The temptation, I must confess, was strong.

There are several things I was going to do with this entry, that I shan't. Oh, I was tempted alright. But the better angels of my nature prevailed and I relented.

I was going to saturate this posting with yet more videos of tropical mixology, as I am devoted to mixology and reside mere minutes north of the tropics. But the last one failed to ignite the imagination of the populace and even I cannot countenance such an additional cheery little bit of contrarian sadism.

There was something else I was tempted to do, but I've forgotten what it was. Mind you, I had decided to forego whatever the Hell it was before I forgot it, so I want this to be counted to me as righteousness and not feeblemindedness in my dotage.

I was also going to gently tweak The Girl Who Cried Blog (you know who) who started blogging again...and then started disappearing again. But then I remembered I haven't been exactly fulfilling my blogly duties ovah heah, and seeing as how I enjoy the view from my glass house, I relented.

So, instead, I will issue another dispatch from the ongoing progress -- an odd choice of words, really -- report on NOS's Adventures In Puberty. It would help, a little, if the words "The Ventril-O-Matic & Rusty" meant anything to you, but that's not critical. But if they do, then you'll nod even more sagely at the subsequent.

The one thing that is VERY new in NOS is -- and there's no getting around it -- the Petulance.


ME: Hey, NOS, remember to breathe today.
NOS: Oh, my GOD. I KNOW.

And the like.

To his credit, he does recognize (frequently) he has misfired and so he makes it a point to (slightly less frequently) apologize.

Part of the problem is that the rowing thing, so instrumental in leaving him so utterly bedraggled he was an unalloyed delight to be around, doesn't start until after golf. And golf, regardless of its myriad marvels and attributes, doesn't exactly drain the participant.

Participant drainage, of course, being the ultimate goal of this enterprise.

So, in the meantime we muddle through.

Oy, gevalt.


P.S. Here is a tropical cocktail video.


Felix has discovered that a) he quite enjoys gold and b) seems quite good at it.

I am overjoyed at this discovery but mildly concerned at the lack of exhaustion-inducing benefits this stupid game offers.

Still, at least it lets him hit something without getting yelled at.

And WTF is it with the whole remembering to breathe crap. Years ago now my SM was like a rabid dog whenever I was about to give birth. Keeping her from the labour room took almost as much conviction and effort as pushing a damn kid out my wahzoo. One such attempt had her calling the midwife station and leaving a message for me. You should have seen the look of derision on the face of the midwife as she informed me of this call and that my SM had just wanted to remind me to breathe.

let's just say it was so lucky she was a) not in the building, b) I was otherwise occupied and c) people were holding my feet so I could not vacate my current activity to go strangle her.

Anyway, I adore NOS's adventures and fear you could turn this whole blog into the travails of his journey to adulthood purely for our enjoyment.

But yes, I totally get how cruel that is.

Such is my character.

BabelBabe said…
wait till he forgets to breathe. then he'll be all pissed you didn't remind him.
who is the Girl who cried Blog? what have I missed in the blogosphere? do tell.
Caro said…
Puberty is nature's way of preparing us to say, "don't let the door hit you in the ass," when they move out at 18. I am firmly convinced. :-D
Joke said…
TODAY all is fine and petulance and sullen eye-rolling is held to a minimum.

We shall see.

Popular Posts