Saturday, March 29, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Holidays with my family are
The day began with the typical drive. We’re on our way, we’re on our way, on our way to Grandma’s house. We’re on our way, we’re on our way, on our way through an icy tunnel of 27 foot high snow banks and windy, white-out road conditions.
Plus nobody was drunk this year. So there was that.
And instead of a rousing hunt for cheap baskets ladled with
I never realized how truly cutthroat my family is when it comes to hitting
Our truck made for great protection from the onslaught and a lucky place to strategize on how best to make your mother run crying into the house.
Eggs. There were eggs. Pretty, multicolored eggs that made my Toddler’s knees shake with anticipation. Touch! Grab! Drop! Squish! All proper techniques for the flawlessly dyed egg of course. The ever-more patient Other Parent was left with Toddler duty for this one. I was seeing far too many flashes of white and lime green to focus on the experience instead of the mess.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Happy freakin' Easter
Doesn’t he look thrilled to be here?
Towards the end of our conversation I had to hold his ears back for him while he bunny-puked and listen to him go on and on about how much he loved me and how I was such a good friend. You know this rabbit is just one chocolate-covered, sugar-rushed toddler shy of a trip to rehab and a life condemned to standing on street corners yelling obscenities at pedestrians.
Friday, March 21, 2008
I'm fragile - go easy.
There. That wasn’t so traumatic now was it? I feel liberated already. This is what a woman, a tired Mama of three, a human waking from sleep looks like. How do you like me now internets?
Sweetney has a challenge for us. Show us your boobs. No wait, that was last week. Show us yourself - your morning self. The beautiful woman you are as you gently swing your delicate feet over the bed in the morning. The graceful, exquisite creature your husband opens his eyes to each morning. The fresh-faced Mama who greets the clamor of her energetic children with smiles and composure.
Hah. Who am I kidding? I’m not even a fully-functioning biped until my second cup of coffee. (My husband will attest to watching me crawl to the coffee maker on occasion.)
So let me see your pretty face.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
March - in like a lion
It’s not as though I don’t appreciate the replenishing of our water reservoirs and rivers for the coming summer months. It’s not like I’m completely hopeless about spring’s eventual arrival. It’s not even that I don’t enjoy the extra sledding and snowshoeing we can enjoy because the extended stay of the snow banks.
It’s just that it’s the end of March already and I’d like to see signs – any signs – that melting might possibly commence at some point. I’d even welcome mud and brown lawns covered in floating dog poop.
I’m hankering to get back on my bike like it’s made of fudge-dipped chocolate. I’m ready for the fake-tanned legs and cute capri’s. I’m having sweet dreams of blistered palms from over-doing it with the rake.
Easter’s virtually here and there’s not a sign of bunny footprints to be found.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
During which I talk about my Toddler.
Let me preface my impending grievance simply by stating that I Love Him. Beyond human comprehension. (I realize that’s a complete hyperbole because most parents I know love their spawn with a kind of painful love that overtakes their entire body and transforms them into mere shells of their kid-free selves.) But still. I was completely unprepared for the giant sense of worship I felt the moment I held his tiny body to my breast. He latched on and I was no longer me. I was his mother. His presence has glued all the pieces of our blended family together with such an irreversible energy and strength. From his show-tunesque performances of Twinkle Twinkle to his mighty-willed tantrums of pure ferocity, I’m forever his.
I just wish he would fall into his pillow without the constant objections and wailing protests. I can’t figure out whether it’s the time change (damn you spring forward fall back!) or the foreboding transition from two years old to three years old. It almost feels like the tip of the proverbial iceberg is slowly surfacing from the icy waters of the Terrible Two’s, threatening to drag me into a dingy unequipped with oars. It feels suspiciously similar to the evolution from little kid to tween that I’m currently experiencing twice over. And yet I’m somehow skeptical that training bras and an occasional pimple will even compare to what this small, short-tempered human has in store for me.
I wish he would actually eat the food I place on his plate just like his biggies do. I wish he wouldn’t threaten provisional moratoriums on the act of eating unless I accommodate his palate with peanut butter sandwiches and mandarin oranges. I wish he wouldn’t leave me justifying his limited food repertoire by saying things like “Well at least he won’t get scurvy.”
Self-reliance. Independence. Autonomy. All qualities my Toddler suddenly strives for. All qualities that will someday make an incredibly emotive young man out of him. All qualities that make raising him through the daily, ordinary tasks somewhat harrowing for his mother. And it’s not like I don’t get on well with small people either; I can trick, tease and play them into doing most things that need to get done. But he tests my maternal capacities with abiding determination. He lifts his delicious brown eyes to mine and furrows his brow with the task at hand. He contemplates his options and expects all aspects to be within his control. And I suppose I can’t blame him because I spend most of my day doing the same thing. But I’m trying to raise him damnit! Just be a good little boy and stop forcing me into creative comas! I’m running out of material.
Friday, March 07, 2008
A most nutritious nom
It’s been unexpectedly enjoyable adding two fur babies to our family. The moment I was able to get past the whole ‘rodent’ aspect of guinea pigs, I found them absolutely wonderful to have around. They squeak on command, slightly potty-train themselves, give wet kisses when they’re hankering for a plate of veggies, and don’t bark. The not barking thing was one of my non-negotiable provisos when considering another pet. We had a little doggie once and on any given day his name was Frodo Baggins, Frody-Dody, Frodo the Flying Falcor, Frodely-Dodely-Doo, and Frodo-Shut-Up! Frodo was a most unique blend of lhasa-apso and poodle, otherwise known as lhasa-poo. He barked at the door. Barked at the birds. Barked at the wind. Barked at the furnace. Barked when we laughed. Barked when he farted.
It was during my third trimester of
So I gave him to my sister.
Now we have two guinea pigs named Melissa and Charlotte and we don’t have a dog named Frodo.
Are they not adorable?!
Me? I like to cradle a piggie in my arms and rock her as she nibbles at my hair and rumbles. It helps curb the ‘I think I want another baby’ feeling that often accompanies ovulation. Sigh.
–verb (used without object), -bathed, -bath·ing. To bathe in the sun.
Sunbathing in New England: to bask in the glory of temperatures soaring above 32°F. One can sunbathe in New England while wearing as little as one layer of clothing. One may even sunbathe from the comfort of their livingroom as the glare of the sun reflects against the four-foot tall snowbanks. When one is sunbathing in New England, they may not need sunblock because their pants, hat, gloves, boots, and jacket will completely thwart harmful sun rays.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
A boy and his ball
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Yeah, because THAT would've been scary.
It's not as if there was any real question that it wouldn't be McCain. But PHEW. I'm just relieved to say buh-bye to the evangelical nutjobs.
Religion + Government = Bad.