Nothing

I just feel like a heel blah blah blahing about nothing when so many people are suffering down South, so I won't.

What's more

So I'm talking to Trisha today, and I'm telling her about how yesterday the Girl and I and our neighbor picked up the Boy and Neighbor's girl at the bus stop, and walked home, and hung out for a while eating popsicles, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the Boy ran up to me and said, "I want to tongue-kiss Neighbor Girl." A statement which I handled with sophistocated calm. NO. A statement which sent my brain back about 500 years, the result being a freaked-out ramble that included something about ONLY MARRIED GROWNUPS KISSING LIKE THAT! (Uh, yeah. I know. I know!) I also seem to recall putting the kabosh on any type of lip contact with any female face that wasn't related to him. Sigh.

Me: I mean, I sort of went a little crazy, but come on! TONGUE KISSING? Okay, so I'm not squeemish about nudity or body parts or anything, but I do draw the line. Like, when he and the Girl took a bath and she tried to grab his penis. That is just NOT okay.
Trisha (in the trademark totally-calm-yet-wry Trisha voice): Ohhhhhh, no. We are not Flowers in the Attic.

In a nutshell

You've all been so kind with the comments. Which is maybe why I feel the need to write a post about how you've been hoodwinked and I'm really a shitfest of a mother? And yet, I'm not quite ready with that; I can't quite bear to put it down on virtual paper, so instead, I'll just tell you about how the first week of first grade was wonderful. About how the Boy insisted on riding the bus, and how his little face in the window looked like my life flashing before my eyes. About how exhausted and happy he was after his first day. About how his little sister can't quite believe me when I tell her we can leave the preschool without him because he isn't there. About how they've begun to pour the foundation for the new house, which as it turns out is just steps away from the most gorgeous little bike trail. About how I'll be working from home more starting next week, driving less, walking more, and feeling all down with my badass eco-self.

Oh, and by the way. If you get all crazy with the family tree and post a note on some geneology forum, looking for your long-lost ancestors, and then one night, months and months later, you get a reply from some distant cousin, and you've been drinking a little Chardonay and watching "Fearless" and getting all choked up at the end and get a little giddy with love for all mankind and the family of man and blah blah blah--do not, I repeat, do NOT shoot off an email (from your regular account, no less) thanking said distant cousin and admitting kinship until you've looked at said cousin's home page. Because said cousin might be some total gun-toting, narrow-minded, scary-ass wingnut. Yee-haw.

What a wonderful world it would be

Tomorrow, the Boy starts first grade. Today was an exciting day for him: We went to the school's open house, took in his supplies, and met his teacher. She's wonderful, and has a brother who experienced some of the challenges the Boy faces. She wasn't actually the teacher we'd been told he'd be placed with, which freaked me right out at first, but now I'm thrilled. Chalk one up for divine intervention.

He's having a difficult time getting to bed lately, and tonight especially. So I cuddled with him and sang him some songs. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", which the Chica got him hooked on one night when she babysat; "Danny Boy", which I've sung to him since he was a baby, swinging him back and forth in his carrier; "Michelle", which I sing to his sister all the time.

"Mama," he blurted out. "Mama. I don't want to grow up. Why do I have to grow up?"

I told him that everyone grows up, but that lots of people choose to stay kids in their hearts.

"But I want to stay a little kid always, until I'm a hundred and five," he said, near tears. "Honey," I whispered, "you won't need to worry about growing up for quite a while. You've got a long time still to be a little kid."

I think we both knew I was lying.

"And," I added, "no matter what, you'll always be my kid."

He hugged me tight. "And you'll always be my mama," he choked out.

"Yes, honey. I'll always be your mama. And you'll always, always be my baby."

And then I sang him the song I used to sing before he was born, while I walked, while I sat, while I worried about my marriage, while he zoomed around inside me like some misplaced comet. I still don't know much, but I know that I love him, that Boy of mine, and that even through all the hard parts, he loves me, too.

The Cutest Gap Ever

The Boy finally lost that loose top front tooth. And how, you ask? Apple? Doorknob? Au contraire, mes amis.

It was his sister's foot.

This tooth has been loose all summer, but Friday, when I went to pick the kids up from daycare, I saw that it was now hanging on by a thread. I mean, it was like a broken shutter--the thing was all crooked and half fallen out, but the Boy would not hear of us pulling it out. Rats! We got a chewy candy from the next class, but it did nothing but push the tooth to a crazy 90-degree angle. He was staying for the school's "late night", and he'd be eating pizza, so I was sure that would do the trick. Nope. Fortunately, we had an attack of Cute Sister Saturday morning. The Girl was just so darned cute that I declared I was going to have to eat her up.

"Me, too!" shouted the Boy, grabbing her foot. "Give me some meat!" And with that, he play-chomped her toes, and voila. He was so thrilled, he spent the whole day hugging the Girl and calling her his hero. And what a day it was, because just after the Losing of the Tooth we headed out to the town's annual Festival, where we ate brats and snowcones and played cheap carnival games and bought a few trinkets and completely failed to get change. The result being that the Tooth Fairy left a whopping $5 for that tooth. I told the Boy it must have been worth so much more because he'd been doing a better job of brushing. Yeesh.

All went well until the Girl began waking up ever 1/2 hour. A few hours of this and I was getting cranky, but then she turned the tables on me by barfing. Oh, poor little bean! So we were up and down the rest of the night. By about 10:00 this morning she was feeling better, but I collapsed face-down on the bed. The Boy jumped up beside me.

"Mama," he offered, "would you like a massage?"

I'm delirious, I thought. But what the heck. And what do you know? The kid's a natural! He's a little back-rubbing machine! We struck a deal: I pay him a dollar/week for a daily 5-minute massage. Yes, it's slave wages, but come on people, why else did I go through labor? I said, "Now all we need is for your sister to start doing hair, and you kids have paid your dues as far as Mommy's concerned!" And the Boy said, with a slight roll of the eyes, "Mom. I can do your hair, too."

Even Darth Vader loved his mommy, folks.

To the One Who Has Disappeared

I don't know if you will ever read this, but I have no other way to say it.

I just want you to know that you are in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope you find your peace. You often expressed worry about hurting others, and I want you to know that even if I never hear of you or from you again, your presence has definitely not hurt me. Quite the opposite. I feel great sorrow for the pain you've been through and are going through now, yes, but you don't cause that pain. It is my hope that it will become more bearable for you, and that there will be great joy in your life to balance it. Namaste.
xo
PK

I sound like coffee

The humor test, found via APL.

The Wit
(61% dark, 23% spontaneous, 10% vulgar)
your humor style:
CLEAN COMPLEX DARK

You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

You probably loved the Office.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

All aboard the Zen Train

So I told Dr. Zen that I get frustrated with myself because I know the person I want to be, and somehow I just keep on not being her. I said, "I truly, truly do believe in abundance and things working out for the good and in breathing and peace and all that jazz, but then when it comes down to it I always opt for the easy way out, the fast joke to cover up or the freak out drama queen act that gets all the attention. I annoy the hell out of myself. I want to be that person that just deals with things that come, knowing that it's all going to be what it is and that all will be well in the end so I can be at peace instead of having to be the center of attention." And she said one of the nicest things ever. She said, "But that's the person I see. You're closer to being who you want to be than you realize."

So let's see how I can do with this zen thing. Those niggling little worries that pull at my brain? Money, house, health of those I love, work, worry...I'm not listening to them. Just for tonight, at the very least. Listen to that! It's so quiet...

Dung Bombs for everyone!

Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.

Just the FACs, maam

Can I tell you how happy I am that I am one of those people who doesn't mow my lawn often enough? I've been meaning to mow it for, oh, several weeks now, but first it was really hot, then it was really rainy, then it was nearly the Boy's backyard birthday party and shouldn't I just wait until the day before so it would be nice and fresh? So I did, and guess what? I started the mower--this high-power industrial crazy mower that the Ex bought--and not a foot away, baby rabbits went zooming every which way. Little furry baby bunnies, oh my god! So I mowed around the nest in a big circle, then retrieved them all and deposited them back in their little bed, then called the Humane Society to make sure that I hadn't ruined their chances of survival by touching them. Too many Disney movies as a kid? Maybe. Maybe.

And then our next-door neighbors, who just sold their house and I have to say it's one of the only things making this move more bearable to me, that many of my neighbors are moving on, because people, I have LOVED my neighbors, anyway, these neighbors were out front and they always give the kids popsicles, so we were standing out front talking, and my neighbor, B, mentioned that she had a big bucket of frozen margaritas, but they were a bit too strong, and what luck, I happen to have a pitcher of limeade. Imagine. And then another neighbor (also moving) stopped by with her girl who is about the Boy's age, and we've spent the past 2 hours sitting around on the driveway, drinking slushy margaritas and watching the kids run around with their limeade and popsicles, taking peeks at the bunnies and riding their scooters and eating chocolate on the sly and my god, my god, I love my life.

And now I'm inside cooking corn, and thanking you all for being part of it, too. Too many slushy margaritas? Maybe, maybe. But I think it's just me.

Choose wisely, young Jedi

We're still in the middle of birthday madness, but I will leave you (briefly) with this quote:
"I asked and asked and asked for an Aniken Skywalker/Darth Vader Color Changing Lightsaber, and Mama kept saying 'Maybe, maybe, we'll talk it over,' and you DID and now I HAVE the Aniken Skywalker/Darth Vader Color Changing Lightsaber, and I am the happiest boy in the WHOLE WORLD!!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!"
Oy.

What do you think?

So, I'm ditching that annoying book list over there, the one I can never access and change. Not that I don't love me some books, but really. I need EASE OF USE, thank you very much. I can barely manage to load the dishwasher, let's get real.

So. What should I replace it with? I'm thinking, I could use it to post links to cool things other people say, cause I like cool things other people say. Or, I could just make a text list of stuff I'm reading and so forth, although I must ask myself, does anyone care? I won't put up pictures, I'm too much of a paranoid freak. So, if all 3 of you who actually read this thing have any opinion about this, now is the time to tell me, here or by email. Maybe by email, because I am sooo lonely and email-deprived. And also because I need something to distract me from all the pre-party house cleaning I need to be doing. I think I will post before and after shots of the house so you can see how I'm really not jesting when I say, "Dear God, my house: the horror, the horror." And also so you can see that I actually can throw a good shindig when motivated to do so. But then again, maybe I won't. Oh, the anticipation, try not to drool on yourselves.

Today is the last day of being 5 for the Boy. Sigh. My little man is growing up so fast. Last night I put the Girl's hair in rags, like my mom used to do, and this morning she spent ages in front of her little mirror: "My curly! Curly, curly hair!" She was quite taken with herself.

Tired

I have this post brewing but tonight I am just tired. The Boy's had a few rough weeks, and we don't know if it's the strep, the antibiotics, the season, the weather, the fact that he's going through a rough sleep cycle, the moon, the stars, the radio waves from the planet Zircon, or what. But it's rough right now. Tonight he had a 1/2-hour meltdown over Legos, poor kid. I maintained my zen-like calm, so yay me! But now I'm worn out. Which sounds really effing weak. So many of you have so much more than this to deal with and do it with such grace.

Speaking of grace, if you haven't been reading POW lately, go visit. Amy said one of the most brilliant things the other day, about "people who feel exactly the same way you do, even if they would handle a situation differently than you do." Her writing is increasingly eloquent and plus she has those two little babies with those squeezable cheeks! Go, go on.

Silver Lining

It was raining today. All day. It's been raining since Tuesday, in fact. I wanted to cut the grass: No go. Had to cancel the Boy's swim lessons--twice. Bothersome sinus pain. Dreary. Etc.

From 10 to 10:30 each morning, the Boy's summer class goes to the playground on their side of the building. They shoot baskets, zoom around on bikes, splash in the water tubs, sit at the picnic tables, and above all, play tag and Red Rover and Simon Says on the swath of grass at one end of the playground. They line up against the fence in the shade of the tree that stands outside the gate, and wait for their names to be called or for their next chance to charge across the lawn. Today, at 10:15, a 16-year old girl, driving way too fast, jumped the curb and ran her car through the fence, right up onto the grass where the kids roll around and tackle each other.

They were all inside. It was raining.

And another thing

For all the money I've got to fork over to the damned imaging center for the pleasure of having them stick a cold metal wand up my yoni, I could buy something that I might actually enjoy having up there. Can't they make the damned things vibrate or something? Anything? I mean really.

I really want to tell you I'm sorry

McGonagall (that's the kitten's name, and not even a pseudonym! I risk all!) keeps trying to catch the mouse pointer on the screen. For some reason, I find this entertaining. Next stop, collectible tea cozies.

No, actually, I could never collect anything knick-knacky, and here's why. My first job. Seventh grade. I was the duster at the House of Enal Yor, or as I fondly think of it now, the House of Anal Yore. I spent HOURS after school, dusting the tea pots, the German green glasses, the little resin figurines of the hippie boy and girl with the big eyes and the low riders, the music boxes, the porcelain bells, the jewelry drawers, the snow globes... To this day, I can't hear the theme from "Summer Lovers" without getting the urge to dust something. Hold me, noooowww...

Brrr. I'm scaring myself.

Things in My Head

• Why did I let the Boy's strep culture turn into such a torture session? Why do I feel as though I'm continually failing him? Please please please please don't let me fail him.


• I want to start running again. I would feel so much better with regular exercise.


• Yay! School supplies! God, I love school supplies. Lunch boxes! I love lunch boxes.


• I will kill anyone who hurts my children. I mean it.


• I am not doing enough to stem the tide of pain and suffering in the world.


• My god. Could my kids be any sweeter or cuter or more damned adorable? I think not.


• Bush. Effing effing Bush!!!!!


• Why can't I focus on my work? Focus, focus, where art thou focus?


• Oh dear lord. Birthday party in 2 weeks. Here. In this house. This house that is a Pit of Despair!!! Must! Clean! Pit! Of! Despair!!!


• Dangling participles, damn them, damn them.


• Are my ovaries falling out?


• The Ex is suspiciously happy. That's good. I am happy that he's happy. So why does it make me worry that he's happy? God, I need more therapy.


• Accounts! Must balance accounts!


• I am incredibly fortunate. I am incredibly fortunate. I am incredibly fortunate.