Morning snickers

*madgiggles* From boingboing_net: Follow up songs for one-hit wonders. I like McSweeney's Internet Tendency. I keep forgetting about them. There's an open letter to the umlaut there, too. And an interesting story called Daddy Was a Nine Iron.

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Yay Chris is coming home today YAY!
That is all.

Child Process

Seaners loves synthpop music, and anything with a decent beat to it - and his favorite band is Freezepop. So upon reaching the last track on the album (Fancy Ultra*Fresh) which he was listening to oh-so-attentively, he sits back on his heels and claps.

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Somehow, he turned from a baby into a Boy. Anyone who's watched children growing will know what I mean. We had baby, baby, baby ... and then somewhere in there became Boy. While I wasn't looking.
He's transitioning from early intervention into the next stage up this fall. He'll be three in October. What happened? I turned around - boom. Boy. Smack in the head. We've suddenly got music lessons, early head start, other kids, party invitiations ... when did I become a Mom? I mean, I don't feel like a Mom.
( See, this is what I mean. )

Gods, now I'm all verklempt. Someone, save me from myself, please. :-)

Identity Crisis

(I think this continues what I started yesterday - not that I know where I'm going, but hey. Rides are fun! Take one with me.)

His name was Ben - well, Benjamin Anderson Robertson Teller, which made him Teller, Benjamin to some people in administrative positions at the university, a string of nine numbers starting with four to Revenue Canada. He was Bart to some people who thought that was amusing, and Benny to his grandmother - "Benny, get me another pack of cigs, would you, love?" she'd cough, stubbing out a pre-kissed Virginia Slims Menthol into the ashtray beside its brothers - some of his earliest memories were a strange combination of the minty, grassy pong of tobacco and the theme music to All My Children. He was Ben to his boss - the lackey to the assistant to the assistant head bean counter at Smith and Bartleby - and Bentley to his college roommate, who was admittedly a bit of a freak; and his soon to be ex-wife didn't seem to think much of him these days, except as an apparently magic wallet that seemed to produce money whenever it was opened - apparently he was now Golden Goose of Dufferin Street. Too bad no one had bothered sending him the memo.
( Look, more things falling out of my brain? )