I guess the honeymoon’s over
The nice thing about being a newlywed, the second time ’round, is that I’m old enough and wise enough (wise being a relative term, given that the first time ’round I was spending my time alternating between thinking “What have I DONE?” and “Maybe everyone is this miserable and no one tells you!”) to actually ENJOY it. I mean, what a concept, right? Enjoying your mate? Basking in the glow of two (or in our case, four) lives meshing together in a way that doesn’t make you fantasize about killing anyone in their sleep? I hardly knew it was possible.
[And I’m not even just saying that because this weekend the kids renamed Marco Polo to Otto Polo and squealed and splashed in the pool while Otto chased them.]
Unfortunately, if I’m being totally honest, I have to confess that… well, we do have a problem. A small problem. It’s nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Really.
But… Otto and I are having a problem in bed. read more…
More like a shoddy paper airplane
I feel comfortable asserting that I am NOT a helicopter parent. I believe in kids building autonomy, making (and learning) from their own mistakes, and all of that sort of thing. Furthermore, in case you haven’t noticed, I am far too lazy to be a helicopter parent. It just seems like it’s an awful lot of work. I can barely remember to get dressed in the morning and throw some food at my children. I’m supposed to shadow their every step, too? HARD. I can’t be bothered.
On the other hand, I do luuuuurve MAH BABIES and try to take an active interest in their lives. I do things like join committees and volunteer at school and launch into impassioned soliloquies in front of the dryer about the Endless Tragedy Of Orange Socks (thank you, Georgia clay, for making my life infinitely more rust-colored) in an effort to better connect with my offspring. Um, okay, technically that socks thing might not fall into that category, but you see my point. read more…
Shiny dreams, rusty reality
Thank you for all of the kind birthday wishes! As it turned out, this weekend marked what was perhaps my favorite birthday in a very long time. It was low-key and unremarkable, but no one bled or screamed or told me they hated me (to my face, anyway), and there was excellent food and many hugs and kisses, and it was all very nice.
Otto took me out for a fancy dinner on Saturday night, and while my margarita wasn’t quite as big as my head, it WAS very yummy. I had duck that came all fanned out on a plate like origami and Otto had frogmore stew that came in a bowl bigger than the one I use for mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. Because neither of us had had nearly enough food, we also had dessert (I had peach turnovers with ginger ice cream, and they are not fooling anyone at that fancy restaurant, THAT THERE IS SCRUMPTIOUS FRIED PIE) and then staggered out of there, full to bursting and very content.
After which, we went to the hippie grocery store and bought a big steak that presumably came from a pampered, organic cow who simply died of ennui while protesting global warming. read more…
Ready, if not willing
This afternoon, Otto and the kids headed out to the library and I finally cleaned my desk. It’s time to clean my desk when I can’t actually, you know, find my laptop on it. The laptop connects to a monitor, so it’s not like I can’t USE the computer if I can’t actually FIND it. Still, if I’m thinking of unplugging the laptop and taking it elsewhere and can’t do it because touching any one of the teetering piles of papers or books might set off a chain reaction that will potentially cause my desk to collapse, my office to implode, or me to utter many, many non-child-friendly words, that means it’s time to clean up.
And being the organized businesswoman that I am, when I reach that critical point, I get right to cleaning my desk. Within a month. Two, tops. Look, I get to it eventually, okay? Shut up. Today I did an exceptionally thorough job of it. read more…
Someone didn’t think this through
Just a quickie, today, as I am having some difficulty extracting this gigantic stick that seems to be lodged up my… oh, nevermind. I’m really not fit for public consumption, is my point, but I did want to tell you about something that happened yesterday.
The genetics that combined to form my children gave them many fabulous things—such as large brains and long eyelashes—but it also saddled them with a few things they probably could’ve done without, such as really crooked teeth.
We’ve been doing the mouth modification thing for quite a while, already. Why, I went back and checked, and it was nearly two years ago when Chickadee took her first trip to the orthodontist, and I was quite bowled over at the time by all of the STUFF modern orthos seem to have on tap to hold the kids’ attention. Video games. Prizes. Heroin. You know. read more…
Sometimes, love lucks out
There are things I love about being a mother, and things about it that drive me insane. This is pretty typical, I’d guess, but on the whole I give this whole mothering gig a hearty thumbs up. Insert the cliche of your choice here: It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love! It’s the decision to have your heart walk around outside of your body! Etc.
I’ll just say that I really didn’t understand inspiration until I became a mom. Also, it’s nice to have someone else to water the plants for me. (What?)
There are things I love about being a writer, and things about it that drive me insane. This is pretty typical, I’d guess, but on the whole I give this whole literary pursuits gig a hearty thumbs up. This is, in fact, the longest I’ve stayed in a single career, and the first time I didn’t hate everyone and everything about it before a year had passed.
I’ll just say that once I really started doing this, I wanted to go back in time and smack myself—HARD—for not realizing that this is what I should’ve done all along. read more…
Lumpy, bumpy and grumpy
We’re not quite a week into the new school year, and already we’re settling into a familiar routine. I hear his alarm go off and the sound of Monkey leaping out of bed just seconds before my alarm goes off; in contrast, Chickadee’s first alarm is usually turned off before it has a chance to beep (she’ll turn it off in the wee hours, I suspect), and the second alarm—on a second clock, across the room—goes off ten minutes later.
Monkey is downstairs in about six minutes, bright-eyed and chatty and cheerful. Chickadee won’t follow for at least another fifteen minutes (if not more), and she is often slow and irritable. She’s not much of a morning person. But in her defense, she’s also completely covered in Ye Olde Creeping Crud, and that’s probably not very comfortable. I’ve certainly been crabby over (much) less. (Dear Otto: I love you. Please resist the urge to comment here. Thanks, sweetie! Smooches!)
And we have tried—LORD HOW WE HAVE TRIED—but several weeks ago I had to concede defeat and call the doctor again. read more…
I’m a strong starter
Something has been niggling at me ever since yesterday, and I just have to get it out of the way before I can move on. I’m sorry, that’s just how I am. Ask anyone! And yet, the words “let it go” pass my husband’s lips so often, you’d think his 19 years of knowing me and my utter INABILITY to let it go were just a figment of my imagination.
Okay, so here it is: There were so many comments on yesterday’s post, and that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, but I would say that approximately HALF of you insisted that the clothing sorting is best done when the children are absent. And I just want to ask y’all, mom to mom, woman to woman: ARE YOU ON CRACK?? Or—okay, there could be another explanation—do you have life-sized cardboard cut-outs of your children? While I can (and sometimes do) spirit away disgusting clothing when I handle the laundry, an essential part of the Closet Cleanout is the TRYING ON. Sometimes my children grow several inches overnight, and sometimes the correct-length pants are too big around even with the buttonhole elastic cinched tight, and sometimes tween girls inexplicably develop HIPS. I’m just sayin’. read more…
However, my desk is completely buried
I am a tidy person, deep in my heart of hearts. I crave order. Little delights me more than looking for an item where it belongs, and finding it there. A place for every item and every item in its place. And while we’re on the topic, let’s just say that the fewer items, the better.
It is at this point that anyone who’s ever visited my house or, say, someone who LIVES IN MY HOUSE will start to laugh hysterically. Because the state of my house… ahhhh… how shall we put it… well, the state of my house doesn’t exactly reflect my heart of hearts right now. Or ever. Details.
And so this weekend I attacked the various problem areas with a fervor born of months of denial and repression. One day, it’s all fine. The next day, I CANNOT STAND IT ANYMORE AND IT MUST ALL BE STOPPED IMMEDIATELY. read more…
A weekend of Olympic translation
Our patriotism and sportmanship, let me show you it:
Women’s 4x100m relay swimming event = Sobbing child insisting he has already WATCHED the Olympics, can we STOP now?
Men’s Beach Volleyball = That looks itchy.
Men’s Water Polo = What are they doing? Where’s the ball? Is there a ball? I’m bored.
Men’s 56kg Weightlifting = Awesome! Little men scowling at big heavy things!