My friend Kelly is hosting Seven Quick Takes today, so I’m back on the link-up wagon.
The Quotable Cranky Frankie
Frankie (3): a mornin mama
Me: mornin Frank
Frankie: No! I’m Frankie!
Me: <whispering> Good morning Frankie.
Frankie: No! Not like THAT! A mornin mama.
Me: . . .
Frankie: a mornin mama
Me: . . .
Frankie: a MORNIN mama
Me: Good morning Frankie.
Frankie: STOP SAYIN A MORNIN A ME!
. . . . . .
While I’m tucking him into bed: Mom, can you jus’ go?
. . . . . .
While I’m attempting to kiss him goodnight: I jus’ don’t want you to SLOBBER on me.
. . . . . .
After it started getting dark early: Mom, I jus’ want you to turn those ‘tars off. Dare buggin’ me.
But, hey, you’re thinking to yourself, he’s THREE. Three year olds are notoriously emotional. Probably it’s just a phase.
To that I offer you this photo of Frankie Tierney, aged 10 minutes, already sporting his trademark frown. God love ‘im.
I’m pretty sure he’s going to keep the grumpiness. I think it might be hard if he were my first, but I’ve got enough kids around to understand that it isn’t anything I’ve done, it’s just how God made him. I actually find it pretty endearing, somehow.
As with all of my printables, you are welcome to print them for your personal use or to give as a gift, but if you’d like to sell them, please contact me. Thanks. :0)
Here are the newest additions.
A Blessed Mother Teresa quote, on white . . .
and on teal . . .
Another Blessed Mother Teresa quote, on white . . .
and on navy . . .
The prayer of Consecration to Our Lady, on white . . .
and tangerine . . .
and blue . . .
And the Saint Francis Prayer, Part I . . .
and Part II . . .
And now . . . remember all that stuff I’ve always said about how I don’t like shows about bad guys?
And how I need HEROES and HEROISM?
And how I just can’t enjoy shows in which the protagonists are just sad and damaged?
And how, just a couple of days ago, I was all “blah, blah, blah, people can choose to be good even if bad stuff happens to them”?
That was all the me BEFORE Peaky Blinders.
It’s a BBC miniseries, about a bunch of Small Heath gangsters in 1919. In the US, it’s available exclusively on Netflix streaming. And it’s pretty much everything I used to think I didn’t want to watch: damaged protagonists, good guys who are bad guys, bad guys who are good guys, graphic violence, drug use, onscreen, um, romance (not really nudity, but there are scenes, kind of a bunch of them).
But THIS SHOW. It is just so heart-wrenchingly, gut-achingly beautiful. I want to scoop up Tommy in his razor-adorned newsboy cap, and rock him to sleep. And shush him. And tell him it will be okay. But NOT pat him on the head, on account of the razor blades.
It’s the best cinematography I’ve ever seen. Each frame of the show is like the most amazing photo you’ve ever seen on Instagram. Every single one.
Anyway, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
But if you like Les Miserables (and I do . . . I do, I do, I do
), and you wouldn’t REALLY mind if Javert lacked principles as well as compassion and Valjean hadn’t, ya know, repented or anything, check out Peaky Blinders.
Now that I have contacts, like some sort of real writer, I can tell you that Season Two will premiere on Netflix on November 17th. And there are only six episodes of Season One, so if you feed the kids cereal for dinner, you should have plenty of time to get it all in before Monday.
Update: AHHHHHH! I just checked and Season Two is up right now! So much for my investigative reporting. Now, I will valiantly go to sleep anyway.
Happy Friday everybody!