I just told C-man the little incident about my house-hating gripe that the facilitators thought would make a great article. Maybe, I said to the facilitators while thinking to myself yeah I suppose it would though I've got about 15 other more interesting and passion-inducing ideas right now, but it's a source of angst in our house so I'd have to run it by my husband first, make sure he's okay with it. I *meant*, hey, this is a very emotional issue in our house right now. It's a source of actual pain on his part, that I don't like our house. We are still working through this. But one of the facilitators immediately pounced on my statement (made toward the end of a long emotional day) and told me very fervently that I didn't need my husband's permission to write and try to sell such an essay.

I know that.

Trust me. Part of what we have worked hard on in our relationship is getting beyond my kneejerk feminist 'I don't have to compromise' or 'do that thing for you' or what the heck ever. Feminism is great, but you can't take hard-nosed philosophy of any sort as gospel in an intimate relationship. They're just too complicated and personal and individual.

But so. C-man is fairly feminist for an English guy. He quit his job to watch his kid while I went to school and then to work. He likes that I make more than he does. He doesn't assume that I can't protect myself or do physical tasks (quite the opposite). We gave my last name to our son.

I nearly fell out of my chair when this older feminist chided me about not needing my husband's permission.

I know that.

Trust me. If I'd cared enough about the subject, I would not even have thought of his feelings. I'd've just done it. I'm callous like that. But, I thought it was pretty feminist of *me* to think of his feelings when I was being encouraged to write an essay that probably has some value, something I could probably sell to a reasonably sized market. You know . . . I didn't assume he has no feelings just because he's a man. I know he does have feelings. And his feelings matter to me.

Anyway, I told him because I figured he'd find it amusing that someone thought I wasn't being feminist enough. C-man thinks I'm feminist enough for 30 women.

His response: First he laughed Then he said, I know how you feel about the house. If you want to write an article like that, go for it. Probably some home magazine will buy it.

He and the facilitators are probably right. But first I want to think about those other 15 ideas.

People and their products amuse me sometimes. Check it out!

I almost forgot!

I picked up Martha Stewart Living on the newsstand, bought it, and put it in my work bag last week. Yes, I read Marthy's magazine. Yes, I usually subscribe but it lapsed and my magazine addiction problem kicked in at the exact moment I was standing in front of the newsstand. Not the one at the registers. The big one in the books section. Funny how that worked out, huh?

Anyway. I finally got around to cracking the cover, and just eight pages in there's a big ad with Vera Wang leaning up against a mannequin wearing one of her designs.

What was the ad for? Not the dress! No, too simple and obvious.

The ad was for Vera Wang by Serta Mattresses. I kid you not.

So many thoughts went through my head at that moment. But then I just had to shake it and move on. I mean, really. WTF?

From my current reading, which is light but competent fiction:

Many people find it hard to know what to say to one who has just had a fatwa pronounced on him, and Pat was one of these.

Hee. That just made me giggle out loud this morning, while I was sneaking in a few pages before work. Would it help to know that the "fatwa" was pronounced by the Wee Free Reformed Presbyterian Church (Discontinued)?

1. Here I am at work, getting ready to go make tea. I stand up, and I feel a small lump in my pants pocket. Hey, maybe it's money, or at least candy, I hope, though figuring that probably it's wadded up paper.

Nope, not any of those things. Instead, several weeks ago (haven't worn these for a while), I for some reason decided to put into my pocket ( guess before you click )

2. My child likes to eat coffee beans. Last time we were at the Wedge, where there is a large selection of coffee beans from which to select and self-serve, he snuck a coffee bean that had fallen onto the grating designed to catch stray beans and popped it in his mouth with an evil self-satisfied glint in his eyes. Before I could say no. He's not allowed to drink/eat coffee because, well, he's just not allowed yet. And what's this with eating food that's been lying around on (probably dirty) displays like that? Also, not allowed. Sneaky little person.

3. Minnesota has corrupted my child. Yes, I know he was born in Minnesota. But he is *not* a Minnesotan, you hear me? Not! /digression. In the car on the way home from summer camp, I came back from my special place in my head to the reality of child chatter in the backseat when O yelled "duck!" Who knows what was said before that. But duck made me think, and yell, "goose!" [Minnesotans and imports who live here probably know where this is heading.]

The kids laugh uproariously. "Goose!" they scream. "Why did you say *that*?"

"You know, duck, duck, goose!"

Hyena-like snorts of laughter erupt from the backseat. "Duck, duck, *goose*!" they scream.

Finally, E-boy regains enough composure to say, "not duck, duck, goose! Duck, duck, grey duck! Silly mommy!"

OMG he did *not* just say Grey. Duck. No. He didn't. But he *did*.

"Listen to me very carefully, E-boy," I say after several rounds of no-goose, no-grey duck. "It is goose. That is the right way to say it. If a teacher ever says grey duck to you, I want you to -- listen to me, I really mean it -- I want you to stop and tell that teacher, no. I won't say grey duck. It is goose, and that is how I am going to say it."

Uh huh. I did indeed lecture my child to challenge his teacher on the merits of goose versus grey duck. We are gonna have a heckuva ride in school, aren't we?

I had a morning meeting with my boss and another woman of about her age, to talk about our upcoming revision of the Part C rules (don't ask). Anyway, the first several minutes of the meeting revolved around talk of my boss' dog. Freddy the Lab had his five-month-old poodle friend over this weekend. They played and were so happy and kept each other busy and tired each other out. On Sunday, a third dog was around because of a regularly scheduled Sunday playdate.

It always amuses me how childless dog people treat and talk about their dogs just exactly like children. Do they know they do this? The most amusing are the hypocrites who profess to hate children, but treat their dogs like spoiled brats, even bringing them to places no child (or dog) should ever go.

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We also talked about forced air, hot flashes, the stupidity of Matt Entenza (local politician), and the possible meaning behind several high-ranking staffers of our agency leaving for the greener fields of the federal education agency.

Sometimes I like meetings, they give me valuable information and insight.

ETA: Oh, looky here. While we were talking about his stupidity, Entenza was was deciding to quit the race. Probably his first smart move in over a week.