Oh good heavens, I'm at it again

Oh how I'm weary of those who are wary
Who mistakenly write the wrong word.
Weary means tired and wary means leery,
To swap them is really absurd.

Wear and ware are homophones, it's true,
Weary and wary are most certainly not.
Carefully choose the word that you use
Lest others think your brain's gone to rot.

While I'm expounding on words and their use
In this public and peevish confessional,
Let me also include pique and peak as an issue
In letters meant to be quite professional.

My interest is piqued in the product you seek
to place on my company's website.
Yet you attempted to peak it and stranded my interest
on a mount of incredible height.

Know the limits of your vocabulary, please.
Plain words can get your point across.
If you use the wrong word you can be assured
That your effort will be labeled as dross.

Tastes Like Guilt

Friday, 5 pm

I stopped by the grocery for hamburger buns after picking up the kids. The kids were in good moods, so I decided to go ahead and shop for the week. Any fool knows that good moods at 5pm on Friday are capricious, so we were rolling through the store at light speed. Produce! Seafood! Deli! Dairy! Dairy! Dairy! We hit a snag.

A middled aged woman was doddering around the milk cooler. I smiled and excused myself as I reached around her for a gallon. I glanced to the left and saw her cart. My heart sank when I saw the suitcase in the cart. I prayed, "Oh please God, not now. I just want to get home. Pleasepleasepleaseplea-"

"Ah! 2%! A whole gallon! But you have two little ones so of course you need a whole gallon. It's just me so I just need a quart. I like skim. Do you like skim?" I froze the smile on my face and tried to be nice without getting involved. I was edging toward the bagels and freedom when Jake started asking for vanilla yogurt. I said no. Jake started arguing. The suitcase lady asked about my yogurt preferences. I weighed my options. I decided that capitulating was preferable to a full-out yogurt battle with interference from a stranger. I hissed to Jake that he had better eat the yogurt this time and tossed a large tub into the cart. When we had retreated to the relative safety of ethnic foods, I reminded Jake that he didn't eat the last tub of yogurt. This was his last chance. He solemnly nodded and we wrapped up our errand.

This morning, 6:43 am

Jacob requested a bagel for breakfast. I peeked in the fridge and saw one lonely little bagel. We started the negotiation process. "There's only one bagel. You can't eat it because then Claire will want one."

"I can eat one part and Claire can eat the other part."

"OK, but you'll have to have something else. Half a bagel isn't enough breakfast." Jake wakes up hungry and usually eats a large breakfast. It's not uncommon for him to eat an adult portion of oatmeal and then clamor for more. "How about some yogurt?"

"What kind is it? I think I'll just have a granola bar."

I could feel my veins constricting. "It's vanilla. The kind you asked for at the store and promised me you would eat. Granola bars aren't food*. They're treats. Eat half a bagel and some yogurt and then you can eat a granola bar." I heard Jacob mumble his assent. Three minutes later, I put the toasted bagel and two bowls of yogurt on the table and called the kids to breakfast.

"I'm not eating this! I don't like this kind of yogurt! I like the little yogurts!"

"It's the same thing, Jacob! Vanilla yogurt is vanilla yogurt! It doesn't matter what container it is in!" I put both hands on my head and squeezed to prevent my head from exploding. "Eat! Your! Breakfast!! I am not making anything else for you." He refused and sent the bowl of yogurt spinning across the table. I opened the cupboard, took out the last granola bar, and shoved it in my lunch bag. I gathered Claire and left the house, hugging a sobbing Jake on my way out the door. "Goodbye. Have a good day. Dad will be awake soon."

Now

I'm hungry and I'm looking at a granola bar. I should be able to enjoy it. Jake won't die for lack of a granola bar. So tell me why it tastes like peanut buttery guilt.

* Of course granola bars are food. But my children will eat five granola bars per day if I let them. Granola bars should not make up 50% of a child's diet. Therefore, we put them solidly in the treat/snack category of food. No granola bars for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

It's a Hard Knock Life, Kid

I have never been a big fan of bottled water.  I am too cheap and too concerned about waste to feel good about buying something that comes free and clear into my home with the twist of a knob.  There are occasions when I swallow my reservations and buy a few bottles (which are later recycled, never fear) but I refuse on principle to allow bottled water to become part of my daily life. 

 

Instead, we own several sport bottles.  A red wide-mouthed bottle that I received as a gift from a vendor sits on my desk at work.  I have a frosted plastic Rubbermaid bottle with a flip top for games, hikes, trips to the park, etc.  The kids each have blue bottles with pull-up squirt tops.  I can't use those because I've never mastered the art of squirting liquid into my mouth.  I cough and gag and well, it's embarrassing.  There are also two reserve bottles that sit in the cupboard until one of the other bottles go missing for a day or two, which is to say that they never sit in the cupboard.  All in all, it's not difficult for the children to take a drink of water with them wherever they go.  Nonetheless, Jacob is constantly on my case to buy him disposable bottles of water.  An icy cold bottle of Aquafina is to him what a plastic cup of beer is to a frat boy. 

 

I took Jake to the baseball game the other night.  I was worried that unsealed bottles would have to be emptied*  and finding an hygienic water fountain at the ballpark can be an adventure, so I broke down and bought a couple of bottles on the way into the stadium.  Jacob downed his entire 24oz bottle by the bottom of the second.  I suppose I should be glad that he didn't pull out a bong to drink it.  He immediately started edging toward my water.  I gave him The Look.  He snatched his hand back and whined, "I'm soooo thirsty.  I don't need a soda or even a lemonade.  Can't I please just have some water?"  The trio of young women in front of us wheeled around and glared at me.  I glared back.  I know that they were thinking that even prisoners are entitled to water, but they weren't privy to the whole story.  Somehow, Jake managed to muddle through without anything further to drink.  Somehow, I managed to muddle through the multiple bathroom visits since Jake's bladder only seems to hold about 3 ounces.

 

I still had half my bottle left when we got home.  I filled it again from the tap and stuck it in the freezer.  Then I told Jake that he could take it on his field trip Friday.  The poor kid couldn't decide whether he hit the jackpot with two!! bottles of water in one week or whether I was the cruelest mother on earth for making him wait a day and a half to drink it.