Sometimes, it's a two-corn-dog day.

So, reports from the mama-kid trenches (so described since Daddy is gone, and was gone before, and is going to be gone again, and our hygene has remained good but everything else is going downhill - bedtime, laundry, dishes, etc.): Peter firmly maintains that zombies are made from chickpeas. And when a zombie finds a person, he or she turns that person into chickpeas, a bowl of chickpeas, with a spoon. And that's how baby zombies get to eat! This might or might not be connected with the word of the day at preschool having been "falafal" recently. Another WODD was "palindrome," and Peter announced to me during church on Mother's Day, "Mom! Poop is a palindrome! Also Mom!" Um... good. So, yeah, chickpeas. Peter prefers corndogs, himself, but (shh! don't tell!) we actually buy the vegetarian corn dogs my colleague recommended, and now they're the only kind he likes. Mmmmmm.... vegetarian, organic, fake corndog. Sometimes as breakfast, sometimes as a snack, sometimes ... both in one day.

Grace is in the midst of "bring every possible stuffed animal you own to school in rotation" days at school, which is a little like Take Your Child to Work Day, except probably more fun for the child. We're in the beginning of reading aloud a favorite novel from my own well-spent youth, White Ghost Summer, which is I think set in the early post-WWII era but doesn't have any of the stuffy and over-mannered quality of other fiction I remember from that time frame. It's delightful, and always good to renew one's pleasure in a book from childhood with, you know, one's actual child.

Both kids are thrilled with our veggie garden, and I sent Peter out a day or two ago to shoo a bunny out of the backyard. He came through with such enthusiasm that I'm sure the neighbors all got word that we had a RABBIT! in our GARDEN! We've kept the gates shut since then, and no tomatos appear to have fallen prey. Our next job is to plant the cosmos and sunflowers they're growing inside, as soon as I have the twenty minutes required for the job. Probably Saturday.

It's my last week of teaching, and I'm both so glad to be done with this long first year and sad to see so many of my students graduate. I spontaniously promised donuts to my 31-person MWF a.m. class on Friday, and they were pleased and I was pleased and it sounds like fun. My colleague and I had a good meeting over lunch today about our official description of the goals for our students, around which my courses for the fall should be shaped, so I'm excited to work on those syllabi. (We also planned that our next meeting ought to be a cookie meeting, since there's a coffee shop/bakery in town that is apparently really good.) I was nominated for Teacher of the Year by at least one student, (along with I have no idea how many other professors) which is heartwarming and nerve-wracking all at once. I had to submit a teaching philosophy of no more than one page to the student senate, and apparently the award is announced at commencement. (My submission included the observation that in every course, students teach me something I need to know - totally true - and a description of myself as "embarassingly uncool" - also totally true.)

A shirt arrived in the mail today that I ordered through the online running group I belong to (awesome advice-givers, cheerleaders, comiserators, and general sources of wisdom.) I'll try to take and post a picture that gives you some sense of it - the slogan is "Run Like a Mother" which makes me feel fierce and giggly at the same time. It's cool, and I'm excited.