Our mostly-weekly survey of the tidbits that cross The Eight-Year-Old’s desk. This week: More books about aliens, how wolves have changed the landscape of Yellowstone, and evidence that tabbies really are the sweetest cats.
It’s May, which means any day now a massive thunderstorm will form in Yoro, Hondurus, pelting the region with heavy rain for hours. By the time the rain’s over, the ground will be covered in small, blind, silver fish.
It happens every year in May or June, at least once, and sometimes twice. It’s been going on for over a century now. Locals call it the Lluvia de Peces (rain of fish).
But why? Continue reading
A few weeks ago, a miracle happened and we were able to convince The Eight-Year-Old to go see a live-action film (Disney’s Cinderella) in an actual movie theater out in the world. (She definitely prefers to only watch animated movies at home.)
The Eight-Year-Old ended up liking it. But it was touch-and-go for a while.
When Daddyo asked what she thought when the movie was done, The Eight-Year-Old said in great frustration: “Why do the Moms always have to die in these classic stories?”
Our mostly-weekly survey of the tidbits that cross The Eight-Year-Old’s desk. This week, an innovative animal shelter campaign that pairs Star Wars characters with adoptable future friends, a proto-star cluster out in space, and of course, more books about aliens and dragons.
C2E2 was in town recently, so we spent some time checking it out. I wish you could have seen The Eight-Year-Old’s face when she spotted Stan Lee. Star-struck only begins to describe it.
It was so much fun, we’ve decided to make it an annual Howell family trek.
- Weekend at Caterpickles (Caterpickles)
The Eight-Year-Old, lobbying for her favorite dinner: “Mommyo, did you know that mac and cheese was one of Beethoven’s favorite foods?”
Mommyo, dubiously: “Really? Where did you learn that?”
The Eight-Year-Old, confidently: “Schroeder.”
That’s right. Everything my daughter knows about classical music, she learned from this guy:
I am the best mom ever. This is one of the truths I hold to be self-evident. Regardless of what this guy thinks:
Speaking of grouchy white men who lived long enough ago to have formal portraits available in the public domain, I just can’t see Beethoven chowing down on Kraft’s Mac and Cheese, or even The Eight-Year-Old’s personal favorite, Annie’s Shells with White Cheddar. Can you? Continue reading
My Mother’s Day bouquet from The Eight-Year-Old. She’s been bringing me these all week.
- My blog might be taking over my life (Caterpickles)
Mommyo, cheerfully: “Just look out the window. Spring’s here so you’ll see lots of flowers.”
The Eight-Year-Old, plaintively: “But I’d rather read a book. Looking out the window is so boring.”
Mommyo, determinedly: “A little enforced boredom will be good for you.”
The Eight-Year-Old, suspiciously: “Why?” [pause] “Is that character building?”