The power of a princess
You may recall that I visited Kira last year, too, and it was a wonderful trip and I had a hard time leaving. I was just getting to know her boys, and while I’d been allowed to freely snoogle the baby, I knew that she would be a whole different person this year, and it was hard to leave her sweet babylump self knowing that that she would change so much before I could see her again.
What I hadn’t anticipated—despite Kira’s stories in the intervening year—was that when I returned it would be to boys who had grown a bit, yes, but also to a tiny, adorable tyrant who has effortlessly wrapped the entire household around her chubby little finger.
You might think I’d find this strange or wonder if little Sophia is being spoiled, but all I can tell you is that this is clearly How The World Is Meant To Work. That child had me vying for a spot on that finger before I’d been there for an hour. read more…
Eating is complicated
I am back from a whirlwind weekend of jetting off to the Rockies, wrestling with Kira‘s boys, attempting to snoogle a baby who is now a toddler whose favorite word is “NO!” (thankyouverymuch, now please hush up and get her some crackers), and talking Kira’s ear off.
It was lovely. Well, for ME, anyway. Kira’s husband always seems a little shell-shocked when I’m around, as it does throw off the testosterone/estrogen balance in their household pretty significantly.
As both Kira and I were long overdue for some decadence (not to mention a girl’s night out), we elected to go out for a Dinner Adventure one night, just the two of us. The only logical course of action was to go to a fondue restaurant. For one thing, where else can you justify eating your body weight in cheese? And for another, the very idea of allowing any of our children loose in a dining establishment where they encourage you to eat with little spears reduced us both to hysterical giggles. Adults-only fondue it would be! read more…
Danger, danger
I feel it of the utmost importance to let you know that my trip here was uneventful, save for one little thing. See, I was pulled out of the security line and made to pose in one of those new-fangled full body scanners, and that was of course delightful, because POSING is truly what you’re instructed to do—legs apart, arms over your head, hands cupped slightly as if you’re going for a high football pass—while everyone else in line watches you and the guards keep saying, just a little bit longer, ma’am.
But AFTER the scan a burly female guard made me stand in a designated square while she snapped on a pair of gloves, and when she asked how I was doing, I said it depended on what the gloves were for. She laughed, and then proceeded to feel all around my belly and carefully sort of wipe down my hip bones before letting me go.
This, to me, proves two things: First, that my killer hipbones really are as dangerous as they sound, and second, that the full body scanner is clearly an elaborate ruse, because WHY ON EARTH would you need to pat down someone whom you’ve just xrayed?? I swear I left my lead pants at home.
Off in a cloud of dust (and forgotten stuff)
I am… a wee bit neurotic about traveling. Try to contain your shock. I am a creature of habit and leaving my natural environment and schedule is always a bit of a jolt to my system.
I also find having to be in a certain place at a certain time a little bit stressful, and once you factor in traffic and the TSA, you have a perfect storm for me to lie awake the night before a trip, mentally calculating what time we need to leave under any of twelve different circumstances (only ten of them involve a crisis, though).
The advantage to this, I suppose, is that I generally board the plane I’m supposed to be on, stow my carry-on in the bin above and my purse under the seat in front of me, take out a book, and then fall asleep and drool all over myself. It makes the actual trip part go by pretty quickly. read more…
Deep thoughts on a scattered Wednesday
It may be time to rethink my default email closing. It’s supposed to look like this:
Best,
Mir
First of all, I’m a little concerned that in some unconscious corner of the brain, that gets read as “I’m the best, yeah, me, that’s right, I’M THE BEST MIR!” And I don’t want to come off like a pretentious egomaniac in an email, when there’s PLENTY of time to give that impression in person, you know? (Kidding! Totally kidding. I’m pretentious but I have esteem issues, dontchaknow.)
Second of all, there’s simply too much potential for butchery as my fingers fly. read more…
As long as we’re talking about it
I promise that after this I will stop talking about dog poop. I mean, probably. For a while, at least. I did really enjoy how yesterday I thought I was making this offhanded observation about the dog being a pain in the ass (granted, an adorable pain, but still) and the next thing I knew, my comments were filled with people who were afraid I was randomly flinging dog poop into other people’s trash cans. Or who had terrible stories of random/unexpected dog poop. (I did go back to the comments to clarify that I am only dropping securely-bagged poop into public receptacles. Lest you think I’m a poop bandit or something.)
Oh, God. I’m writing an entire entry about dog poop. OH YES I AM.
Anyway, I wasn’t going to tell y’all about this, but as long as we’re just chatting about waste matter, WHY NOT! read more…
Kettle, you’re so difficult
As Monkey and I walked to school this morning, and then as Licorice and I continued on without him, I mused on what must go through the dog’s head on these walks. It took her about two days to figure out that once Otto and Chickadee leave, that means A WALK IS IMMINENT. The resultant excitement means that I get to experience the joy of getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and finding my sneakers all while the whining, wagging, spaztastically excited dog tries to trip me.
Sometimes my favorite part of the day is when we’re ready to go and I hold up the leash and tell her I’m not putting it on her until she sits. She wants to, she really does, but IT’SSOEXCITING and it’s sort of like her legs just dance out from under her even when she’s trying to comply. In fact, I usually just stand there, waiting, until she flops over on her back in surrender. (No one ever accused Licorice of being particularly dignified.)
Anyway, the point is, she does love our morning walks beyond all reason. read more…
Do it like a rock star
I don’t talk too much about divorce/coparenting/family-blending here, anymore. A lot of it is ancient history; a lot of it is just an attempt to respect my kids’ privacy. I don’t see a whole lot that can be gained by noting every time my ex comes to see the kids and pretends that Otto is invisible (every. freaking. time.), or times when the inevitable “I wish you and Daddy never got divorced but then if I wish that I wish Otto and everything here away and I don’t want that, either” sadness comes up and I have to 1) try to be comforting and 2) bite my tongue about the million reasons why this was so much better than the alternative.
A lot of it Just Is. It is what it is and we deal with it as best we can. What else can we do?
And while I don’t suffer any delusions of dealing with it any better than anyone else, I was very flattered to be interviewed over on Rockstar Coparenting about our experiences as a divorced, remarried, coparenting blended family. (Try saying that one five times fast.) And I especially love that it started with quite literally asking to see the shoes I walk in. She had me at shoes, people.
Still awkward
Today I am over at Five Full Plates, bragging about how I’m getting myself back into the fitness groove I loathe so much. It’s going surprisingly well, actually. I meant, except for the part where I nearly died. (I didn’t really nearly die. I just felt like I was going to. Because I’m a drama queen.)
Extra bonus unrelated story snippet: Part of Monkey’s accommodation at school is that he has a laptop so he can keyboard instead of writing. His laptop also has Internet. And Monkey spends a lot of time on his laptop, because he’s allowed to use it whenever he’s done with his work, and Speedy Gonzalez there is often sitting around waiting for his classmates to finish up. Well. I found out he’d been Googling me and reading the blog (really, I didn’t expect that to happen for a few years). So I emailed the teacher to ask that his Internet usage be monitored, and she assured me that it was, and I assured her that it was not, because he’d admitted to reading stuff he shouldn’t, and she got kind of defensive and said the school filters would prevent that, and I told her “yes, but I’m writer, and I write for an adult audience, and he’s apparently been reading me from school. And now you think I write porn, but really I don’t, I just would prefer he not read my writing… oh, God, the more I protest the worse this sounds.”
She… did not respond to that email. So when I sent Otto off to curriculum night last night, I yelled after him, “Please make sure she knows I don’t write porn for a living!” Yeah.
Love’s a little chaotic
Yesterday turned out to be kind of a crazy day; Wednesdays are always my busiest day, anyway, and yesterday had a few extra wrenches thrown in for fun, like the emergency orthodontic appointment because someone who swears they aren’t eating things they shouldn’t nonetheless broke her braces. AHEM.
Anyway, finally the day was mostly over and we were sitting down to dinner, and the kids seemed bent on out-obnoxiousing each other, but in kind of a funny way, at least. The meal was turning out to be a rather raucous affair. And finally after the fourth or fifth time one or both children monopolized the conversation with some silly thing or another, I looked across the table to Otto and said, “And how was YOUR day, Husband?”
Otto didn’t have a chance to respond before Chickadee cheerfully answered, “It was great, THANKS!” at the same time that Monkey—having missed this altogether—squealed “MEEEEEAAAAAAAT!” in a high-pitched voice reserved for pretending to be the dog (who was, indeed, dancing around at his feet, hoping he might “accidentally” drop his burger).
My beloved and I locked gazes as I tried to stop laughing, and in a moment we communicated all that needed to be said, without words. This life of ours is loud and messy and not terribly romantic, but it is never dull.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone. Today I submit to you that if it’s not a little bit crazy-making, chances are you’re doing it wrong.