it was eight feet long, nine feet wide, and it had hooks on it

Looking for children's sized belts is interesting.
You see, at the moment we want to be able to convince Sean that clothing is the new black and that we do not strip down to our nekkidness in daycare/group. So because we cannot duct tape his clothes to him, although don't think I haven't thought about it (and also because he's skinny and tall) a belt for his pants which make them difficult to just pull off is the obvious solution. (Other than overalls. Which he can get out of, it takes a little longer. The kid is friggin' houdini.)
What's interesting about this is that I keep finding things that are specifically made EASIER for kids to get out of.
Thanks so much, dude. Really. *facepalm*

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Things I don't understand today, part 2:
What's with the mommies that push their kids to be able to read/write novels/learn second languages/find cures for cancer before kindergarten? I mean, I understand a certain amount of this, but reading? And French? And wha? Are we not paying money into the school system? Isn't that their job? My job is to feed/clothe/love the thing and keep it from breaking its neck or mine, attempt to keep up with its interests, and maybe do the alphabet/phone number/letters/address/name thing. Who has time for differential equations and french literature at age three?
Oh, that's right, I'm sorry, I have a life. Never mind.
(It's one thing if the kid is interested in it. I have no problem with that. But I've seen french language classes and reading flash cards for friggin' six month old babies, for christ's sake. No lie. A six month old is interested in playing in its own drool and its bouncy chair. GET A GRIP.)

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Which reminds me (segue!) I apparently got the transcription job. Haven't heard back about the other one yet (yes, it would be possible to do both concurrently - one's two hours/morning and the other is making one's own hours). Go me.

cranberries (tieunis)

Short. One of the previously promised My Little Pony drabbles. Don't ask me how my brain comes up with this, I have no clue. Posted here instead of the usual place especially for elynne and maladaptive and raventyde and all the other pony fanatics on my list.

I dated a girl in college who was into My Little Ponies.
Not my thing - even as a kid. I was more into digging too many holes in the backyard and hiding action figures in 'em and breaking dad's ankles. You know I did that once? Got grounded for half a summer. Wasn't my fault he wasn't paying attention where he was going. But yeah, the ponies came between us. Literally. She was in a sorority house - I forget which one, could've been I Felta Thigh for all I know, I don't pay attention to that shit. Her room was absolutely lousy with ponies.
They all had names like Coconut Swirl and Raspberry Slush and Lime Sorbet and Cranberry Banana Fudgemobile - or maybe that was the ice cream parlor down the block - or maybe it was mom's nail polish. They've all got the same kinds of names, you know. Flavours.
My parents got into a stupid argument when Sander and I were fifteen over car colours. Mom said they were the same kind of thing as nailpolish colours, and dad said they weren't, and off they were again. She didn't throw him out that time though.
I wasn't kidding when I said the ponies came between us. One morning I found one of those suckers in the small of my back. Rolled over, fell out of the bed, and this yellow plastic pony is just fuckin' staring at me with these glittery green things for eyes ... no way, man. That was it for the pony chick.
Those things are friggin' pointy.