Ok so now I know Donna loves turtles and after about a decade I did convince her to store away most of her turtle knick knacks, but I am here alone with Claire and totally freaked out. See, Kacie, her friend, brought her a turtle-shaped Easter basket on Sunday. Inside of the basket was an iTurtle. If you’ve never seen one of these, it’s this little (supposedly) robotic turtle iPod thingy. It’s shaped like a turtle, and you plug it into your iPod or other music player. Now, this is cute and all, but the thing has begun to act very oddly.

It barks at us. If we leave it alone it barks, and then it rears its head up scarily. Sometimes it howls like an elephant! When you look over, it looks like just a little plastic white innocent thing, but in actuality it’s terrifyingly scary. I got a shot of it before I had to run outside and sit with my daughter in the backyard so it doesn’t eat us alive. I have no idea why it blinks and barks (and I know no other turtle to ever bark!), but I think it’s pulling some Linda Blair stuff on me, or maybe it learned everything from reading Bret Easton Ellis’ Lunar Park and based its very existence off Terby! Oh the horror!

For some reason I seem to think I’m home alone when Devon is not here, even when accompanied by Claire. Something about adult company I presume. Or maybe that I’m the lone responder to Claire’s one million questions, attitude driven comments, and physical tantrums.

Anyway, although I suffered through finals and regular coursework through last weekend, there were additional assignments and postings due this week. I also had to complete the student surveys and other matters. So, after picking Claire up at school, shopping, having dinner, and going through the bedtime ritual (which ended around 10:00 pm), I started my last assignment. This concluded a short time ago and I turned to watch a rustling Claire on the bed behind me. (Yes, the guest bed; no, she is not always the perfect angel sound asleep in her own room).

As I glanced at my beautiful child, gracefully dancing across the sheets, calmly dreaming of puppies and cupcakes, I took the opportunity to appreciate our similarities and felt proud of the good contained within her wee frame.

Then she farted.

Damn daddy’s girl.