In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990s moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care.
A few days ago, we did a post-dinner Home Depot run. It wasn't terribly successful, and it was cold, and late, and we were all a little cranky.
In the car on the way back, we were uncharacteristically silent for some time. Then,
The Boy (in perfect 'Yoda' voice): Farted, I did.
And that was that. TW and I laughed the rest of the way home. Comic relief goes a long way.
Each week, he has ten spelling words for which he has to write sentences. Last week, one of the words was antonym. He wrote:
The antonym of synonym is antonym.
The teacher gave him a smiley face for that one. That's my boy!
Snow days are occasions for pure, unbridled glee. And Nintendo DS.