Tuesday, June 29, 2010

I think one of the most awkward things EV-ER is when you laugh at something somebody says, but then it turns out they weren't kidding.

I was looking at craigslist just now (you know, garage sale ads, people selling bikes, all the prostitutes) and it occurred to me that I am sadly lacking mom friends and maybe I should click on "groups" - and not just to laugh at people advertising for group sex.

Yes, maybe I should join a mom group. Or a parents group. Or a book club. Something social. But even as I am looking through the ads I know that there is no way I'm going to join some random craigslist mom group. They could be weird. They could think I'm weird. Or trashy, or dumb, or any kind of awful awkwardness and I don't know what would be worse, but I'm pretty sure they are all worse than being occasionally lonely.

But then I come across an ad titled "Help stop parental alienation." HA! Parental alienation. You know all those parents out there who are alienated from regular people. You lose your identity as a person and start just being a parent. I get it! And I think, hey, this person might be funny. Maybe there is something / somebody cool out there. So I read and it wants me to help stop parental alienation (HA) by joining this group. We'll stop parental alienation by all getting babysitters and go out drinking together! But not too much because we have to get home to the babysitter and no act too drunk!

Anyway, it turns out that parental alienation is the term for when one parent snatches a child and runs, leaving the other parent grieving and never seeing their child again.

So not so funny.

Monday, June 28, 2010


As slowly as time passed during my pregnancy, I began to wonder if perhaps the time/space continuum had altered with the creation of a female baby in my womb. Some kind of wormhole in the fabric of time opened by the stunning lack of a penis on my fetus.

But, no fear. Time these days is WHIZZING past. That lovely summer breeze I'm feeling? Actually my daughters baby-hood speeding by.

Holy moly my maternity leave has gone quickly. Every week is like a single day of being pregnant.

I'm just really not sure if that's fair.

In other news, somebody just texted me and asked me for the name of my daycare. It was not a number I have stored, but she signed it "Katie."

I know lots of Kate's. Our current babysitter is named Kate. Our old babysitter is named Kate. We have a cousin Katie. Two people at my work are named Katie. Christ works with a Kate. Our doula was named Katie.

But why would any of them want the name of my daycare?
Well, I couldn't think of any way that it would be a scam so I just answered it.

It's moments like that, however, where I wonder if my brain is processing correctly. It'll probably turn out that I have a sister named Katie whom I asked to pick up the kids today.

Friday, June 18, 2010

The vortex

There are many things in this world that I don't understand.

Weird. I feel like I preface many of my posts with this kind of disclaimer about my profound confusion. Not sure though. You can go back and check.

Anyway, what got me today was the apparent sound vortex that exists in my house.

This morning, I'm upstairs, feeding the baby and thinking about the eight things I would be doing to get the boys ready for school if I weren't otherwise occupied. But it's making me anxious because Chris is probably going to take the boys and leave before I've finished nursing and those eight things won't get taken care of. So I shout, "Chris!"


I pause, listen, . . . I can hear the squeak of the dining room chair as Chris shifts in his seat. The clink of his spoon as he eats his bowl of whatever. So, theoretically, if I can hear him swallow, he should be able to hear me bellow. Right?

So, again, "Chris!"

Again, nothing.

Is he ignoring me? Does noise only travel up? Is he deaf? Do I have a tiny mouse voice?

So I cover the baby's ear and proceed to scream: CHRIS!!!!

He finally hears me, and the weird thing is I can hear him hear me; the pause in the turning of magazine pages, the scrape as he pushes back his chair, his footsteps as he walks closer to the the stairs.


I don't answer. Partly for fun and partly because the baby was so shocked by my last eruption that I'd rather not startle her again.

Eventually Chris comes bounding up the stairs, angry, wondering why I have to scream like that because it scares him.

I sigh, and list the things that need doing: Owen needs his allergy meds, don't forget to make sure Sam is wearing tennis shoes because he has a tennis lesson today, the kids homework is on the chair in the kitchen, blah, blah, blah.

But apparently I was still talking too quietly because when I came down after he took them the homework was still sitting in the kitchen.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Where I teach you about both French and Literature

Sam got a book called Jingle Bugs for Christmas a couple of years ago. It was a cute book, with lots of pop-ups and slide-outs and what-nots. The book was a mash-up of Christmas and bugs, which is weird, but they pulled it off.

Speaking of pulling things off . . . STUPID POP-UP BOOKS! Why do they even MAKE these for toddlers? They should only make them for grown ups. Toddlers are INCAPABLE of looking at these books and not ripping them apart. "What's this?! This picture just FLEW up into my face! I shall remove the offending picture, thus restoring the pristine page!"

Anyhow, the book had remained surprisingly intact for over a year now, and we'd read it often enough that even if the words got ripped off I remembered what they were. The denouement of the book, the raison d'etra, the carte blanche, the hors d'oeurves, was on the last page, where you pulled out a little tab and the little Christmas tree decorated with a star-bug sang "Jingle Bells" until you pushed the little tab back in (this is foreshadowing, or, as we say in French, "flambe").

So Chris was reading this book to the boys and apparently Owen got his enormous, powerful, man-hands on the book and ripped the little tab on the last page right off.

Which means it wouldn't stop singing.

So Chris hammered the shit out of this book. I mean he ripped it apart with his enormous, powerful man-hands until it no longer resembled a book. I saw it in the garbage and felt a pang at the sight of the mangle visage of the cute little jingle bugs who had to die to shut the tree up.

And yet my kitchen garbage has been singing a cheery, if vaguely techno, version of jingle bells to me for the past two days.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Sam-isms and also I'm tired

I love the way Sam talks.

Recently we put in his "air-confreshioner."

He thinks it is awesome that the lobsters at Giant Eagle have "ram-bands" on so they won't pinch. Instead of the Backyardigans, we watch the "Back-ra-gans" on the DVDV player.

When he was sick yesterday, the way he described it was, "my eyes are wet!" And when he felt better, he told me, "My eyes aren't wet no more!" Well. At least he didn't say ain't.

Speaking of Sam being sick . . . he's been home the past few days and I tell you, I do not understand how stay-at-home moms do it. Literally. I'm so tired that I'm not entirely functional anymore. Lilly choosing last night to end her streak of good sleeping was a helpful added bonus.

By the way, ladies, it occurs to me that we have been bamboozled. How come we have to take care of the baby in the night? Because the other person has to go to work? Well I have to stay home with irritating children. Being a working mother most of time, I happen to know that it is A LOT easier to go to work than have a baby scream in your face all day. If anyone needs their sleep, it's the person that has to listen to a three-year-old repeat the same question an INFINITE number of times. We've been scammed.

I'm currently at the level of tired where random stuff is not just, you know, "stuff," but INFURIATING stuff. I just noticed that the toy bar is off the bouncer AGAIN and WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY KEEPS TAKING THAT BAR OFF BECAUSE I WILL KILL THEM AND EAT THEIR INNARDS.

Right now, Sam, who has been BEGGING ALL DAY to see Lilly, to hold Lilly, to say "Hi" to Lilly, is bouncing her in her bouncer. He is asking, in approximately 4 second intervals, "are you done with you message yet?" He is TIRED of bouncing her, he says. Probably because he is bouncing her with a vigor that is somewhat unnerving. To me. She seems fine with it. I'm still concerned he will launch her across the room one of these times.

Ooooh, he just threatened to write a card if I didn't get done with this message. So I better go.