Some Weekend Fun:
Back by popular demand (in light of recent events) I give you my daughter singing “I have a vagina.”
Their Coats
February 8, 2008 by 20 Comments
It was when I hung my children’s coats up in the closet it really hit me.
Their tiny 2T and 4T coats.
I took the hanger, slipped it into and through sleeves of no more than a handful of inches and suddenly was overcome by the passing of time.
I don’t notice it often. Life is usually going too fast and I can’t be interrupted with these emotional thoughts and fancies. There is money to be made. Bills to be paid. Appointments to keep. New technology and emerging ideas to conquer.
We all do it. We all get caught up in that thing called life. Routine.
Then I hang up a few coats and it all stops.
Those tiny coats.
They are not as tiny as they used to be. We’ve gone from one-piece, snapped, leg-less sack coats to small jean jackets and windbreakers hastily thrown on the floor next to tiny backpacks and worksheets.
Pneumonia has slowed me down, and while I spend another day on the couch I wonder why I was going so fast. It’s exciting to be involved with things that don’t involve Playdoh or Elmo. Trying to get in front of all the amazing things happening in the world today from historic elections to emerging technology.
Then my daughter crawls up on my chest and lays her head in the curve of my neck and nuzzles. Her long and lean legs now dangle so far…too far. My son asks to be carried to bed and I clumsily attempt to wrap his almost 5-year old legs around my waist and we struggle up the stairs.
I come back down to tidy up backpacks, and school notes, worksheets, paintings, toys, and coats.
Those tiny coats.
Shutting the closet door I sigh. Shutting the closet door my heart hurts. I won’t carry them soon. They won’t cuddle much soon.
Those coats will soon fall off those hangers from their weight and size. The ideas and thoughts and personalities will take the bodies that fill those tiny coats from dependent to independent and I will have done my job.
I open the closet door again to just touch those coats. Those tiny 2t and 4t coats.
I miss them already and ache.
I make point to lock, into my increasingly forgetful mind, the mental image of those tiny coats, one next to the other, draped and looking generally absurd on those adult hangers.
I breathe deeply and touch their sleeves and shut the door again.
Those tiny coats.
Next week, and the week after, and months and years after that, I’m going to remind myself of those coats over and over and over again.
Those tiny, tiny coats.
And slow down, breathe deep, and enjoy.
I Have Pneumonia
February 6, 2008 by 12 Comments
So I sent my daughter, who will be 3-years old on March 30th, to entertain you while I rest.
Explaining Voting To PreSchoolers
February 5, 2008 by 6 Comments
Going to bed now. For real. Might leave election coverage on tv…but closing eyes….I swear…
What I Did During the SoCal Winter Storm of ’08
January 25, 2008 by 7 Comments
First I cursed a bit because the Internet went down.
Then I cursed a bit because the Republicans were debating from Florida and making my head explode.
Then I decided to play doctor with the kids, as Princess Peanut was sick of spinning around after dressing HERSELF.
The children promptly got a fan (being used as a ‘head cut bandaid’) stuck in my hair.
We struggled over who could get said fan out of said hair best.
Both children tried, some harder than others.
The fan was freed after Mom realized it was actually two different toys stuck together and could easily be pulled apart.
Our garage is flooding and I’m pretty sure my back yard could use a canoe. Maybe some rafts.
Pray the internet says on.
Doggie Doo Doo
January 23, 2008 by 10 Comments
My daughter woke up screaming today yelling “THERE IS DOG POOP IN MY BED! GET IT OUT!”
We don’t have a dog.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I rolled over to find my husband walking into the room, “it’s cat puke. And it’s on the floor.” And then he proceeded to go about his morning routine.
Apparently it’s just assumed I’m the cat puke cleaner-but whatever.
Despite 10 minutes of telling our little peanut this was cat sick and not dog poop-she still insisted it was dog poop and insisted it was in her bed. Again, whatever.
I cleaned, she cried, and then she told me how her stuffed dog poops.
Oh goodie. More beings to clean up after.
I’ve never really worried about my daughter’s animal fetish until now. She wants a horse, and since that’s totally out of the question it never really spent much time in my mind-but this new puppy fetish is getting out of hand.
She asked her DAD for a puppy the other day and I swore he couldn’t even LOOK at her when he said “no.”
Yeah, Daddy’s cracking.
But more importantly-she’s carrying a puppy everywhere. School, wherever. And while I’m thrilled it’s replaced the horse-head on a stick she was RIDING everywhere-I’m not liking the idea of being cat sick cleaner-upper and dog poop cleaner-upper.
Or am I?
Friends with animals-how old were your kids when they started REALLY taking care of them-or let me rephrase that-how old were they when you MADE them do it?
Don’t get me wrong, I highly doubt any new animals are entering this home anytime soon. But if I’m cleaning up stuffed dog shit from the carpet, anything is possible.
Spawn of Satan
January 14, 2008 by 28 Comments
There has been much discussion in our house as of late regarding the 2.5 year-old and if and when she’ll grown horns and a tail.
That’s not really true, there is actually no real dispute over whether she is the spawn of Satan.
She is.
The end.
The dispute lies in the question: “If Princess Peanut is the Spawn of Satan-which parent is Satan?”
Yeah, that’s the sort of dinner conversation we have around here.
I would have to argue that Kaiser is Satan, as no one as angelic as I could ever be compared to Beelzebub . I’m sure he’ll disagree and give you some nonsense about my wild ways. Don’t believe a word.
In the meantime, while we decide exactly which parent is the devil…I’m picking up a copy of “Parenting the Strong Willed Child” and probably some more wine. I’d love your discipline advice if you have any. Last night she threw a boot at my head and didn’t seem to care I took away her puppy. Time-outs seem to um, only enrage her further and entrench her defiance. I’m getting a lot of typical “NO!” “I WILL NOT” and “NO YOU CAN’T!” which is usually accompanied by her arms folded or her hair flip. Sassy. She’s sassy.
I need to break her will.
I’ve pretty much done it all-taking away toys, time outs, etc. etc. She sleeps in the same room as her brother so that can be a problem at bedtime. Either way-I’m out of ideas and am going to resort to duct tape and a strong box to ship her to a convent if you guys don’t help me.
Hellllp meeeeeeeeeee interwebs…you are my only hope. Not to mention, her father is Satan.
Barbie is One Sly Minx
January 4, 2008 by 11 Comments
I caved and bought that freaking Barbie and her 12 Dancing Sister Princesses Fairyworld Mermadia Utopia of Tutu’s and Fluff DVD.
Something in my GUT told me to say “no” but in case you don’t know there are three big storms coming our way and I need new movies dammit. I can only color and play cars for SOOOOO long people, come on.
As expected Princess Peanut donned her tutu and clapped and danced and was simply OVERJOYED at “Hi, I’m Barbie, I play Genevieve the oldest sister….” or some crap. Then it was a blur of songs and ballet shoes and gold dust and really bad CG (um, yes, I do know what bad animation looks like..hello…).
There was the much anticipated dancing and some inane plot about an evil step mother and a dying father and blah blah blah you know the story.
Mind you, he’s not even 5 yet and he’s very into “that’s a BOY toy not a GIRL toy” and “I don’t want PINK that’s a GIRL color”-yes, his feminist mother is so proud.
So when the Count wandered over to see what all the frufru was about and our little Peanut explained “Dat Barbie and DAT da Princesses and day daaaaaaaaaaaaaaace” the response was one I had NOT counted on:
“Wow. She really is beautiful.” And a glazed look fell over him and he sat down to stare.
Fuckin’ Barbie.
Slut!
Whore!
Tramp!
Trollop!
JEZEBEL!
I’ll take you down bitch. Stay away from my baby boy.
And with that I shall now commence hating every.single.one. of his future girlfriends.
Recent Comments