Tell You [a] Little Story

In the "winter," Stephen gets all geared up every night and sleeps with a ski hat pulled low and a warm sweatshirt. He piles on extra comforters and pulls them up to his chin. We live in Arizona. Our heat is set at 72 degrees. It is not cold in our house. Simply adorable.

I'm giving up sugar. For now, to see if I can do it. Today, Sunday afternoon nap, I dreamt about chocolate cake and tootsie rolls. Tootsie rolls . I am not a huge fan of the common tootsie roll, but, admittedly, I have been eating a lot of them lately as we made the unfortunate mistake of taking our kids trick or treating at the mall . Last week I had an unusual experience with the common tootsie roll. I grabbed one out of the bucket of candy and sat down at the computer to pass some time (read: procrastinate folding laundry). It was one of the big ones, with ridges (knobs? rolls? indentations?). It was gone before I knew it, and I needed another one. Must have another tootsie roll. So, being the slave that I am to my sugar addiction, of course I ran into the kitchen and got another large, ridged tootsie roll. This time as I ate it, I got an immediate fix. Sugar coursing through my blood. That may have been the first time I have had such an instantaneous and physical reaction to su...

I have a neighbor who is obsessed with me being pregnant. Which I'm not. Which, I have not even discussed with her the possibility of such a thing happening in the near future, except for that time last week when she came up behind me at her son's birthday party, stuck her face over my right shoulder and said point blank, "So when are you going to get pregnant again?" and my answer was, "It will happen when it happens," by which, of course, I meant, "This is none of your business. I do not wish to discuss it with you" and which of course she interpreted as, "Emily is taking no action to prevent pregnancy." So today, she sees me get out of my car wearing workout clothes. She crosses my yard and says, "Exercising, huh? Trying to get in shape before the stress of the baby?" "Um, what?" I ask. " What baby?" "My husband and I have been trying to guess if you're pregnant. I have been wrong a few times befo...

While I was reading Kacy's blog, I was reminded that Thanksgiving is great because it reminds me to use a wonderful expression that ought to be much more widely circulated and understood than it is. And Amy June ought to get a nickel every time someone uses it. The expression is: Indian Feather. Now, I love my Native American brothers and sisters and I mean no disrespect. "Indian" is a politically incorrect term, and wearing Indian feathers on a paper headband to celebrate the first Americans and their contribution to our harvest celebration is not exactly kosher. And let's not forget the enigma of why the LDS church teaches children to pantomime pejorative actions to a song in a minor key and a steady beat about the Lamanites. That doesn't seem very nice to me, and thank you, Dennis , for pointing that out to me a long time ago. I cannot endorse any of that. What I do endorse is the practice of identifying Indian feathers and calling them on it. That said, India...

Did anyone catch NPR's All Things Considered story yesterday about transorbital lobotomies? Riveting, disturbing, gross, fascinating, and messed up. That's all I have to say about that.

At school, Elliot has a group of friends with whom he plays chase at recess. During this game, Elliot is a monkey--as in, he channels the powers of a monkey to help defeat his opponents. What are these special gifts? A monkey is "smart, well-skilled, and a free spirit," so says he. How do these apply to the real E? Yes, yes, and sort of. I would say he is less of a free spirit and more of a worrier. But we all agree he is a monkey. In fact, there is another monkey that comes to mind when considering Elliot's unique gifts. Elliot is curious. Let me illustrate. Elliot spent his two weeks abroad this summer exploring an all-too-often overlooked aspect of the beautiful Spanish landscape: trash. He spent his days with eyes on the ground, looking for treasures to collect in his overflowing pockets. At the end of any given day, I would empty said pockets and discover treasures, indeed: broken luggage wheels, rocks, rocks, and more rocks, broken glass, spent subway tickets, busin...