We live in what I believe you Anglos call a SEMI DETACHED house.
we have two small strips of garden, one in front, one in the back.
I sometimes wish we lived in the city but mostly am happy where we are.
Except...
on mornings like today, when I had to tell my son 11 times (I counted) to put on socks.
This priority seemed ridiculous to him. He wandered off each time I told him to put on socks and then changed his plans and decided to read comic books instead.
The eleventh time I spoke with the terrible voice of the scary villain in any given monster saga
"puuuuut on your socks!!!!"
he cried. I was very angry.
and I wondered why we didn't live in a house house so I wouldn't have to worry about neighbors calling the police about extreme sock shouting from our side of the wall. sadly didn't worry about upset child as he had it coming.
once joel finally wore socks, niki walked up to me and said, like she was a 50 year old sinister accountant:
"Mother, in the midst of this stressful situation, you have forgotten that it's very important that I bring a branch of a tree with me to daycare. "
she said branch, received a twig.
will sit down with joel today to make a schedule of things you need to do in the morning. read comics might be on that list. last checkpoint though.
