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December 15, 2011

Comments

taly

There simply won't be enough therapists for every gal who ever found a helpful guy adorable...
@Frankie: it is not awesome to throw up all the time. But isn't there only one day of school left before break anyway? ;)

Liz

Sending hugs all around.

Moreena

Taly: good point. Alas, there are 3 days of school left before break. They aren't off until Wednesday of next week.

Liz: thank you.

Sharon

I'm with you on how adorable a kind and helpful guy can be. I have had three in-depth conversations with Jason from Nova Scotia in order to get set up with a new cell phone service. Let's just say that I didn't mind that it took three calls.

Hopefully Annika will feel better soon ~

kathy a.

hugs, too. and hoping annika is feeling better and past the barf.

poor frankie. it is kind of funny [in that sibling way] that she thinks barfing is an advantage.

if/when the fix-it guy shows up, it is pure adorable heaven in the sense that Something That Stopped Working will finally be OK again.

it took the phone guy 2 days past the 12-hour period of arrival to show up, but he declared that we actually did have a problem, climbed the phone pole, and fixed it. (if it had been our problem, we were warned that we would be charged.)

and when my daughter's new apartment had a major gas leak, which the landlady "couldn't smell" since the windows were open? mr. gas company guy discovered the furnace was leaking like crazy, and he turned it off, and the landlady was forced to fix it. alas, the cable guy at daughter's apartment couldn't find a line to the street, and so a lineman had to come out and the cable installer didn't get paid. all were nice guys.

Deb

mareena,

I really don't understand how in the world he could do this to your family. Sorry doesn't even cut it.

Take care,Deb

Jessica

The helpful man is the hot man. And if men knew this it would be a much better world.

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Falling Down, November 2004

  • Balloon in hand, my 4-year-old
    twirled across the kitchen floor,
    singing nonsense words
    in her own key.
    "It's my gift!" she declared
    to the world at large, which
    was really only me,
    sitting at the table. Enough
    twirling, and she lost
    her balance, tumbling
    to the floor in a theatrical
    slapstick of elbows and knees.

    She lay on her back
    for a few seconds,
    staring
    at the textured ceiling
    with the mysterious
    spaghetti sauce stain.
    Suddenly she
    began
    flapping her arms and legs
    there on the floor, as if to swish
    the imaginary snow
    into a snow angel.

    "Falling down is also a gift!" says she.

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