Accounting for the Stain on My Shirt Today

I am not an athletic person. Or a graceful person. Or a coordinated person. In fact, I am very, very clumsy. Extremely.

A few years ago (okay, it was like at least a decade ago), "they" decided to introduce the phenomenon known as the "wide-mouth" can. Remember how soda and beer cans used to have those little narrow openings? And now, they're all big and wide. Why? I guess so we drink them faster and then buy more? I don't know. Maybe people complained and were all like, "Damn, it takes too long to drink my soda. Make that hole bigger, yo." But I really doubt it.

The first time I ever tried the newly-designed can, the soda came pouring out of the can, all down my cheeks and onto my shirt and this is what my husband witnessed (and married me anyway), "What the... What the FUCK!? What is going ON WITH THIS CAN? Hell! Wha! Fu! Go! DA! Mother! Fu! Arrrgghhhhrgguggughalblahlaj!!!!!"

And then? I proceeded to do that every single time I drank a soda for the next ten years. Because I'm quick that way.

In Which I Call Bob the Tomato an A-hole

Someone bought E a Veggie Tales video for Christmas. At first I was like, okay, that's cute. At second I was like, oh shit this is one of the God ones. At third I was like, hey this is kind of cute, and funny, and what the hell. Anyway, the video includes a song that goes, "God is bigger than the boogieman, he's bigger than Godzilla and the monsters on TV." (Now, don't really get me started on the theme of this video, which is that you don't have to be scared because God is looking out for you. Oh puh-lease. Tell that to Katrina victims, you edible assholes.) ANYWAY.

The other day, E was in the bathroom by herself going potty. And, she likes to sing to herself during that time. (Also, as background we have a really extra fat cat, and his name is Willow.) So this is what she was singing, "God is bigger than... somebody but not bigger than Willow because he is really really biiiiiig."

Update: Now 35% Less Likely to be Murdered

I found my keys. In my Kleenex box. Because, yeah.

Bad Day

1. I lost my keys. At work. Either I'm a complete moron or someone is planning to break into my house and murder me. Great.

2. E is sick. Um... all over the place, if you know what I mean. And said this, "[D], get away from my sick-up bucket! It's not a ball! Go get your ball!" Which, is funny, and additionally horrible.

3. This is the worst list ever, as I only have two things. But they are two very bad things that made for my very bad day yesterday, so... yeah, give me a break, okay?

Just Being Mean

I've been noticing, for awhile now, how very difficult it is to buy a one-piece swimsuit. The only ones offered look like... well, granny suits. Ruched spandex, attached skirt, 18-hour straps. You know what I mean. Target is bikini-planet. And no, I'm not talking about tankini. Bikini. As in, jeebers look at my crack. And that's fine, because if you have the body for that, I'm all about it. Seriously.

But people. Please, for the love of god, take a good long look in a full-length mirror before you wear that bikini in public (and by "public" I mean my local Y where I will have to look at you). And then, please, visit the Land's End web site.

Thank you.

Heaven Is

Kids in bed.
Frozen pizza.
Girl beer.
Sopranos.

OR

Getting paid to blog: www.workingmamma.com.

A Day to Blog About War

http://luckycandice.blogspot.com/2007/03/day-to-blog-about-war.html

Sometimes the people in power do things that are wrong. Cheating on their wife during office hours, for example. Or tapping the phones of the other party's campaign headquarters. Or barfing on the Japanese Prime Minister. Or misspelling "potato." For example.

But sometimes, some things are more than wrong, more than just mistakes. Some things are evil. Like lying to an entire country to enter a war. Like exposing a CIA agent for the purposes of intimidation and revenge. Like stripping away civil liberties. Like believing that torture is okay, as long as the victims don't look like "us."

The Iraqi people, at least some of them, seemed happy that Saddam Hussein was out of power (because Christ on a cracker, talk about your evil leadership) but I suppose they knew, much better than we knew (ahem, cared?) that it's not that simple. Are things really better for the people of Iraq? I don't know that. I do know that things are much worse for "us." A war with no end in sight. A war the rest of the world disagrees with. A war that costs lives, every day. And money, money that could be used to feed hungry children, to stop the genocide in Darfur.

And it makes me angry. And I want to turn back time and never send our troops into Iraq in the first place (or turn back time even further and never provide the support that helped Saddam Hussein gain his power in the first place). And I want to grant asylum to all the innocent mothers and children and babies and puppies and I want our government to follow the Geneva Conventions and, mostly, very much, I just want people to stop blowing each other up. But what do I know? I'm just a person who still believes that doing the right thing is always the right answer.

D to English Dictionary

"Ball" = ball
"ballball" = soccer ball
"ootball" = football
"BALL!" = get the fuck away from my ball or I will totally bite you
"baaaaaaalllllll huh huh baaaaalllll" = I am tired, woman!
"Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!" = feed me, feed me now!
"ball?" = That thing is kind of round, is it a ball?
"zzzzz.... ball ....zzzzz" = I am talking in my sleep. About balls.
"ball uh huh uh huh ball" = I know that's not a ball, but wouldn't it be funny if I called it a ball?

He might be a boy.

Oh Say Can You See My Eyes

My husband has long hair. It's one of the first things that attracted me to him. Because the kind of guys that have long hair, well, they aren't very likely to vote Republican or make you serve ham-wrapped pickles to their buddies during the football game or hang paintings of deer, from the perspective of a rifle scope, on the wall. They may, however, have secret Ratt and Dokken tapes hidden in their stuff, they may read comic books, they may play D&D. And that's just dandy with me.

But when my son's hair started growing over his collar and over the tops of his ears, and down onto his forehead, I just could not abide. Mostly because his hair is made entirely out of corn silk. I mean, it's not like I want a junior member of Nelson on my hands. And for however H.O.T. Sebastian Bach was in his day, and however hil-fucking-larious he is on Gilmore Girls these days, long, thin, straight, blonde hair on a baby would just be creepy. No offense to anyone, though I honestly can't even picture such a thing.

And because we are buh-roke, as usual, I bought myself a trimmer. Y'all, I didn't even really know such a thing existed, but I saw those pictures of Britney Spears shaving her own head (Which, as an aside, what's the big damn deal? I mean, has no one ever seen For Keeps or Legends of the Fall or Steel Magnolias? Crisis = drastic hair cut. That's just how it is.) and I was like, hey, lookie, that looks easy.

So I made D sit on Husband's lap, in the kitchen, and I held the trimmer in one hand (It has a lion on it! See, fun!) and the instruction manual in the other. It might have helped if I'd ever even seen one in person before. Or not. So, I turned the thing on, and D whips his head around, thinking in his baby brain, "What the hell is that??? I must see it! And then I must eat it!" So I show it to him, but don't let him shove it into his mouth and lick it all over so his brain has not yet fully explored it and therefore he is DYING. I spent the next ten minutes chasing the back of his head around, buzzing here and there and panicking as chunks of beautiful blonde hair fell to the kitchen floor, and saying, "Oh GOD. Oh my GOD." Which is reassuring, I'm sure.

But, all in all, it turned out really well. I used the longest setting on the trimmer because I know they're getting desperate for soldiers in Iraq and I didn't want my 11-month-old confused with the slightly-older babies they are sending over there. (Ahem, sorry.) And it looks pretty nice, if I do say so myself.

Mmmmm Tasty

Neno to Husband:
Someday I'm going to not be pregnant or breastfeeding and I'll be able to eat whatever I want. Like... like beer sandwiches. And... crack tacos. Yeah.

Husband:
You think you're sooooo funny.

Neno:
Yes. Yes I do.

50 Things About Me

1. I don't eat coconut. I will drink it, if it's boozy. This is important, and therefore first.
2. I am 28. I hate being 28. It sounds old. Like a person that's all married with two kids and a real job or something.
3. I am married.
4. I have two kids.
5. I have a real job.
6. Oh shit.
7. E is (almost) 3. She is a girl.
8. D is (almost) 1. He is a boy.
9. My husband is a stay-at-home-dad and professional photographer.
10. I don't eat chocolate chips.
11. I have a degree in English from an itty bitty state college. They made me read "The Iliad" three times.
12. I live in a state. Where one time Wild Bill Hickok was shot. And that was the last time anything happened.
13. I have pretty much always lived here, except for one year, when I was 18. But I was mostly drunk and don't remember much of that.
14. I got married in 1999.
15. I married my high school sweetheart. He's my homeboy.
16. I don't eat walnuts.
17. I read a lot. Not as much as I used to, but I average a book a week, these days.
18. I used to have hobbies like knitting and, and... Okay. I used to knit. But now I have kids and a job and there's this show called, "America's Next Top Model."
19. I am pro-choice. Whether it's deciding to be a stay-at-home-mom, a working mom, a natural-birthing mom, or a mom at all, I believe in choice!
20. Unless you don't breastfeed. Then you're dead to me. Just kidding. Kind of.
21. I have never and will never own a gun. And for some crazy reason, I don't think felons should either. Crazy, I know.
22. I am a Democrat, in case you hadn't noticed.
23. I don't eat onions. Except for onion rings. And onion blossoms. And Fun-yuns.
24. In high school I was so completely obsessed with Audrey Hepburn. And also Kurt Cobain. Because, yeah, that makes sense.
25. I am still obsessed with Dorothy Parker. And also Daniel Dae Kim. Continuing to make sense.
26. I love Mountain Dew. Love.
27. I have never been anywhere or done anything interesting.
28. I don't eat tomatoes. Except for tomato soup. And marinara sauce. And ketchup.
29. I drive a Toyota Corolla. It is fuel-efficient, inexpensive, and tiny as hell.
30. I eat chocolate every day.
31. My house is stucco.
32. I have a tattoo of a butterfly on my back.
33. Ernie is my favorite Sesame Street character.
34. I used to collect Cinderella stuff.
35. My favorite book is "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."
36. And also "The Red Tent."
37. And also anything by Wally Lamb.
38. And I could go on.
39. I love Lil' Smokies in sauces that are made of combinations that go against all laws of man and God.
40. I hate Science Friday. Science is dumb.
41. I used to work out. A lot. And very early in the morning. I don't do that now, because I enjoy sleeping.
42. I'm buying the chil'ren a play house for their birthdays. Shhhh.
43. I am afraid of heights.
44. I am a Lutheran. On paper.
45. My feet hurt all the time.
46. One time when I was 13 I got caught stealing condoms at K-Mart.
47. I won't eat peas. No one should eat peas. Don't even talk to me about your garden and blah blah blah. Peas. Are. Gross.
48. I have three cats. I'd rather not talk about that right now.
49. I have seen "Legends of the Fall" approximately 75 times.
50. I have never seen "Forrest Gump" or "Free Willy" or any other feel good movie crap and you can’t make me. The end.

Letter to D

Dear D, as you turn 11 months old,

I swore I would savor it this time, being a mom to a baby. I would cherish every moment, inhale every scent (well, the clean-baby ones, not the just-pooped-green-beans ones), not let it pass by in a blur. And, of course, I did. I kissed your tiny fingers, and I patted your back as you fell asleep and I dressed you in adorable outfits, even when we weren't going anywhere at all, I got excited over each new tooth, cheered as you took your first steps, and spoke to you like this, "This is a cow, a cow says 'moo,' this cow is black." We read books and sang songs and went swimming and took a sign language class.

But it passed too quickly, all the same. Partly because this parenting thing, I mean, in case no one mentioned before, is a lot of work. It's changing diapers and diapers and more diapers and washing bottles and picking up the same toys every day and how long has it been since you've had a bath anyway? But also because this time I realized that it just happens. I don't check every day to see if any new teeth have come in, because the teeth just come in, without my input. And when they do, I'll notice. I didn't hold your hands and force you to walk around the house, because the walking just happened, all on its own. Your first word was "Daaaaa," by which you mean Dad, even though I'd been saying, "Mama, mama, say maaaamaaaa" for months.

And I'm so proud of you, and all that you've done, what every baby does, but magical and amazing because you're my baby and it matters all that much more to me. But I also understand now, that you exist outside of me, and the older you get the more that will be true. And it all, every step, every word, feels a little bit like letting go.

Eisms

E on the cats' digestive issues:
Um... did a kitty sick up on here again?

E on exercise:
Oh! Oh! Are we going swommin'? I need to go put on my swim soup.

E on luggage:
It's not a back pack, Mama, it's a PACK PACK.

E on loving sign language:
This is the sign for heckicopter, Mama.

E on the Teletubbies:
I don't like the Teletubbies. Nuh uh. Not today. Especially Quinky Quinky.

E on Snow White:
I want to watch Snow White and the Seven Murphs.

E on Spiderman:
Spiderman is nice but the Green Globlin is NOT.

E on poop:
Poop is just so so so so YUCKY.

E on nudism:
Um, I just don't really need pants. Not right now. Never!

I Am From

I am from obligation and determination.

I am from wildness and rage and desperation.

I am from forgiveness. I am from healing. I am from prayers, unsaid but answered. I am from undeserved blessings, both small and large.

Thanks, Jennifer.


What are you from?