Maddie and Gracie saw this song on Noggin about a month ago, and it has become something of a family joke to randomly start belting it out. I think they sing it better than the Moose, personally. I never have figured out how to link to YouTube, but you can search for Candy Corn there and see the song in its original form. Here, I'll stick to 20th century lyric sheets.
Long-time readers will remember that I actually DO like candy corn. Just like a horse likes to eat too much hay, or whatever horses eat too much of (I never went through that horse-crazy phase so many elementary school girls go through). I still like to sing along, though : )
I received the preorder email last week and 45 seconds later the transaction was complete. I think it would probably be easier if I just got Steve Jobs' account information and set up an automatic funds transfer.
OK, not really. I do like rainy days, provided I don't have anywhere to go. And Thursday has always been my favorite day of the week. Because that was jazz band day! And Cosby Show night! And don't even get me started on Scandanavian mythology!
[Warning: This post contains words my mama and most self-respecting English teachers do not approve of]
This particular Thursday morning is cold, a little bit windy, and rainy. Which really, is fine—in fact, my family will probably eat something much more exciting for dinner tonight, because this is the kind of weather that appeals to the very small part of my brain dedicated to the joy of cooking. However, the combination of cold, a little bit windy, and rainy + need to get Maddie to the bus stop is now on my list of Things That Completely Suck That I Wasn't Aware Of Yet. (What, did you think my inappropriate language was going to be stronger? Au contraire. Matt once nearly caused my mother to pass out on her dinner plate by saying "crap" once about 17 years ago. It's become a bit of a family joke). (Most self-respecting English teachers would say that I'm simply being unimaginative in my word choice, that surely there must be a better vocabulary word to describe my experience. And I say, sometimes when something is bad, it's just sucky. Or perhaps I should say: it smacks of pure, unadulterated suckiness.)
Let me paint you a picture: Bridget is transported to and from the bus stop twice a day in the Baby Bjorn. She loves the Baby Bjorn. I love the Baby Bjorn. Correction: I do not love the Baby Bjorn whilst trying to manage three umbrellas, one in the hand of Gracie Who Does Not Believe In Wearing Appropriate Seasonal Clothing, and Maddie Who Does Not Believe In Getting Her Cute Raincoat Wet. Gracie's umbrella positioning is right about at Bridget's eye level, so not only was I managing these umbrellas in addition to my own, I was dodging out of Gracie's way every 4 seconds to avoid the loss of Bridget's left eye. And because it was just windy enough to make umbrella holding difficult, this was a very real possibility. Why not leave the umbrellas home? Also not an option. Once we finally made it to the bus stop (and it isn't really that far, just far enough to make this all an incredible spectacle) the bus is late for the first time in a month. So we stand... and stand... and I'm just watching Maddie's hair go from cute ponytail to Umbrella Head, which is where it looks like she just rolled out of bed. From her tent in the woods.
By this time Gracie is done carrying her umbrella, but is unwilling to quit using it. Right.
So at the front door I must make the decision of how best to get in the house with our soaking wet umbrellas. Bringing them inside in umbrella-up position is not an option, because then I will surely break my leg while avoiding a black cat underneath a ladder later today. Bridget is still in the Baby Bjorn, of course, but I can't leave the umbellas on the steps because they would be gone, Daddy, gone—right across the field. So we just close up and get wet. She is such an agreeable baby that she didn't even fuss.
And we get to do this again this afternoon! Whoo hoo! : )
Somewhere along the line, someone taught Gracie the word "congratulations" but forgot to explain correct usage to her.
She first started using it as a noun, as in "YOU'RE STANDING ON MY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!" when someone accidentally stepped on a cheapie pretend Olympic medal of Maddie's that must have come from a birthday party. (I know I didn't buy that pretend Olympic medal.) We nearly died of laughter.
And then she wrote all over her legs with a ballpoint pen a few months ago, and when Matt was scrubbing it off in the bath, she shrieked "NOOOOOOOO! THAT'S MY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!"
Last week when we were on our daily trek to the bus stop, she stood on this little tree stump and shouted "CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!" We're getting closer. : )
Is this not the most Gracie-ish Gracie photo ever??
So new people I meet here in the D.C. metro area often ask me where I'm from.
And I say Ohio. And they say Oh! Ohio! Is that where you moved from? And I say nope.
We just moved from California. (Hence the license plates) But I have a Colorado driver's license. Though I'm technically a resident of Wyoming. And really, I like to consider myself part Montanan when it comes down to it. (I worked really hard to become part of the permanent record there).
I had an actual flashback this morning, on a Friday even:
Gracie was fooling around with some pink beaded headband this morning while she was sitting on my bed pestering me to get up: "MY HUNGRY, MAMA, MY HUNGRY" [note: we have tried and tried to teach this child how to say "I'm," or even better, "I am," but she is as stubborn as a mule, and will not cooperate] and somehow she managed to break the headband, releasing all the cheapie pink plastic beads in every which way, where they hit the hardwood floor and bounced for a good 20 seconds before they found secret hiding places all over my bedroom.
Cue flashback music:
I am sleeping happily in my bed on Lynwood Dr., most likely during my fifth grade year, when I am abruptly and unpleasantly woken up by the sounds of my parents' annoyed/angry whispering at each other, both of them crawling around on my bedroom floor on hands and knees. One of them (I don't know which) knocked over one of my friendship bead containers (a glass from the kitchen), which probably contained somewhere in the vicinity of a BILLION little beads. I slept through the bounce-bounce-bounce sound so I can only imagine the horror of this sound in the middle of the night. I remember watching them, puzzled for a minute because I'd been woken up in such a weird way, and then asking them what they were doing. My dad replied: "What does it look like we're doing? Plucking CHICKENS!!"
And this is where my memory of that night ends. I might have gotten up to help them, I don't remember. My dad doesn't remember saying this. But I can assure you he did, because you just can't make a line like that up.