The mess is out of control and absolutely insane-making. For example: I found my laptop under layers of blankets that have been chip-clipped to the furniture, the drapery, and, apparently, my laptop. Inside this fortress I found a Roald Dahl box-set (awesome!), a notebook and pencils (still awesome), a used-to-be tube of crackers that is now sodden sog-drooled paper shreds (not awesome) and my husband's Ipad (definitely not awesome). The trail winding through my house is getting narrower and narrower. I must clean.
Although....if a burgler were to come into my house, (giant dog notwithstanding, which he probably wouldn't if said burglar had a cookie), this burgler would not get very far. He would trip over the recycle bags waiting to go out, fall onto the dining room chairs in the hallway (former support for other fortresses), tumble into the heap of...I don't know what the hell is in that heap...and decide to get out of here as soon as the giant dog stops slurping his face. So, I can only conclude that my mother-bear instinct is so strong I subconsciously booby-trap my house against invasion.
Still, I would like to be able to find my laptop. And my phone. And my shoes. And my keys, and the sweater I just frigging bought and the shopping bag was ridiculously big so where the hell could it have gone?! Probably in that awful heap over there....
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The dismay under my couch
Today I am riding a rollercoaster between ecstatic gratitude and the crushing certainty that essentially, when all is said and done, I suck. What would happen if I was grateful for my essential suckiness? Oh, I could go get all kinds of Pema Chodron with that, but I'm too tired.What I want to know is, do YOU, my rapt multitudes, also essentially, certainly suck? With this question in mind, I ping-poinged through my day.
Today the dog ate an entire loaf of "artisan" raisin/pecan bread. Nothing left but the bag, and a soggy heel that I discovered (to my dismay) under the couch. I was really looking forward to that bread. Asshole. And don't you tell me it's no good telling a dog he's an asshole and waving sad tattered ex-artisan-raisin-bread bags at them. There are very few beings in my life that I can shout and wave garbage at who will only look at me sadly and hang their heads. It's one of the many things I appreciate about our dog.
I will end my day trying to relax despite the 30-foot (I am not exaggerating) paper chain coiled like a festive anaconda on the couch, the despicable state of my brand new beautiful kitchen floor, and the always-regenerating certainty that I suck.
Today the dog ate an entire loaf of "artisan" raisin/pecan bread. Nothing left but the bag, and a soggy heel that I discovered (to my dismay) under the couch. I was really looking forward to that bread. Asshole. And don't you tell me it's no good telling a dog he's an asshole and waving sad tattered ex-artisan-raisin-bread bags at them. There are very few beings in my life that I can shout and wave garbage at who will only look at me sadly and hang their heads. It's one of the many things I appreciate about our dog.
I will end my day trying to relax despite the 30-foot (I am not exaggerating) paper chain coiled like a festive anaconda on the couch, the despicable state of my brand new beautiful kitchen floor, and the always-regenerating certainty that I suck.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Soldiering on...
Okay, I have come to the realization that I will never become the voice of irreverent, cynical, bewildered mothers everywhere if I don't actually post on my blog. Mostly because I am most brilliant and inspired at 10:00 at night when the fu@!ing laptop is the last place I want to be. So, I will try to take time at the fu@!ing laptop in the sober daylight and just take the brilliance on faith.
So, I soldier on with sharing the latest installment in my parenting-on-the-fly adventures.
Here's one of my new favorite bands: http://www.myspace.com/haberdasheryband. Don't know why the MySpace page is "haberdasheryband" because the are called "All the Apparatus" and they are awesome. So awesome that I decide to share my newly discovered jewel with my girl. Newly discovered, and not keenly listened to. The song about the funny magician? "Hocus pocus alacazam, abracadabra we have a cadaver". Ooops. Okay, how about "Let's go Ride Bikes"? Innocent enough. "Your mother got a divorce from your fa-a-ther. They told you it wasn't your fault but it was! Because you get bad grades." Yikes. Next up, "Lobsterface McGee". "The ug-li-est pirate, that you ever did see" "One hand was a horses hoof, the other was a claw -grown men took one look at him and whimpered for their Ma." Now, that's a family sing along!
Which brings me to a moral dilemma: Are hilarious lyrics like "I'm so glad to be here with you, on our pleasure cruise to the bottom of the sea", her assurance that her mental health is not in good hands, or a valuable lesson in humor's power to change perspective?
I suppose it's a moot point, because she just told me that All the Apparatus is creepy and gives her nightmares. I guess she finally deciphered "My moldy soul is a jelly roll of hatefulness and spite" (Genius!). Oh well, it's good music for cleaning the kitchen.
Hey, speaking of jelly rolls, here's my Awesome! mom idea of the week.
One can of "croissants" (you know, the ones that come in a tube and are basically biscuits rolled flat and cut into triangles?)
One jar of jelly
One child (or children)
Peel the tube
Let child wack with spoon so it goes "POP!" and bursts open. Always exciting.
Separate triangles onto not-the-cookie sheet they will bake on
Let child smear with jelly and roll them up, or fold them, or turn them into funny pockets
Do damage control before placing on baking sheet (sop us excess oozing jelly that will run onto the cookie sheet and burn, reinforce the funny pockets will open and leak out all the jelly and cause heartbreak)
Fish wrapper out of the garbage so you can follow the baking instructions
Give yourself an "Awesome!" badge!
So, I soldier on with sharing the latest installment in my parenting-on-the-fly adventures.
Here's one of my new favorite bands: http://www.myspace.com/haberdasheryband. Don't know why the MySpace page is "haberdasheryband" because the are called "All the Apparatus" and they are awesome. So awesome that I decide to share my newly discovered jewel with my girl. Newly discovered, and not keenly listened to. The song about the funny magician? "Hocus pocus alacazam, abracadabra we have a cadaver". Ooops. Okay, how about "Let's go Ride Bikes"? Innocent enough. "Your mother got a divorce from your fa-a-ther. They told you it wasn't your fault but it was! Because you get bad grades." Yikes. Next up, "Lobsterface McGee". "The ug-li-est pirate, that you ever did see" "One hand was a horses hoof, the other was a claw -grown men took one look at him and whimpered for their Ma." Now, that's a family sing along!
Which brings me to a moral dilemma: Are hilarious lyrics like "I'm so glad to be here with you, on our pleasure cruise to the bottom of the sea", her assurance that her mental health is not in good hands, or a valuable lesson in humor's power to change perspective?
I suppose it's a moot point, because she just told me that All the Apparatus is creepy and gives her nightmares. I guess she finally deciphered "My moldy soul is a jelly roll of hatefulness and spite" (Genius!). Oh well, it's good music for cleaning the kitchen.
Hey, speaking of jelly rolls, here's my Awesome! mom idea of the week.
One can of "croissants" (you know, the ones that come in a tube and are basically biscuits rolled flat and cut into triangles?)
One jar of jelly
One child (or children)
Peel the tube
Let child wack with spoon so it goes "POP!" and bursts open. Always exciting.
Separate triangles onto not-the-cookie sheet they will bake on
Let child smear with jelly and roll them up, or fold them, or turn them into funny pockets
Do damage control before placing on baking sheet (sop us excess oozing jelly that will run onto the cookie sheet and burn, reinforce the funny pockets will open and leak out all the jelly and cause heartbreak)
Fish wrapper out of the garbage so you can follow the baking instructions
Give yourself an "Awesome!" badge!
Friday, December 16, 2011
a magic cape to protect me from the terrible lava narwhal, please....
Blogging is weird. Like journaling, with an audience. Except that I am only one comparatively clever and eloquent woman in a sea of virtual eloquence and cleverosity (which is WAY clever.er.) It's like being on a radio, you're out there but never know if anyone's listening. Wasn't that a Christian Slater movie circa 1986? Must take myself up on the 80's film night. That, and the Pink Panther film night, the Bruce Lee film night, and the Humphrey Bogart film night. However, it remains more likely that my upcoming film nights will be a Scooby Doo prelude to "Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer". Which is actually really awesome. Have you watched Scooby Doo lately? The ones with the faux Monkees musical interludes are the best. Also, Rudolph is a cultural icon. The movie is everything that was creepy about 1950's values, but the animation is unlike anything before or since.
This is what finally soothed me in the face of prospective parenting: When it really comes down to it, my favorite things to do pretty well coincide with what small children enjoy. Silly movies, tourist attractions, and anything involving scissors, tape, yarn and/or ribbon, and, yes, I admit it, macaroni.
I am not good at the "pretend that we're on a boat and you (gasp) fall in except that it's really hot lava but I throw out a magic cape that protects you and then I (gasp) pull you in with double-sided tape (that's my girl!) but a lava narwhal jumps out and pokes my eye but you have an extra in your pocket so that's okay and then (gasp) we row home and then can I have some candy can we can watch Scooby Doo?" I love it, love it, love it, but I admit I have to be in the mood for it and the mood rarely strikes me.
Sigh...who am I kidding? Those days of (gasp) enthusiasm are fading, fading. Now it's telling me about the latest "Magic TreeHouse" book or making artwork together. More often it's come home, do homework, eat dinner, argue about bedtime routine, do bedtime routine, read "Magic TreeHouse" and say goodnight.
That sucks.
But, tonight we turned off all the lights except the Christmas tree and ate the cookies we disgustingly overfrosted at the company "family christmas party" while watching, yes, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer". and it was sexist and creepy and awesome and cozy and I love my family.
I hope I can remember tonight the next time I am certain that boarding school in Arkansas would be less damaging than my parenting.
This is what finally soothed me in the face of prospective parenting: When it really comes down to it, my favorite things to do pretty well coincide with what small children enjoy. Silly movies, tourist attractions, and anything involving scissors, tape, yarn and/or ribbon, and, yes, I admit it, macaroni.
I am not good at the "pretend that we're on a boat and you (gasp) fall in except that it's really hot lava but I throw out a magic cape that protects you and then I (gasp) pull you in with double-sided tape (that's my girl!) but a lava narwhal jumps out and pokes my eye but you have an extra in your pocket so that's okay and then (gasp) we row home and then can I have some candy can we can watch Scooby Doo?" I love it, love it, love it, but I admit I have to be in the mood for it and the mood rarely strikes me.
Sigh...who am I kidding? Those days of (gasp) enthusiasm are fading, fading. Now it's telling me about the latest "Magic TreeHouse" book or making artwork together. More often it's come home, do homework, eat dinner, argue about bedtime routine, do bedtime routine, read "Magic TreeHouse" and say goodnight.
That sucks.
But, tonight we turned off all the lights except the Christmas tree and ate the cookies we disgustingly overfrosted at the company "family christmas party" while watching, yes, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer". and it was sexist and creepy and awesome and cozy and I love my family.
I hope I can remember tonight the next time I am certain that boarding school in Arkansas would be less damaging than my parenting.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Because fondue is always funny. So are chickens.
I have an idea for a reality show. If you can't beat 'em, join em, right? Okay, here it is:
Three families - one haunted house.
Whoever endures gets the house
So, is that blood dripping into Jimmy's Froot Loops or a nasty trick on the part of Mr. Rinkleford?
Things get out of control when little Ashleigh Crandon is possessed by Addie "The Axe", and is discovered standing over her parent's bed with a fondue skewer.
The Lawrence family stands strong. Mother Margaret is expected to recover with minimal scarring and there is much celebration at the promise of an exorcism and a complete home makeover by Ty Pennington.
This is what I do when I set up a playdate and ingnore the screaming. They're old enough to deal with basic first aid...
Three families - one haunted house.
Whoever endures gets the house
So, is that blood dripping into Jimmy's Froot Loops or a nasty trick on the part of Mr. Rinkleford?
Things get out of control when little Ashleigh Crandon is possessed by Addie "The Axe", and is discovered standing over her parent's bed with a fondue skewer.
The Lawrence family stands strong. Mother Margaret is expected to recover with minimal scarring and there is much celebration at the promise of an exorcism and a complete home makeover by Ty Pennington.
This is what I do when I set up a playdate and ingnore the screaming. They're old enough to deal with basic first aid...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
tempting steamy pot of botulism
Remember what I said about curing a (my) child of acute entitlement? Of course you do, because you have read all of my posts and count on them to brighten and enlighten.
Setup to the story: phone call to friend - ring- ring
friend - hello?
me - how did I spawn such a little asshole? (yes, I referred to the dear golden light of my life, and she is, as an asshole. Don't tell me you never have.)
That was the start of my day...certain that her unbearable attitude was all my fault, and I had done irreparable damage to our relationship. Certain that any opportunity to have a loving, connected relationship to my child was long gone and that she would forever pit herself against me and at least she likes her father.
What to do? The answer, put her to work! Using TV, the great motivator. For one episode of Scooby Doo (the old ones, of course), she spread one bag of compost in the garden (During which we examined a large spider and a suspicious heap of slime), and vacuumed the entire first floor, during which I taught her how to vacuum. She only dished a little crap, and she did a good job. Today I earn an Awesome! badge.
Now, I'm going to check on the crock-pot roast. I also made dinner this morning. Awesome! I tucked it safely in the crock, patted myself on the back and left. 3 hours later, I come home to...nothing...no lovely smells. Crock is cold. I forgot to turn it on. So I turned it on. If I serve my family a tempting steamy pot of botulism, do I lose my Awesome! badge?
Setup to the story: phone call to friend - ring- ring
friend - hello?
me - how did I spawn such a little asshole? (yes, I referred to the dear golden light of my life, and she is, as an asshole. Don't tell me you never have.)
That was the start of my day...certain that her unbearable attitude was all my fault, and I had done irreparable damage to our relationship. Certain that any opportunity to have a loving, connected relationship to my child was long gone and that she would forever pit herself against me and at least she likes her father.
What to do? The answer, put her to work! Using TV, the great motivator. For one episode of Scooby Doo (the old ones, of course), she spread one bag of compost in the garden (During which we examined a large spider and a suspicious heap of slime), and vacuumed the entire first floor, during which I taught her how to vacuum. She only dished a little crap, and she did a good job. Today I earn an Awesome! badge.
Now, I'm going to check on the crock-pot roast. I also made dinner this morning. Awesome! I tucked it safely in the crock, patted myself on the back and left. 3 hours later, I come home to...nothing...no lovely smells. Crock is cold. I forgot to turn it on. So I turned it on. If I serve my family a tempting steamy pot of botulism, do I lose my Awesome! badge?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Email Shmemail
Email does NOT make my life easier. Email makes me sit in front of my laptop taking care of millions of tiny things when I should be outside. You know why I have to take care of those millions of tiny things? Because I cannot pretend I didn't see them unless I annouce that I am dropping off the face of the earth.
Tempting.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Parenting should not be a desk job. I would much prefer a day of grocery shopping and fetching dry cleaning and taking the dog to the groomer. Maybe I should take the dog to the drycleaner. Don't they use starch? It may minimize the baseballs of hair collecting in the corners which I do not have time to clean becuase there is too much EMAIL!!
In other news, yesterday I told dear precious small one that I ate a pastry for lunch. She got all tiffy with me because I didn't bring her one. Really? Is an overinflated sense of entitlement some kind middle-class virus? Did I create this? I learned one thing: Gifts do not happen for no reason. No more Groovy Girl outfits just because they are awesome and I want to play with them. I'm going to make her work for it. From now on, it's sweeping out the ashes in the scullery little princess...
Another thing, about blogging. I think it must be something like being on the radio. You're broadcasting, but for all you know you're talking to no-one but yourself. It's a bizarre kind of self-conscious extroversion (extroversion...did I just make up another word?)
Tempting.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Parenting should not be a desk job. I would much prefer a day of grocery shopping and fetching dry cleaning and taking the dog to the groomer. Maybe I should take the dog to the drycleaner. Don't they use starch? It may minimize the baseballs of hair collecting in the corners which I do not have time to clean becuase there is too much EMAIL!!
In other news, yesterday I told dear precious small one that I ate a pastry for lunch. She got all tiffy with me because I didn't bring her one. Really? Is an overinflated sense of entitlement some kind middle-class virus? Did I create this? I learned one thing: Gifts do not happen for no reason. No more Groovy Girl outfits just because they are awesome and I want to play with them. I'm going to make her work for it. From now on, it's sweeping out the ashes in the scullery little princess...
Another thing, about blogging. I think it must be something like being on the radio. You're broadcasting, but for all you know you're talking to no-one but yourself. It's a bizarre kind of self-conscious extroversion (extroversion...did I just make up another word?)
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