Wowzer. I’m totally a-blog today. Check me out at Soapbox Queens and at the Writing Playground. Trust me, I’m blabbing about totally different stuff at each place…man, can I ever blab.

Forte (n) - a strong point, as of a person: that in which one excels.

For 45 years I’ve pronounced this for-tay. Well, not technically 45 years because I didn’t pop out saying, “Hey, Mama, what’s your forte?”

So, yesterday Girl and I are going over her word list for the week and she says “fort” and I quickly correctly her that it’s pronounced “fortay” not wanting my child to sound ignorant.

“No. It’s pronounced fort. Ms. Maddox said so.”

“Well, Ms. Maddox is wrong.” Humph. I marched into my office and pulled out my dictionary. I’ll be damned. 45 years of mis-pronunciation stared back at me from Webster’s. How could this be? It’s pronounced “fort”. I can’t say it. It sounds…stupid. “Fortay”…that sounds good. Now I will forever avoid using this word in speech because I can’t knowingly mis-pronounce it, but I can’t say it that other way either. :oops:

Ever had a word that just came back to bite you in the butt that way?

Girl had her first babysitting job this weekend. It turned out to be a great experience — for both her and the little girl. They liked one another and had a good time and my kid made darn good money. Hopefully they’ll all go as well as this one…but, pardon me for being a ray of sunshine, I doubt it.

I used to babysit a lot when I was her age. Most of the time it was okay but it’s the babysitting from hell that stands out in one’s mind.

There was the night the wife of one of my regular sitting jobs was taking me home, I must’ve been about 13, and she’d obviously had a few cocktails because as we’re driving along, she says, “I hope he doesn’t try anything when I get home. I’m not in the mood tonight. I’ll tell him I’ve got a headache.” Ewww! I’m like, 13, and I don’t want to hear it or think about the two of them piling up in bed. Ack.

Then there was the house where the family poodle left “presents” all over the floor. There must’ve been a dozen turd piles randomly about the house. Dried. It was disgusting! And they had two little boys. And there was no way they didn’t see it cause there were at least three “presents” in the hall. How about pick that sh*t up? I didn’t. My $3/hour didn’t cover picking up dried dog poop that had obviously been there quite a while. :doh:

My last less-than-fond babysitting memory was keeping the spawn of Satan. This kid was worse than a spider monkey all jacked up on Mt. Dew. He was leaping and jumping all over the furniture like a zoo animal. (That wasn’t allowed when I was a kid and I’ve never allowed my kid to jump on furniture — how about respect what you own?) Anyhow, this kid demands a piggy back ride. He’s standing on a recliner and I turn around and tell him to get on. He takes a flying leap and deliberately claws along each side of my neck, laughing maniacally. The little son-of-a-duck drew blood and I had these big, whelps on both sides of my neck. I was forever busy whenever that family called for me to sit.

On the flip side, there was the time my Girl told the sitter that we allowed her to drive the riding lawn mower around the yard. She was about 5. She backed it down the ramps from the storage unit, joy rode around the yard with her 7 year old friend, and put it back up. While the sitter watched. Call me the irresponsible parent, but I never thought I needed to cover with the sitter no playing with knives, fire, or motorized equipment.

So, anyone out there got any tales of babysitting woe they want to share?

Where have I been? I obviously live under a rock, in a cave, somewhere isolated from the world that I have totally missed, until now, Christian Bale! Well, obviously I’m not isolated enough because I can’t seem to escape the daily dose of tartlet dreck, i.e., Nicole Richie, Brit, et al. But I digress…

Back to Mr. Bale.

Hello! Can you say gorgeous? Makes me want to write a book…

Wait! I am writing a book…with a spy hero. I think my hero just got a whole new look!! :devil:

My boy dog is nearly back to being Himself.

Girl is now my indentured servant for the next 4 weeks to pay off the cost of having lost her retainers. She started by scrubbing the boy’s toilet today and doing laundry.:twisted:

I’m a-blog over at the Soapbox Queens today. C’mon over.

I’ve instructed Girl to have a good time with her friends today. A last hurrah, if you will, because if she doesn’t come home from school today with her retainers she’s history. She had her permanent retainers almost two weeks before she lost them. And the temporaries are lost as well. $270 to replace the permanent ones, $50 for the temporaries.:cursing::fryingpan::cursing::wallbash::cursing:

…over to the Soapbox Queens. I’m there today.

I’m done…I’m over it. I picked up Girl’s new albuterol inhaler. She just needs to hit it before she does anything like the mile run or basketball drills or soccer scrimmage. Posted in big red lettering on the top of the prescription box: “IMPORTANT Inhalers like this one are being discontinued due to environmental impact.”

Could the PTB possibly have their collective heads any further up their collective asses? I live in the ‘burbs of a city that “boasts” some of the worst traffic congestion in the country because we are so lacking in competent public transportation resulting in air so bad it’s been “code red” most of the week. Code Red means it sucks. Usually during code red they keep the elementary kids off the playground at recess.

Maybe I missed something. The majority of the people that live in my community, work in the city. We’re considered a “bedroom community” as in folks just show up here to fall in bed at night and get up and sit through suck traffic again tomorrow. The nearest train station into the city is a thirty minute drive from here. That’s thirty minutes without rush hour traffic.

I suppose instead of bitching, I should be thankful, thankful, thankful that someone somewhere is saving the environment by switching asthmatics’ inhalers. Whew!