About a boy

I've been wondering for a while about posting the story of my Boy, and the wildness of this journey we're on. I will still do it, because of course all our stories take different turns, but in the meantime, go read Flea's post, and you will be a good way down the road to our destination. And of course, the ride with Flea is always a pleasure--even when the road is bumpier than hell.

CRAPtoberfest, indeed

You know, I am a semi-firm believer in metaphysics. (That sounds kinda nasty. Hmm.) So I should know to be careful with what I throw out there into the karmic brew of the universe, right?

Right?

Would any of you like to guess what I spent my Saturday doing? I'll give you a hint: Take my determination to talk about bad crapping incidents and my pseudo-shame over the idea of spending an entire day at a scrapbooking orgy. What the hell, toss in a little barfing for good measure (pun completely intended).

On the up side, I lost 8 pounds. In ONE DAY. Wowee!

P is for Penis, that's good enough for me

The Boy's class has been studying the human body. He's learned so many cool things! It's kind of neat to have him lecturing me on the skeletal system, or taking him to the therapist while he's wearing his "brain hat" that he made in school.

On Wednesday, he brought home a project: a book on which each page was a letter, and he had to come up with a part of the human body that starts with that letter, and draw a picture. Need I ask you to guess which human body part begins with the letter P? No, I thought not. Thank the dear Lord that he's more of an abstract artist than a realist.

Oh, and by the way. Everyone stop over at Jessica's and give her some love for her prize-winning BM! Love you, love your poop, Jess! Mwaa!

And all that crap

I think I've uncovered the secret to getting people to comment. Talk about constipation. Oh, sure, an eloquent post will touch people's hearts, but if you want folks to pipe up, you need to touch their colons.

Go on. Say something about poop now. You know you want to.

For that long-lasting crunch

I'm in my Happy Place, because guess what time of year it is! Canning season! In fact, I will be up much too late tonight waiting for the dehydrator to finish it's job on this year's bumper crop of peaches. Sadly, I missed the Sustainable Living fair this past weekend, but I did briefly consider buying a goat at the farmers' market, and after about 3 glasses of wine yesterday, standing in the midst of a load of pinging jars of peach jam and green tomatoes, the Chica and I had a brief little fantasy involving drop spindles.

Ah yes, it's the time of year when I make my plan to be Ma Ingalls. "Ma Ingalls?" said the Ex. "You can't be Ma Ingalls, you aren't married."

"Hey!" I shot back. "So I'm the liberal, divorcee Ma Ingalls, minus the prejudice against Native Americans and without a man. Don't mess with my Happy Place!"

And this weekend I will make my annual ritual sacrifice to the gods of suburban motherhood and attend (oh god I can't believe I'm actually going to tell you this) ... Croptoberfest. I know, I know. It isn't a habit, I swear! I can stop whenever I want!

Do you think the neighbors would mind if I put a few sheep in the back yard?

Straight from the Chiquita's mouth

This is not my story, but the Chica gave me permission to blog it. Because people, it begs to be blogged.

The Chica's daughter, the Chiquitta, had her first loose tooth. She's been wiggling it and wiggling it, and yearning for it come out so that the Tooth Fairy will come. The Boy, being an old hat toothwise (he's on his fourth loose one), has been assuring her that she will indeed clean up. The Chica and Mr. Chica have bought a darling sparkly Tooth Box, and all is prepared for the Big Day.

Yesterday, during school, it happened. In the middle of her first grade classroom, the Chiquita pulled on the tooth--and it popped out! Aaaaand...she dropped it! Oh no! She fell to her knees searching for it, and found...

a rock.

When Mr. Chica picked her up from school, she proudly held out a small, tooth-sized, tooth-shaped piece of quartz, which (declares the Chica) looked nevertheless nothing at all like a tooth, and said, "Look! My tooth fell out, and here it is!"

Says the Chica: "He looked deep into her eyes and realized that she had absolutely, beyond a doubt, convinced herself that this was her tooth. So. He said, 'That's great, honey!' And he brought her home, and we both oohed and aahed over the rock, and put it in her Tooth Box, and the Tooth Fairy came and took it and left her a dollar and three Pegasus Ponies to guard her Tooth Box in the future. And now the rock is wrapped up and hidden in my dresser, and I will treasure it always, and one day tell her the story of her very first rock."

Tell me why

Why, why do I watch movies that I know are going to be depressing, even if they're also going to be good? Why, for example, watch "Requiem for a Dream" when I could just hire someone to come pull out my brain by way of my left ear, then squinch it all around and shove it back in through my navel? I mean, great movie, but probably not so good for the psyche at the moment.

To jump on the freaky-ass dream wagon that's been making the rounds, last night I dreamt that James Dobson was actually this psycho pervert and I was trying to expose him, which actually put me in danger of being assassinated. Could I be feeling the need to become more politically active and stand up against all the nasty crap I see happening in this country? Hmmm.

Every, every minute

My next-door neighbor passed away Saturday. It wasn't unexpected, but it seems surreal and sad. The last time I was at Dr. Zen's, she told me, "You know, everything falls into place if we can grasp how short our lives truly are, how little time we have on this earth." And she's right, it really does. Sometimes it hits me at the oddest moments, like in the line at Starbucks or driving down a street at night. All these spirits, burning, flaring up, flickering out, on and on.

Proclamation

The scene: The kitchen, just after dinner. The Girl, who turned up her nose at dinner, wants dessert.

PK: Well, you may have yogurt or a smoothie.
G: Mmmmm ... dat snot uh nopshun. Puddin!

Curse you, curse you Comcast

I could gripe a bit about how my router and cable modem suddenly decided to put an end to their relationship, but what good would it do us? When it's over, it's over.

Needless to say, I spent the entire weekend without Internet access, and what do you know? Wow, did I get a lot done around the house. Coincidence, surely.

Turns out, I can't affectionately call the Girl "my little nugget". I tried, and she immediately began denying that she was a chicken. Yes, I shop almost exclusively at Whole Paycheck or Vitamin Chalet or the organic section at Safeway, yet my child immediately connects the words "chicken" and "nugget". Irony, y'all, it's all about the irony.

How I learned to stop worrying and love the Bug

Am I the only one who is unreasonably intimidated not by other mothers, necessarily, but by the thought that other mothers are judging me and finding me lacking? I know I've mentioned this before, but it just gets weirder and weirder. Help me out with your pseudo-psychological theories and win a prize. Okay, well, that's a lie. Win nothing, but do it anyway.

Despite having (probably typical) moments of guilt over my less-bright parenting moments, I generally do believe that I'm doing the best job that I can with the kids, and that I'm not doing anything horribly wrong. Not so you'd pass out from horror if you witnessed my parenting in action, you know? And I'm not particularly shy about meeting people, or insecure, or in need of validation--I have good friends, both near and far, and I don't feel the need for everyone to like me or to be the most popular or anything like that. And despite the Boy's behavioral challenges, I think he's a sweet kid. I don't think he comes across as a little monster or anything--he says please and thank you, he often shows kindness, he feeds his cat, he plays with Legos, you know.

So why do I feel the laser beam of Mommy Drive Bys just waiting to fire upon me? Why do I imagine that other mothers are thinking all sorts of nasty thoughts about me and planning ways to avoid me? What is my problem?? Sheesh.

And on a totally different and less self-absorbed note (thank heavens), the Boy's first grade teacher KICKS ASS. This is the teacher that he was switched to at the last minute, sending me into one of my infamous Complete Bitch Breakdowns, but oh, has it ever turned out to be wonderful. Do you know what she did on Friday? He found a cricket in the classroom, and he wanted to keep it, so she helped him catch it and poke holes in a plastic bag so he could take it home. Now, I have always had the icks over crickets, but this was just such a cool thing for his teacher to do, and he was so excited--you should've seen him!--that I was immediately and completely cured. Thirty-seven years of cricket hating, poof!

We looked up crickets on the Internet and built his new pet, Cookie, a nice little cricket home in a jar turned on its side. We put in some sand, rocks to hide under, a nice little twisty stick, a damp sponge, and some bits of bread and apple. I closed the opening with some fine green netting I had lying around (it had been a ribbon on a gift) and screwed on the jar ring. Things to know about crickets:

• Only the males make noise.
• Cookie wasn't a male.
• Cookie was, however, smart enough to figure out how to chew through the netting.

Good thing about that New Love For Crickets I've got goin' on.

Intellectual savant? Idiot savoir?

I have this impression of myself, that I'm pretty much scattered and clueless and obtuse. So why, then, do I get so freaking impatient when people just don't get it? Isn't that sort of the pot calling the kettle black? And there's no particular "it" here, either; just ... so many things.

You can tell it was meeting day, can't you?

I know what I want to say

Are this president and administration to blame for a natural disaster? For the rise of terrorism? For the state of unrest in the world? For global warming? Of course not. These are all problems that are either out of a person or government's control or that have been boiling up for years. Certainly, the appalling poverty and underlying violence in New Orleans that is contributing to so many of the problems now took longer than 6 years to reach these epic proportions. But here's what this administration and so-called commander-in-chief ARE responsible for: Dealing with the problems they inherit in a reasonable and intelligent manner, even if doing so is fucking difficult.

Does anyone remember the Carter administration's reaction to the energy crisis of the 70s?
Does anyone remember Clinton refusing to play the endless budget-extension game?
Does anyone remember presidents who spent their time in office working their asses off to create a stronger national infrastructure? Who tried to promote world peace instead of world war?

I am so angry and sickened by the wasteful, stupid, selfish, arrogant attitude of this president and this administration. Refusing to encourage conservation during times of crisis, and instead encouraging reckless waste and spending to "keep the economy growing". Bullshit. Bullshit!! It's a nice rosy piece of wool that these people keep trying to pull over our eyes. When are we going to notice we're suffocating? How can I even be surprised at the greed and obscenity that keep pouring forth, at the ineptitude and decadence, when we've given over the soul of this country to a leadership that ran and won on an agenda of hate and intolerance? I'm sickened. Just sickened.

2008 is too far away. I want this bastard impeached. NOW.