whine flu

The morning of September 11th, 2001, I was snuggled down under a fluffy comforter in a cozy little nest of pillows with two cats sound asleep on my feet when the alarm went off. I remember thinking "yikes, a plane crashing into a building? What are the odds of that happening?" as I reached out to punch the snooze button and pull the pillow back over my head. 9 minutes later the alarm went off again and the phone started ringing. It was Josh on the phone, asking me if I was seeing what was going on; telling me not to worry, if his flight home was delayed, he didn't think it'd be too much later than we had originally planned. After all, what was the likelihood that a tragedy on the East Coast would effect the tiny little barely-international airport at Tucson? A few hours later, airspace restricted to the birds, he called me again to say that he had already rented a car and that he and his coworkers would be hitting the road for the 15-hour trip home shortly.

I was student teaching (read: paying for the privilege of teaching)at the time in a nearby second grade classroom. My mentor teacher took the lead in having a student led sit-down in our room. My instructions were along the lines of:

Let the kids ask what they want. Answer only what they ask. Don't read into their questions, don't embellish or assume that you know what the next question is going to be.
At this point, information was still so sketchy as to how and who and why and where next that all we could do was reassure them that we were in as safe a place as we could be.

I was as glued to the media as anyone else during the subsequent days/weeks. But let's face it. A delayed dinner out, two more days of being the sole provider for the cats, and a couple of overly anxious 8-year-olds was the sum of the actual impact of the nation's tragedy on me. Josh had a college friend who we were pretty sure was in the greater NYC area at the time (turns out he was. And he was impacted. His later-to-be wife was impacted. Friends that we made post 9-11 during our short time on the East Coast were impacted.), but that was the closest physical link we had. The emotional impact, of course, was harder to quantify.

Almost immediately, though, the local media started running stories about "legitimate" targets right here in our area that COULD. BE. NEXT.

The Golden Gate Bridge.
(Okay, okay, it's a well known landmark, iconographic in it's tourist draw. Holds bunches of cars during rush-hour.)

Travis Air Force Base.
(Again, possible as it's home to the largest wing in the Air Force's Air Mobility Command calls Travis home.)

One of the several oil refineries in the area.
(Oil + high temperature + high pressure + all that other stuffed used to make gasoline = Great Big Boom!)

The state capital building.

Whoa.

Hang on a minute.

Sacramento, California.

A target.

A legitimate target for al-Qaeda?

Really?

The Governator wasn't even in office. And although Gray Davis was well on his way to going down in history as the second American governor to be recalled, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that he probably wasn't on Khalid Sheikh Mohammed to-do list.

And that's approximately when we started our own private little scoff at the world: When ever it appears that someone the media is getting a leeeetle worked up over something nothing, you'll likely hear one or the other of us pull out the phrase "Really, Sacramento?"

Swine flu fits nicely into that category.

Or, at least, it did until about 9pm Sunday when m'boy started his sporadic barfing spree. I would be lying if I said I didn't spend the next seven hours checking him repeatedly for fever, chills, and cough. And blaspheming all manners of domesticated even-toed ungulates. Stupid bacon. I'm only posting this now because I spent the better part of last night alternating between the floor and the toilet and I KNOW I haven't been pig kissing.

Send tea and crackers. I had forgotten how much energy it takes to defy gravity with last night's dinner.


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quick! what's the number for the spca?

Can you believe these conditions?




Two cats expected to survive on such rations?



Poor, pitiful little beasts with barely a mouthful of kibble apiece.



Oh. Right. So maybe all that yowling was unnecessary.



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don't worry, mommy. i will fix it.




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oh, yeah, and

Just some stuff I forgot to mention in the last post that I had changed. Yeah, I missed some. I know, shocker.

-My daily graces (aka" __ of 365") have their own home. If you care to read them, the latest three posts are listed over there ---> under the Grace In Small Things badge. I toyed with the idea of adding a sitemeter to that blog to see how many of you go from here to there but decided that might be overkill. Anyways, these are supposed to be things that make me happy, not things that I list to make you think that I am happy. Not that my feelings would be hurt if you decided to click on over and read 'em and tell me how the things that make my life better make your life better. Or that I'm witty. Or that you like my use of iambic pentameter. Whatever.

-For the zero of you who used that section that I used to have over there --> with links to other random stuff, it's gone, too. My sidebar was starting to look like that commercial where all the pictures being stored on the digital camera start arguing about who's going to get deleted to make room for the new picture. You know that one? No? Well, I couldn't find it on YouTube, but that might be because I can't remember what it's actually advertising or the company behind it. Googling "that commercial where the pictures argue about which one is going to be deleted to make room for the new one because the memory card is full" resulted into the PC version of a blank look. If you have a Mac, type it in and see if you do any better. Back to the point. The sidebar was cluttered, so it got tidied.

- There was something else. I distinctly remember coming up with three other oh-so-important changes to list for you. You know, because this is such earth shattering stuff. Tune in next time when I discuss the seven different hairbrushes in my bathroom drawer and the subtle differences in the way I use each of them. Meh, no matter. Chances are good that if I only had three to list, the third one was less about something important to share and more about my own personal neuroses that things should always be grouped in threes or fives until you get to ten and then they should only happen in fives or tens. Yes, that's why I spent the first fifteen minutes at your last party rearranging the cocktail shrimp. What? I used a fork.


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shift

I started to start this post with "It all started in the shower." But that's not quite right. Closer to say it all coalesced in the shower. Even closer to say "Because it was naptime and I was in the shower and god only knows where the cats were and the husband was at work and the shower door was all steamed up except for the upper half that was covered by a towel and there was absolutely nothing, nothing to be distracted by, I actually had a series of thoughts about the same thing and was able to follow them long enough to have them led to that mythical aha! moment of clarity in which I finally came up with a brilliant new name for this blog that perfectly describes what goes on here." Of course, by the time I got out of the shower, found a replacement for the now-damp towel on the door, remembered where I put my other shoe, got the snarls combed out of my hair, logged on and clicked on the "create blog" button, someone else had already named their little bloggy nest "prattle". And "prattles". And "sheprattles". And prattler, prattleon, blather, blathers, sheblathers, blatherer, blatheron, and, my personal favorite, blahblahblog. Thankfully there is such a thing as thesaurus.com.

I kinda like the way that "twaddle" makes me giggle in a 7th-grade-I'm-not-sure-what-I-just-said-but-it-sounds-dirty kind of way. And it elevates me out of the mommy box. Not that there's anything wrong with the mommy box. I just was having to deal with an inordinate amount of guilt for how misleading it must feel to find me and my twaddle when searching for something as specific as mommy monologues. So *poof*, guilt-be-gone. And now I can legitimately ask you how you like my twaddle.

I'm keeping the green. I like the green. I like the almost monotone, I've got something to say but I'm going to say it sort of quietly so that maybe if you don't like what I have to say you'll just not hear it or pretend like you didn't hear it so we don't have to go and get all confrontational about it but at the same time not just quitetly fade into the background altogether wallflower kind of calm that this particular set-up delivers. I like publishing in Trebuchet. If you must know, most of my writing is done with a fancy fake French accent because that's how I pronounce Trebuchet in my head. That and because even twaddle sounds poetic with a fancy fake French accent and therefore all my twaddling instantly becomes more poetic. Try reading a paragraph or two that way and see if you don't agree.

I lost the old blog rolly-esqe thingy, so if you were coming here to access something that was over there -->, I'm sorry to make your life more difficult. Let me know what you're looking for and I'll give you directions. I might look at you cross-eyed or huff for using me as storage for something you could have just as easily added to your own reader or bookmarked, but I promise I'll look really, really hard before sending you on your way. Or, if you'd prefer, you can just click the "show all" link under the blogs now listed over there --> and chances are you'll find who you're looking for there. You get what you want, I pretend you came to see me, and we all go to bed happy.

I gave the boys the ax. Well, their pictures, anyways, because let's be honest, this hasn't been their place for a very, very long time. This is mine, mine, all mine and while I love sharing with all of you (yes, all 4 of you) where their lives and my life intersect, this is my story, told from my perspective and I don't have to share top billing with them if I don't want to. Plus, I'm really stumped with a super-witty way to refer to them and the crap I was coming up with was really laming up the joint. So they're out.

I have a love-hate relationship with my own pic, so expect that to be changing, too. Provided I can find something un-gopher-pigeony. I like to imagine that facial expressions and body language of the writer I'm reading and I like to imagine that you like to imagine that too. Even if my lilywhitebreadness makes it next to impossible to imagine that fancy fake French accent we were discussing earlier.

What else, what else? Oh. The labels. Gone. Mostly. Right now things are categorized by the title of the blog during the time they were written. Want something sleep-deprived and sappy sweet? Look into my mommymonologues period. Random, rambling, ranty, and utterly self-absorbed? Pick through the stuff and nonsense, vintage 2007-08. It took me the better part of naptime yesterday to get rid of the 47 different labels that I had accumulated. 47. I was only 10 varieties away from being a ketchup (catsup?) blog. Definitely time to pare back to the bare necessities. Maybe some day I'll get around to seeing if there are any common threads and if they need labeling.

I think that's it. Mind the third step if you come in past midnight. It creaks. Also, the bathroom door doesn't always shut quite tight, so feel free to slam it. Or not. Make yourself at home.


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battle lost

Did anyone notice the unexpected storm clouds over this particular region today? Museum goers were hit with a brief burst of turbulence downstairs followed by a full-on squall minutes later just outside the Wonder Cabinet. The tired looking, at-her-wits-end blond sitting on the floor, trying not to openly weep? Hi. That was me. *waves*

It was supposed to be a morning of fun, exploration, and connection. I'm trying to understand how that got translated into a morning of fun, exploration, and connection interspersed with freak-outs, aggression, and complete losing-of-our-shit. I have a laundry list of excuses, but they are a tired, tired bunch. I don't know what I am doing wrong.

I know he doesn't handle rapid transitions / unexpected surprises well.
I know he isn't totally in tune with where he is on the scale of hunger / sleep / stimulation.
I know he needs plenty of warning / time to finish up his project / thoughts / investigation before moving on to the next.
I know he doesn't give a tinker's damn about anyone else.
I know he needs to feel like he is in charge.

And I know I didn't bubble wrap each and every step and cover all the corners so that our "adventure" had no chances of failure. But, come on! Is that really what I'm supposed to do? How is that preparing him for life in the real world?

Yes, he's three.
Yes, everywhere we looked, there was something NEW! and SHINY! and there were BUTTONS! and SWITCHES! and LIGHTS! and PLUGS! and ! and ! and!

No, I don't expect him to have perfect self control.
No, I don't expect him to always gracefully share and take turns.
No, I don't expect him to want to quit what he's doing so we can move on to something else.

But is it really asking too much to want him to listen to me? To believe that I am trying to meet his needs, to do what I know is best for him? To encourage him to feel empathy? To want him to take a second and think? To stand back, however momentarily, and consider that there might be consequences for his actions? That others might be impacted by the choices he makes?

Isn't that my job? To show him these things and provide him with opportunities to practice, practice, practice so that someday (hopefully soon) they will be instinctive? So that he can go out and use all that amazing energy and intelligence and charm and become a happy, respected, productive member of society? Isn't that the endgame?

Why must he fight me every step of the way?

I'm tired. So very, very, very tired. On the verge of giving up tired. I don't know what else to do.


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double take

I was just typing "weather.com" into my search engine (for obvious reasons), but typo'd "wear" instead. You know how Google has that drop-down box of suggestions to complete what you're typing? Well, it came up with "wearehills"* as one of the possibilities. Which I read as "wearhills" which my mind translated as "wear heels" and then had a little bit of a panic moment that someone had been using my computer to look at fetish pages.

My mind is a random, random, accusatory place**.



*Which, if followed, leads to this site... a place I visited months ago because they had a coupon for the $$$ cat food that we give to our precious little darling. Just in case you were wondering.


**In my defense, I haven't been in the market for anything remotely heel-like since last April.

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whoda thunk it?

You know me. I'd be the first to jump off a cliff if all the other kids said they were going to do it. So I'm a little impressed with myself that it's taken me this long to do this since Lora and Val posted their results a month and a week ago, respectively. Maybe I've matured to the point that I would at least check to see if I was wearing clean underwear before I took that first step. Go me!

I was a little surprised with the results in a "huh, well, I guess I could see that as a possibility" kind of way, although my strict Christian upbringing was more than a little startled to see any form of Judaism at the top of the list. Reading the description, though, it rather fits. The pacifist in me is pleased to see Quaker, however liberal, up there in the rankings. My eyebrows are still twitching, though, trying to figure out WTF I answered to find Neo-Paganism in the top three. Yet another aspect of my psyche to be explored, I suppose...

See what they think you think over here. My absolute most favoritest part of the whole exercise? The disclaimer at the top of the page before you begin the quiz:

Warning: Belief-O-Matic™ assumes no legal liability for the ultimate fate of your soul.
Classic.


1. Reform Judaism (100%)
2. Liberal Quakers (92%)
3. Neo-Pagan (90%)
4. Unitarian Universalism (86%)
5. Sikhism (84%)
6. Baha'i Faith (81%)
7. Mahayana Buddhism (79%)
8. Orthodox Judaism (77%)
9. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (76%)
10. New Age (74%)
11. Jainism (70%)
12. Islam (65%)
13. Theravada Buddhism (65%)
14. Orthodox Quaker (63%)
15. Hinduism (60%)
16. Secular Humanism (51%)
17. Taoism (51%)
18. New Thought (49%)
19. Scientology (45%)
20. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (40%)
21. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (39%)
22. Seventh Day Adventist (37%)
23. Eastern Orthodox (32%)
24. Roman Catholic (32%)
25. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (31%)
26. Nontheist (28%)
27. Jehovah's Witness (26%)



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maybe i don't sound like charlie brown's mother

Just received the following email from our daycare lady:

I announced that I was going to the bathroom. [Himself] starts to follow me down the hall. He proceeds to tell me that it is dangerous to go to the bathroom by myself and a stranger might try and talk to me. He told me he would go to the bathroom with me so I wasn't alone. Tooooo Cute!

He's been fascinated with the men's restrooms when we're out and about, so I've been trying to explain to him why he can't go in there all by himself. Guess he must have been listening! Although, I didn't realize I had stressed the "stranger might talk to you" part so much...

reader

Edited because this is much easier to distinguish from this than this is.

Found this over here and just couldn't resist seeing how I stack (get it? As in library stacks? Oh, never mind.) up. I've read the ones in orange. Looks like I need to consider the not-Xanth sections at the library the next time we go...

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller1
2. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

leap-er

Lora's rally cry on Friday (and the subsequent drama that played out in my mind alone) kept me all knotted up in my head all weekend. If you haven't read her post yet, go do it.I'm not guaranteeing that her post will make this one make more sense, by it might give you some context and hey, at least you'll have read something coherent and thought provoking at the end of this little exercise if you go read it. I'll wait.

Back already?

My comment (which I subsequently deleted for reasons I'll get into in a bit) was this (edited a bit because I don't always pay as much attention to my grammar/wording when I'm putting in my 2 cents elsewhere. Also, because I'm totally okay with using my kid's name on other peoples blogs but still a little wigged out about using it here. I can't figure that one out, either.):

I was thinking today about the [not-so-]subliminal messages that are constantly slamming our kiddos upside the head. We had a repairman out to fix the microwave a few weeks back who told [Himself] "Boys don't cry." as he was leaving ([Himself] had stubbed his toe or was hungry or needed a nap or was just being 3 or something, hence, tears and whining). I was a bit taken aback by how seriously [Himself] took his comment. We talked about how "silly" it was for a bit and I thought that was the end of that. But it came up again just a few days ago. He fell down and scrubbed his knees, but instead of coming to me as he usually would, he just brushed himself off. I asked him if he needed help, but he told me "I'm a boy. A big boy. I don't need to cry, Mommy." Which made me want to cry.

Then, this morning, I didn't flip fast enough to escape him seeing Oswald on TV (thank you, daycare, for creating that recognition factor), so that provided us with blithering background noise for the next half hour or so. Within the first few minutes, the plot line was obvious: Oswald is the hero because he is embracing new things, is willing to run out the door without a plan and let life smack him upside the face willynilly; Henry is the stodgy old pudge that nothing fun ever happens to because he is unwilling to break from his comfortable routine. In part I agreed with the message -- I don't want [Himself] to be the slave to routine and schedule and predictably that I've become, but shouldn't there be a balance? Isn't there something admirable about being someone who can be counted on? Is there nothing redeeming in being responsible and thoughtful and practical? And while I don't want him to blindly follow rules and go just because he is told to, isn't there some point at which I also need to teach him to put aside his own desires and consider the needs and whims of others as well? I don't know. I've always felt like the Hare got the short end of that tale (and I refuse to read Tootle anymore, even though it was one of my childhood favorites), but I constantly stress about swinging too far to the other extreme.

Lora's response (I'll assume it was to me. Hadn't you noticed the world revolving a little more to the left these days?) was:
Well, of course we have to be good sometimes. I am trying to raise Jake to not necessarily follow the path to the letter, but certainly don't jump the fence either.

I believe you have to do everything in your power to be sure you can afford to veer a bit. Stay in school as long as possible, follow the Golden Rule, keep a job, etc. But once you've done that, set yourself free from time to time.

Which, duh. The next to last line of her post reads:
Obviously I don't believe in All Hare All the Time. We'd be a hot mess. But from time to time, stop listening to the Man and start listening to your heart.

But I guess I was already stepping into a steaming pile of my "issue" when I got to that point, because all I could hear by then was my inner defense team gathering their notes for closing arguments.

It seems that somewhere along the way, whether it be nature or nurture, I latched onto the sweeping notion of "it is or it isn't". If it isn't good, it must be bad; if it isn't right, it's either left, or wrong. Shades of gray, although I see them and they are all right for YOU, are just blacks and whites not living up to their full potential. 98% is still two shy of 100%.

The battle I fight daily (and realize I am losing every other Tuesday) is one of not leaping from one extreme to the other. The good Dr. has been encouraging me to keep track of my issues. To recognize them and to take a moment to feel what it feels like to be all caught up in the middle of them again. The hope is that someday I'll learn to make better choices.

So I was rather proud of myself when I had one of those "aha!" moments when I clicked back over to check in on my comment an hour or so after leaving it. "Aha, wow! Sure enough, I did it again. Totally missed the middle ground on that one," I reproached myself. And left another little comment to show the world that I got it, that I had been a boob. And then clicked the little trashcan icon following both so as to erase* from written history yet another example of my boobies. Because one over-reaction surely deserves another! Let's not be strong enough of our convictions to leave it alone where someone else might read it and not agree with it! Must! Be! Erased! Hurry!

And then I I couldn't just let it go because I was afraid that Lora might think I was mad at her if I just took down the comments and didn't tell her why and then she'd get mad at me for being so silly as to think she'd get mad at me for sharing my thoughts and then not being strong enough to stand behind my convictions because I was afraid that she might get mad at me and OHMIGOD this is effing junior high all over again and I am SO. DONE. WITH. IT. So I did the very adult thing and made a passing remark to the entire incident in a comment on another of her posts just to see if she noticed.

She had. And we had a lovely back and forth string of emails in which I discovered that she actually liked the first comment and, well, the rest of this was a very still exercise in unnecessary drama.

I laughed the first time Dr. R told me that "overthinking things" might be one of my issues. The second time he brought it up it didn't seem so funny. And now I'm just pissed that I'm going to have to go in there tomorrow** and admit that he's right. A whole weekend's worth of (private) drama over a silly comment on someone else's blog that might be read by people I DON'T EVEN KNOW.

My brother once said something along the lines of "Why is it that the kids in the foothills are the ones with all the angst?" And I agreed with him and laughed along at those silly, privileged kids, living in their Mommy's and Daddy's million dollar houses and driving Hummers and swimming in their Olympic sized pools! What do they have to feel all misunderstood and dye-my-hair-blue for? Ha! Ha! H-- and then I realized that "kids in the foothills" could be a metaphor for "me".

Do you see where I'm going with this? Never mind, neither do I. Anyways, my neck is getting a cramp in it from staring into my belly button. It stinks and all I ever find in there is fuzz. I'm done.



*Well, sort of erased. So pleased was I with the phrase "stodgy old pudge" that I couldn't erase it all together. Under the guise of saving it for some later post, I brought it over here. And, well, here it is, so I guess that wasn't really a guise, was it?

**Which is actually today, I just didn't get around to posting this until today.


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his turn

  • So what did you want to ask me, boog?
  • Um. Um. Mommy? I can ask you some questions, okay?
  • Yep, it's your turn. You answered my questions; I'll answer yours.
  • We take turns! And den you are so happy because we are such good friends.
  • That's right, boog. Did you have some questions for me?
  • Why, yes, I did. Mommy? whispers: You hafta say "What" to me. Mommy?
  • What?
  • Do you know what is my question?
  • No, I'm still waiting for you to ask.
  • Mommy?
  • Yes, boog?
  • 'Member when it was morning and you had to go work out so you can stay strong and healthy or we can not go to da park and I was in my big big bed but I snuggled with Daddy and den you came up da stairs but I was asleep? 'Member dat, mommy?
  • I sure do. That's exactly what happened this morning. You have a good memory, boog.
  • Yes, I do. And, mommy?
  • Mmm hmm? waiting, pen poised, to record the next sweetadorable thing to come out of his mouth
  • I hafta drink lotsa water so I can burp like dis. fake burps and giggles hysterically

Fin

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one more thing

This has been bothering me for over a week now, so it must need to be said:

Dear Parent at the Park-

Loudly muttering (shout muttering? shmuttering?) "Boys will be boys!" and then rolling your eyes and shrugging your shoulders conspiratorially in my direction does not release you from your role as a parent. If, however, you choose to act as if it does, please have the courtesy to not get your panties in a twist when I use my very best teacher voice to suggest, just as loudly, that "Sand is for digging in, not for throwing" as I remove my son from the line of fire. Also? It would be nice if you would at least pretend to intervene when your little shit darling decides to follow us to the other side of the playground, a-flinging and a-tossing all the way. I don't mean to sound all holier-than-thou, but I feel reasonably confident that loudly complaining to "Tina" about how poorly your pedicure went that morning should be second in your list of priorities when your toddler is walking off with a complete stranger.

Much obliged,

susan


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interview, part I

Hey, boog, can I ask you some questions?

  • Yes, my mommy. And den I will ask you some questions. Can I ask you my questions, mommy?
You bet. Here's what I want to know:

1. What is something I always say to you?
  • I don't know
2. What makes me happy?
  • I not going poop in my unnerwears
3. What makes me sad?
  • I hide when I going poop in my unnerwears
4. How do I make you laugh?
  • like this *fake laughs*
5. What was I like as a child?
  • like ME!
6. How old am I?
  • 3 or maybe 6. You can be 6 on Friday.
7. How tall am I?
  • Um, so big.
8. What is my favorite thing to do?
  • That's all da qestions I need you to say to me. Until Christmas. *unplugs computer charger*
9. What do I do when you're not around?
10. If I become famous, what will it be for?
11. What am I really good at?
12. What am I not very good at?
13. What do I do for a job?
14. What is my favorite food?
15. What makes you proud of me?
16. If I were a cartoon character, who would I be?
17. What do we do together?
18. How are we the same?
19. How are we different?
20. How do you know I love you?
21. What do I like most about your dad?
22. Where is my favorite place to go?


We've been working really hard on the concept of respect, so I didn't push it. However, given his latest obsession with Shrek the Halls, Christmas could come as early as next Wednesday. Stay tuned...


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