The alarm clock goes off. It’s a liar. Every morning it’s the same thing: MORE LIES! It’s not 5 a.m. Probably more like 4 or 4:30. Cruel trickster. Hit snooze. Go back to sleep. I want my hour back. Alarm clock goes off again. It’s 6 a.m. No longer so sure it was lying to me. Who thinks that?!? Quite a hole I’ve dug for myself. Precious little time to go running, get cleaned up, make a kid’s lunch, eat, walk a dog and get the whole family off to where they’re supposed to be — school and work. So stupid of me! Oh well. Hit snooze. Go back to sleep. Alarm clock goes off at 6:15. GET UP!
A new dog in the house … with a taste for Christmas lights
If you’ve ever tried to buy Christmas tree lights the week of Christmas, you know it’s a fool’s errand. The store shelves are bare of white lights. The clerks think you have beanbags for a brain when you ask where they are. “A little late in the game, aren’t you?” they say before pointing out a strand of cough-syrupy red lights long enough to wrap the Empire State Building. Or a box of twinkling snowflakes that look more like sickly amoeba.
All I want for Christmas? For everyone to stop asking
What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
Time to take the new K-9 plunge
I guess it’s time. Who really knows when it’s time? Or why? There’s no magical pop-up turkey timer to tell you. There’s no kit you can buy at the pharmacy — like a pregnancy test! — that will give you a digital thumbs up. It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. Or when you think enough time has passed. Or you stop feeling guilty for even considering the thought. Like you’re some kind of traitorous, treasonous two-timer. Apologizing to thin air for even considering, much less petting, another dog.
Supervisity … and the kindergarten field trip chaperone
“Field trip chaperone,” read the yellow sticker slapped on my shirt. It represented power … authority … responsibility … supervisity. (Sure, kindergarten chaperones shouldn’t be making up words, but the little yellow sticker left me drunk with power.) It was my second run at “the big show” — a kindergarten expedition off the reservation.
Life in a Nutshell wins Florida Press Club commentary award
Brian Thompson’s “Life in a Nutshell” column, which runs weekly in the St. Augustine Record, won a first place award in the Florida Press Club’s 2011 Excellence in Journalism Competition for commentary writing in class C, which is daily newspapers with less than 40,000 circulation. This is the third year in a row the column has won an award in the commentary category, and the fourth Press Club award for it. The three columns that won were: • Things you Never … EVER … Do with a Kid in the Room • Every Moment Now Precious for a Dog with Cancer • Answering the call of the ice cream truck
Twenty years and 20 flip-flops. I’m a local now
I had to do the math. Just to see if it could be true. Because it didn’t seem possible. Didn’t seem like I’ve been here that long. “… borrow the one … 11 minus 3 … take the square root of 15 … if a train is leaving Austin at 5 o’clock …”
Memories of my father’s junk food conspiracy theory food pantry
The college newspaper editor was talking about her story. It’s on a study that found eating healthy isn’t always affordable. She was talking about interviewing other college students about whether this was the case or just an excuse. Could poor college students on meager budgets add more nutrition to their diets? Nutrition that wasn’t French fries and pizza crust?
Time for a hurricane chicken evacuation plan
Anyone have a partially-used, fully-functioning, battle-tested hurricane chicken evacuation plan they’re willing to part with? You know … a chicken plan. Like what you do with your chickens should a big blowing tropical behemoth show up on your door step. Because I’m a bit stumped. And the Thompson motto (borrowed from the Army Rangers) is simple: Never leave a man … or critter … behind. Damn mottos! It complicates things. These chickens complicate things! They’re a little over 8 weeks old — long-past the chick stage. Their combs are coming in, and they roam the yard eating bugs and grubs and hamburgers. (Hamburgers grow wild in my backyard.)
Chubby pencils, freshmen parents and going to kindergarten
I don’t know what was worse this week … the threat of a category 3 hurricane remodeling the house … or my daughter going off to kindergarten. Which is exactly what she’s doing this week. Just like all the other little ones across the county. Done with pre-school, and now graduated into the big leagues. Elementary school. ELEMENTARY school. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!