The agony of defeat
There are times when I think our little school system gets it exactly right, and I know that our decision years ago to move to this little town in Nowhereville was a wonderful gift to our children.
And then there are times when I think our little school system is run by amphetamine-addled monkeys who’ve never met an actual child.
When I am ESPECIALLY lucky, I get to experience both of those convictions within the space of just a few hours! Which is like the excitement of a rollercoaster ride except without the fear of heights and thinking I might puke! But there are no funnelcakes, which is certainly a drawback.
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I am such a moron mommy
How very fitting that on a day like today, a day when I’m JUST SO EXCITED to tell you WHAT A FANTABULOUS MOM I AM, BlogHer decides to finally publish the Day Two schedule of events. You may happen to notice yours truly scheduled along with Alice and Tracey to talk about why Mommyblogging is a radical act.
Hell, voluntarily deciding to be responsible for another human is radical. Blogging about it is just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, methinks. ANYWAY, the bottom line is that I am thrilled to be headed to San Jose this summer, and I hope to see you (yes, YOU) there. I will be the one who trips into the pool, tipsy on half a glass of wine, and then flails through a couple of laps while insisting that I meant to do that. Woo!
So. Wanna hear about my day? OF COURSE YOU DO. Why, it was a veritable exemplification of parenting at its finest. I couldn’t be more proud. Though I sort of wish I had that wine right now.
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Craig is on crack
I… have a confession to make. I’m embarrassed, and I beg you to please be gentle with me as I come clean.
I sometimes (okay; OFTEN) browse my local Craig’s List for entertainment.
It didn’t start out that way. Originally, I was just perusing for writing gigs. Then I started reading “Best Of” and before I knew it, I was mainlining the very hardest stuff they have to offer–Missed Connections and Men Seeking Women.
Somehow I’m convinced that founder Craig Newmark knew that it would work that way. First he offers a giant gathering place for every moron on the internet, then he makes it just enticing enough that those of us with actual brain cells CAN’T LOOK AWAY. It was a nefarious plan, Mr. Newmark, and it’s working. Damn you.
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Ennui with a side of international sports
There is this very adorable thing that my mother does, and it is this: She calls me on the phone and after a few minutes of chit-chat, asks with great anticipation, “So what’s new? What’s going on?” This always leaves me feeling woefully inadequate for not having more to report.
[Note to Mom: I am not poking fun at you; I really do think it’s cute that you’re so convinced my life is exciting. I do wish that one of these days I can answer “Well, I figured out how to turn Kraft Macaroni and Cheese into platinum, but I haven’t had much time for that because I just got married! Also, I had the kids cloned last week. You should SEE all of ’em!”]
I mean, if she’s calling on Saturday night, and the TV is on in the background and I’m talking through mouthfuls of ice cream, it seems like maybe it ought to be self-explanatory that my life is dull. But that sort of hope is endearing.
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How to feel old
Realize that it’s just a precious few years standing between Apolo Anton Ohno being “incredibly hot” and “young enough to be my kid.”
[Also, this just in: Ice dancing is STILL NOT A SPORT. Please take your spackling equipment (used for application of eye make-up) and go home.]
In which I’m feeling mushy
About a year and a half ago, I found myself unexpectedly and completely smitten.
I fell hard and fast, and soon found myself spending every evening talking for hours with the object of my affections. It was as if we’d known each other our entire lives. We finished each other’s sentences. We laughed until we cried. Sometimes we cried until we laughed.
In a time when I was struggling to center myself, I had support and a cheering section unlike any other I’d had before. Here was someone who understood me; had already been through much of what I was exploring but didn’t judge or lecture. Sometimes I just needed someone to listen… sometimes I needed guidance. And I always got just what I needed. It was… perfect.
I’m still smitten, but my love has long been cheating on me with another.
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Lolly, Lolly, Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here
I feel I’m in a holding pattern, and it goes like this:
Get up. Get kids off to school. Walk. Shower. Work. Run errands. Get kids from school. Do chores and/or make kids do their chores. Supervise kids. Cook. Eat. Do the evening thing. Get kids tucked in. Watch television. Sleep.
Lather, rinse and repeat.
You’ll notice that nowhere on that list is anything like “worry about my boob,” “take a nap,” “misread various commercials in potentially confusing ways” (Aveeno lotion has soothing OAT essence, by the way… I would never recommend a lotion containing soothing CAT essence, but to each her own), or “get multiple Schoolhouse Rock earworms imbedded in my head.” But I’m a multitasker, so I often go above and beyond the approved schedule that way.
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Further adventures in Boobville
Hey, thanks so much to everyone who had kind words in response to the last post. (I’m sure that Hucky is currently running himself ragged around two or three hundred wandering sheep. Also I’m guessing that from now on he’ll get to have as many pig ears as he wants.)
Anyway, I had myself a good cry this morning, then headed out to visit my friendly neighborhood surgeon and her crack team of dastardly mammographers. Not really. The mammo people don’t belong to her, and they’re not even all that dastardly. If we’re gonna get technical, she’s not really in my neighborhood, either.
Okay, so that entire statement was a lie except for the part about crying. Moving on! Read all about it… the truth that’s stranger than fiction, that could only happen to ME!
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And how is your day going?
Once upon a time, long ago and far away, my husband and I were trying (and failing) to have children, so we did the sensible thing: We got a dog. He was the world’s greatest dog right up until I ended up home on bedrest when I was pregnant, at which time he appointed himself Lord High Grand Defender Of Me and tried to kill anyone who came to the house, and tried to kill HIMSELF when we dared to leave him home alone (after I went back to work). He was… a little neurotic. He chewed through an air conditioner and got himself wedged halfway out one window and had to be rescued by our neighbors’ kids. He ate half a venetian blind. He tore up the kitchen floor. He tangled with a skunk and got sprayed in the MOUTH and had skunkbreath for a month. And once the kids were running around, he regularly “herded” them into walls.
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Now with extraneous hyphens
If you have a Gmail account (and if you don’t, WHY NOT, and also ask me for an invite, because I have about a thousand of them), you may have noticed the new Gmail Chat feature. It’s… odd. But interesting. I of course had to test it out immediately by pestering Jenny with it, whereupon we chatted about many important things, including but not limited to:
1) The fact that you can “pop” the window out of your browser
2) The fact that my saying “Oh, I popped it out and it feels better now” sounds really dirty
3) The fact that the chat window reads “pop-in” or “pop-out” in the bottom corner, accordingly, and the hyphen is incorrect and that ANNOYS THE CRAP OUT OF ME
4) The fact that Jenny was not, in fact, using Gmail Chat, but GoogleTalk, and the two were talking to each other! Somehow! Magically!
Yeah, we’re tackling the important issues. Tune in next week when Jenny and I turn our critical eyes towards the dryer’s lint trap! Does it REALLY trap all the lint it could? What happens when it traps something that isn’t lint? We’re on the case!
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