Dirty Little Secrets #52 - #57

52) I read blogs. I don't comment - even on the blogs of my friends. I don't write blog entries, either. That's Mrs. Chicken's department: she's the writer. But I think about my secrets. I think a lot about writing them down. But I don't.

53) I enjoyed our recent trip to Disney World. Now, don't get me wrong, I firmly believe that Mickey is a tool of the patriarchy and a capitalist pig. But once I got over the materialism, commercialism, over-consumption and obesity surrounding me, I noticed that my husband and children were having a good time. I threw my hands up in the air and decided to join them. Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin? To die for, really.
And while I have deeply rooted philosphical issues with the idea of trained killer whales forced to perform three times a day, after our vist to Sea World Lizzy has decided on a career in marine biology. Now I can breathe a sigh of relief that her urge to dance for a living has been squelched by the great Shamu.

54) We are raising geeks. Not geeks like competimommies or sanctimommies raise. Not like "Well, I started listening to Mozart at five weeks gestational age, how about you?" But more like hard-core, space-cadet kind of geeks. This was our collective favorite day of the above-mentioned trip to Florida:



And now Teddy wakes up every morning asking if we can go to the Kennedy Space Center. They have a vast knowledge of Star Wars triva under their belts, and we've started watching From Earth to the Moon. I just can't wait until they start playing D&D. Real geeks rule the world, don't you know?

55) I am anxious for the release of the new Harry Potter book. My copy was pre-ordered from our local Barnes & Noble in February. I intend to read it in its entirety the first night I get it home. Maybe I'll pick it up at midnight.

56) I'm a lazy potty-trainer. Teddy will be three in two weeks, and I have not made any concentrated effort to get the kid out of diapers. Part of me just doesn't care: he's my baby and I treat him that way. When Lizzy was this age I was jumping out of my skin to get her tiny behind planted on the potty. This time around though, I'm just not that into it. I mean, we have a potty. He has peed in said potty. He ocasionally asks to use the potty. And that's it. No routine. No method. Just no potty-training. I've decided that when he turns three, we'll stay at home for week and go for it. Or maybe I won't.

57) Tomorrow, I intend to stay in my pajamas until at least noon. Because we can. I may even be persuaded to stay in bed with my children and watch Roving Mars all day long. School, playing outside until the sun goes down, evenings out with babysitters in, field trips, etc. have worn us to the bone. We're tired and out of secrets.