People ask what it's like to have a baby and a toddler while in grad school...

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

People ask what it's like to have a baby and a toddler while in grad school...

It was Thaddeus' turn to bring a snack. Cameron and I had a yummy fruit tray planned until we forgot ALL about the whole thing until five minutes before show time. I was, to put it politely, tied to my desk, so Cameron hightailed it over from the War College, ran into the Commissary, and came skidding in to the day care five seconds before Thaddeus would have noticed we weren't there. All's well that ends well! And how funny are those plastic gloves, btw?

The key is to remember everything you need BEFORE sitting down. As those of you who know me know, this is a significant challenge.

2 comments:

Alissa said...: At least you are drinking water!! I think I would have resorted to caffeine by now!!; April 23, 2008 at 10:42 PM
Team O'Neil said...: Oh gosh, I had one brief fling with giving up coffee that didn't make it to lunch. The most the gas and spitting up it causes in Keller can get me to do is switch to half-decaf, and only drink a small cup.; April 24, 2008 at 8:04 AM

Post a Comment

The O'Neil Children v. Sandman

(More formally known as the Song of the Stormy Petrel, by Maxim Gorky)

High above the silvery ocean winds are gathering the storm-clouds, and between the clouds and ocean proudly wheels the Stormy Petrel, like a streak of sable lightning. Now his wing the wave caresses, now he rises like an arrow, cleaving clouds and crying fiercely, while the clouds detect a rapture in the bird's courageous crying. In that crying sounds a craving for the tempest! Sounds the flaming of his passion, of his anger, of his confidence in triumph. The gulls are moaning in their terror--moaning, darting o'er the waters, and would gladly hide their horror in the inky depths of ocean. And the grebes are also moaning. Not for them the nameless rapture of the struggle. They are frightened by the crashing of the thunder. And the foolish penguins cower in the crevices of rocks, while alone the Stormy Petrel proudly wheels above the ocean, o'er the silver-frothing waters. Ever lower, ever blacker, sink the stormclouds to the sea, and the singing waves are mounting in their yearning toward the thunder. Strikes the thunder. Now the waters fiercely battle with the winds. And the winds in fury seize them in unbreakable embrace, hurtling down the emerald masses to be shattered on the cliffs. Like a streak of sable lightning wheels and cries the Stormy Petrel, piercing storm-clouds like an arrow, cutting swiftly through the waters. He is coursing like a Demon, the black Demon of the tempest, ever laughing, ever sobbing--he is laughing at the storm-clouds, he is sobbing with his rapture. In the crashing of the thunder the wise Demon hears a murmur of exhaustion. And he is knows the strom will die and the sun will be triumphant; the sun will always be triumphant! The waters roar. The thunder crashes. Livid lightning flares in stormclouds high above the seething ocean, and the flaming darts are captured and extinguished by the waters, while the serpentine reflections writhe, expiring, in the deep. It's the storm! The storm is breaking! Still the valiant Stormy Petrel proudly wheels amond the lightning, o'er the roaring, raging ocean, and his cry resounds exultant, like a prophecy of triumph -- Let it break in all its fury!

Team O'Neil - Sleep Optional

Tuesday, April 22, 2008