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So, this week I had my first brush with xenophobia.  Being an American in the UK, of course I've heard the jokes, been called "the Yank", been asked ridiculous questions about what Texas is like, but I'd never run into a genuinely hateful attitude about my heritage. White privilege?  Of course.  I had a conversation about it with someone I work with, he has it so regularly as to be able to recount a story from literally two weeks ago.  I feel a little silly even talking about it in terms of racism, as the rest of the behaviour aimed at me by this particular individual was so much more serious.  It's just... that part really shook me. We've been so happy with our neighbourhood since we moved here seven years ago.  The neighbours to one side are so lovely, never a problem, they're family now.  Other people in the street are friendly, say hello and stop for a chat if we pass each other.  When we get a new family, I go over and introduce myself, explain th

The struggle is real.

So, this morning both kids were up at half five.  This in itself isn't exactly noteworthy, as it's happened frequently enough in the past that we're pretty used to it.  What is worth noting is that this morning, apparently I lost my ever-loving mind. The kids were both dressed, provided with breakfast, and playing nicely together (for a change), so I decided in my ill-timed optimistic state of mind that I'd pop upstairs and get started on one of the myriad jobs I'd set for my morning sans bratlets.  I got stuck in sorting through bits in the bedroom, feeling massively productive and accomplished.  This should have been my first red flag. The occasional shriek from downstairs notwithstanding, I motored through the sorting and made quite a dent in the chaos.  I ruthlessly tossed out stuff that had been hanging around in the bedroom for goodness knows how long.  I cleaned surfaces, chased dust and cobwebs, put things in their rightful places. That's when I he

I ate'nt dead.

It's been a while.  Like a year and a half while.  I know, believe me, I know. Mostly, it's been a case of.. well, a case of this. The Dervish.  The Whirlwind.  The Destructor. The Dude. From emptying any container of any liquid he finds on any available surface to attempting to drop a deuce on the playground in Black Park, the kid keeps me on my toes.  He's not done any permanent damage (yet), so I guess I should count my blessings. The She Beast, you know, this one... ... she's doing remarkably well, considering.  There's still high drama should She be crossed, but school is going swimmingly and she's growing up at a terrifying rate. Himself is still kicking as well, working his usual magic for the companies in whose financial pies he waggles his fingers.  Plus, he's becoming quite the silver fox, so bonus points for yours truly. My life is about par for the course.  Hands full with bratlets, serving as parent governor