI graduates will recognize the mnemonic ECHO).

Beadboy2 displayed a remarkable grasp (heh) of this concept when he once grabbed something of mine, clutched it to his chest, and said "That's not yours! It's mine!"

Attractive Nuisance: A condition or thing which is dangerous to children, but which is "attractive," causing the children to want to play in or with it.*

Almost everything in a house is an attractive nuisance to a toddler or pre-schooler -- electronics, outlets, knives, medications, needles, wine glasses (and their contents), appliances, and cats.

Forum Shopping: "Such occurs when a party attempts to have his action tried in a particular court or jurisdiction where he feels he will receive the most favorable judgment or verdict."*

While both have engaged in this, Beadboy1 is particularly adept when it comes to that extra cookie or glass of juice I've said "no" to; once he even ordered me to "ask Daddy." Mr. Beadgirl has fallen for it a shameful number of times.

*Definitions from Black's Law Dictionary, 6th ed.

Jesus Christ, Superfrog

The title says it all. I would pay good money to see it.

I Think I'm Going to Hell for Laughing at This

The Year Kenny Loggins Ruined Christmas.

Did you know . . .

Baseball is for conservatives? It's true -- Caroline May of the Daily Caller said so! She masterfully marshals quite of bit of evidence, too, for her thesis. For this intensely researched article she interviewed four (four!) conservative "serious baseball fans," one of whom mentioned that he knew of two liberals who "enjoy the game." Well that settles it. Clearly, 66% of baseball fans must be conservative.

And the reasons why baseball is for conservatives are just as logical:

1) Conservatives like baseball because it doesn't change (change being evil) -- "the distance from home plate to first base will always be 90 feet and a foul ball will always be a foul ball." And an umpire's call will never be overruled by a camera and the pitcher will always be a batter . . . oh wait.

2) Conservatives like baseball because it is slow, and conservatives want to slow the world down. (Not us liberals, though; I hear our godless scientists are on the verge of creating a machine that will speed up the universe.)

3) Conservatives like baseball because it is elegant like ballet, music, and gymnastics. (Have there ever been three activities more suited to manly, gun-toting, meat-eating conservatives than ballet, music, and gymnastics?)

4) Conservatives like baseball because there is no clock. (And liberals . . . love clocks?)

In my long and illustrious career as a litigator I have never read a more beautifully crafted, fully realized argument. I must drop my obsession with the Red Sox immediately, and take up with an appropriately wussy, un-American sport like soccer. Or maybe cricket.

Footprints in the Sand . . .

"Footprints in the Sand" is a famous generically Christian poem that is not really to my taste. As a twelve-year-old, the first time I heard it, I thought it was so profound and moving; now, as a true gen-Xer, I read it and think "It's not edgy -- where's the irony, the meta references?" It doesn't help that the poem has been the subject of controversy, with lots of people claiming to have written it and seeking to cash in on its popularity. Then there is the bad artwork; for a true, uh, marriage of style and subject, check out the rendition by "painter of light" Thomas Kinkade (no, not that painter of light).

It was bad Christian art that inspired my embroidery in the first place. Fr. Beadbrother, O.S.B., sent me a link to the Crescat's post about a rather inexplicable painting of Jesus wearing a zippered hoodie robe and walking in the mountains with a bear. Lots of people in the comments thread had funny little captions for it, but it was Tim's -- "When you only saw one set of footprints in the sand, that's when I let the bear eat you" -- that had me laughing all day. I just had to immortalize it in embroidery (fitting, given one can buy cross stitch kits of the poem).

The fabric is linen, cut from an old skirt whose waistband is too stretched-out to wear anymore. I printed out the saying in Apple Chancery typeface, 36 point, and used a lightbox to trace it onto the fabric. I stitched it in stem stitch using Caron Collection's Waterlilies silk thread in Midnight. To continue the beach theme (and partly inspired by Love Stitching Red's Rockpool Hearts), I pulled bits of shells and sea glass from a jar holding the results of years of beach-combing, and sewed them on along with scraps of sheer voile (from the trim of the skirt), unrolled silk rods, crocheted lace, and sheer gray polyester-y fabric. I embellished the results with feather stitches, french knots, and bullion stitches (a sign of my commitment to my vision, because I hate making bullion knots) in more Waterlilies thread (Midnight, Mardi Gras, and Williamsburg) and white perle cotton.

I'm quite pleased with the results; I'd prefer an oval hoop to display it, but I haven't found one in the right size. The fun part is showing this to people, who see the first few words and think they know what this is about, only to do a double-take when they look closer.

Maybe I should sue . . .

From a Grady Hendrix article for Slate.com:

At least Anne Rice's vampires were still primarily bloodsuckers. The first sign that something was awry came with the introduction of Angel in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A prime example of the brooding, crying-on-the-inside, leather-jacketed emo boy of the '90s (see also: Dylan McKay, Beverly Hills, 90210; James Hurley, Twin Peaks), Angel was a vampire who had a soul. He fell in love with Buffy, teared up a lot, and believed in random acts of kindness. Angel, in short, sucked. Or, rather, he didn't suck, which was the problem. When he did suck, he took limited amounts of blood from consenting human women, or sucked blood against his will, or sucked rat blood.