Things like this make me feel old. I now have a little sister is who over 30, married, and a proud homeowner. She is talking to me about things like how to plant a lawn. Good stuff.
Congratulations to little Leelee and Mark on their new place. Hurry up and get in there, then let me know what time to drop off your niece, nephew, and favorite dog.
Love,
Annie
Tiller, you are 17 months, and I have been pretty bad about documenting your milestones. You started walking a while back and now you are on fire, hurtling forward so quickly on your not-so-steady feet that I fear you will fall face-first into whatever is in front of you. Sometimes you do, but often you recover, and I laugh at my nervous stomach afterwards. You have learned to climb stairs and just started coming back down on your own (backwards on hands and knees, of course.) Thank God, because I was getting pretty tired of coming up the stairs to rescue you at the landing when you got up there and then cried, realizing you couldn’t get back down. I am amazed by the way you little ones push the envelope, exploring everything, even when you don’t know what you will find, or how you will return. It is like a person choosing to fly a plane without knowing how to land, or climbing a mountain without knowing how to come back down. You are pretty fearless.
You are talking up a storm. It started very slowly, mostly “Dada.” Then: “ball,” “bear,” “bowl.” Other words: dog, kittycat, book, moon, balloon, elmo, shoe, ear, milk, hello, bye-bye. Now you are chatting us up, and the other day you said your first two-word phrase: “My Dada.” You are Daddy’s little girl already; I almost feel sorry for him, for he has no idea how much a little girl can love her Daddy and how much suffering she will put him through later. Most of the time, though, I just roll my eyes, because you and Rollie both prefer him to me. You would think Jesus Christ was walking through the front door every afternoon, the way everyone flips out and brightens and dances in the streets. I mean, come on, I change the poopy diapers all day, and plan the meals, and pick up your coveted damn Goldfish at the store – Show your mama some love.
I am kidding, though, because you are the lovingest thing I have ever seen. You love to hug, and kiss and get kisses. You pat us on the back when we hold you. Rollie and you have hugfests, where you hug, he kisses you on the head, and then while still locked in the hug, he drags you around until you both fall over and you hit your head on the floor. Then the tears begin, but it is hard to get mad at you guys for hugging each other so vigorously.
You are very adamant about whatever you want. At dinnertime, once you realize food is in the picture, you cling and cry and follow me around, saying “bowl” which seems to be your all-purpose word for anything having to do with food or drink. If you can get your hand on a bib or bowl or cup, you bring them to us to tell us you want to eat. Now. If I am in any part of the house and the words snack, dinner, lunch, or breakfast come out, it is all over. You are ready to be picked up and taken downstairs, or you will rush straight and with purpose into the kitchen, ready to be fed. Same thing with “outside,” or “go.” You hear those and go find your shoes and jacket and bring them to us, ready to be dressed for whatever journey we embark upon.
Bathtime? Bedtime? Same thing. You love the bath and you love being naked. I have no idea where you got that. 🙂 The only thing that makes you run for cover? The word diaper. You will run like the wind to avoid having to lay down and put on a diaper and pjs. Once we have pinned you down and dressed you for bed, though, you are all business. It is story time and you will not be swayed. You bring us your favorite books and then go walk over to the rocking chair to climb up and be read to. Right now, your favorites seem to be “Goodnight Moon” and “The Moon in My Room.” You also like the Sandra Boynton books and the duck book whose name I can’t remember. You sit up in our laps as we rock and read, clutching your bear, pointing out your favorite things in the books, and twirling your hair, which is what you do when you are sleepy. When we finish reading and turn out the light, we hug or talk or sing for a minute, then put you down. You start twirling your hair again, clutching the bear as we shut the door. You never make another peep.
You have a funny little laugh, and you think Daddy is the funniest, then Rollie. You like to sit with us and play games. You LOVE to dance. Sometimes we have dance parties before dinner, but often a song you like will come on the radio, or the computer or the t.v. You will start turning circles to it, then look at us with big smiles to make sure we see what you are learning to do.
We see it all, and every bit of it is as thrilling as watching Rollie do it for the first time. I just wish I had more time to treasure it all, to make sure you know how important these little milestones are, and how much prouder we are of you with every step you take.
I think Comcast should pay some kind of reparations for the crap we have dealt with this week. First of all, the cable goes out while the kids and todd go out of town. So, I actually had to find stuff to do with myself. Like read. Or leave the house.
Then, we find out we can’t have service fixed until today. So, all of the shows that I normally watch or record are not being watched or recorded. Battlestar, Saturday Night Live, Brothers and Sisters, American Idol, Prison Break – All missed episodes. Not to mention that the box was supposedly messed up, so they gave us a new one, meaning that everything we had already recorded was now wiped out: Prison Break and two American Idols from last week, Lost, The Office, Scrubs, Grey’s Anatomy (five episodes I hadn’t watched!!!!). All disappeared forever into the ether.
Then, the guy gets here and tells us that our cable has been cut, which is why we don’t have service. Which I could have told him, because I had already tried watching cable over the weekend the old-fashioned way, just running the cable directly to the t.v. – No signal. But he had already killed my old box with the recordings on it. GRRRRRR.
Icing on top? We have a whole new cable from the tap to our house, but they are going to have to come out on March 15th to bury the whole damn thing. And it runs all the way from the box, around the left side of our house, around the back, and back down the right side of the house. So, more than halfway around the house has to be re-trenched.
If somebody fucks up my azaleas and hydrangeas, I am really gonna flip.
Makes me wonder if the boob tube is really worth it.
I was reading the New York Times online yesterday morning, and came across a pretty long article on the band Arcade Fire, whom I love. They have a new album out, er . . . coming out tomorrow, officer, I swear I never illegally downloaded any of it already, cross my heart and hope to die. The new album, Neon Bible is totally not a disappointment, as those things can be sometimes; I am digging on it, and it was the weekend-without-children soundtrack. You should go out and buy it today (putting money in their brilliant pockets, and maybe those of good ole Mac and Laura – of Superchunk fame – and their label Merge. Love me some Merge. And if you have not heard the Arcade Fire’s debut, Funeral, well . . . get thee to a music store! You will not be disappointed, although you will be late to the game.
Funny Arcade Fire aside: They were in one of the skits on their recent SNL appearance and it was really hilarious, because, well, Rainn Wilson from The Office, and Arcade Fire. I tried to find a Youtube link and got overwhelmed, because evidently the internet brings into focus the fact that I do not have focus. (U2 and Arcade Fire doing “Love Will Tear Us Apart;” Arcade Fire and Bowie doing “Wake Up” and “Five Years.” Holy Shit!!!” I will die on YouTube.)
And that brings me, quite roundaboutedly (it’s a word, because I just made it up) to the point:
Arcade Fire. David Byrne. Together on a stage. DOING MY FAVORITE SONG OF ALL-TIME.
First of all, to all you lucky motherfuckers who happened to go to an Arcade Fire show in NYC and then had the unexpected pleasure of seeing them joined on stage by David Byrne, and then to realize that they were doing “This Must Be The Place (The Naive Melody)” – Well, I hope you all die, especially those of you who didn’t recognize the song, and so didn’t get how huge it would be to see the whole thing. For the one person who managed to get a little video of it and post it on YouTube – I love you and want to have your babies, and why couldn’t you have gotten the sound just a bit better, because really, the sound is so disappointing, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I cannot imagine. Okay, I can try to imagine the completely elated mindfuck of this whole moment, but really, how many Arcade Fire fans really even knew this song? It was old when I first heard it thanks to an ex. I immediately loved it. I have never stopped loving it. Boyfriend? Long gone. Still love the song, though. Everything about the unabashed cuteness of it and the way that it is so starry-eyed and dramatic, just like teenage lovers, and about how it still rings even more true and honest and sincere now that I actually know about adult love and what home really is. And God Almighty do I love that cowbell at the end. That cowbell is my soul ringing out joyously every time I hear it.
Best. Song. Ever.
Oh, yeah, and about how I get sidetracked and lost on the great Internet? Try to find something about Byrne and the Arcade Fire show and come across David Byrne’s blog, and not only find his thoughts on playing with Arcade Fire, but also an interesting entry about his visit to Savannah and SCAD with his daughter. How weird would it be to be in Savannah and run into David Byrne? At Lady and Sons, no less. And then I look at the date and it was written right after the weekend we were there. Damn. Of course, Todd has already had his run-in with Byrne and his bicycle, but it could happen twice, right?
“The only true currency in this bankrupt world… is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.”
– Lester Bangs
Damn. Should have named Dogwood Girl “www.theonlytruecurrency.com.”
Kids and husband left around 3:30. I fucked around with my dying motherfucking DVR and cable for thirty minutes or so. Turned music up really loud. Removed all vestiges of life with children from my view. Then I put on mascara and switched my stuff from rather large Old Navy backpack Sharpied with “Rollie” and “Tiller” on the straps to my petite Kenneth Cole purse. (Note to Mike: This reminded me of a pair of jeans I had that you wrote on with a Sharpie, and also the Army hat you had in high school/college, again with writing on it, that I always tried to steal. Remember what they said? I cannot for the life of me.)
Went to Kroger. Bought two bottles of wine and one Martha Stewart spring gardening magazine. I want to plant stuff and watch it grow, for the second spring in a row, but with the house on the market, it is just container gardening all the way. Went to Outback. Ate petite filet, baked potato, and salad with blue cheese, along with rye bread, and a glass of cabernet. Crikey. Read Martha Stewart magazine and lingered over meal by myself.
Drove home. Came inside. Loved on dog. Went upstairs to put on PJs. Came downstairs. Bestowed treats on pets. Poured glass of wine. Sat on floor and pulled out DVD baskets to decide what to watch. Really wanted to watch American Idol. (The Shame!!!!) Decided on either: St. Elmo’s Fire. Say Anything. Some Kind of Wonderful. Almost Famous.
Almost Famous won out.
Almost Famous is one of those movies that I never really get tired of. Todd makes fun of me, but I love Cameron Crowe. Can’t help it. He is sentimental in all the right ways, and few of the wrong ones. Even Elizabethtown was bearable. Not perfectly executed, (Brit as an American? Fucking KIRSTEN of wet t-shirt Spidey action DUNST ??? Please.) but perfectly well-meant.
I got nothing much else. Kinda drunk. Listening to music and blogging. Totally uncool.
Think that’s bad? Tomorrow night I am having dinner with my parents and wouldn’t be upset if they wanted to spend the night and play some cards. Because that is what the uncool, non-DVR-capable, Amish-like do on a Saturday.
NO KIDS UNTIL SUNDAY!!!!!
I love my kids, really I do. But I have to say I am much more disappointed that my DVR is fucked up and can’t be fixed until Tuesday than I am that my kids are gone for two nights.
I was kind of looking forward to an evening at home completely vegging out by myself, maybe even eating dinner in front of the t.v. – we never do that anymore, because of all that eating dinner together promotes familial wellbeing crap. I miss my coffee table being my dinner table. I miss Alex Trebec over dinner.
I guess I will, as my sister says, make like the Amish, and catch up on my reading.
Who’s up for Saturday night shenanigans?
Yesterday, Tiller and I dropped Rollie off at school, then headed for the gym. We were coming through Oakhurst and were on 2nd Ave. We stopped at the four-way stop at Oakview. This intersection is across a two-lane street (Oakview) which has a grassy median in the middle. So, when you are crossing on 2nd, you go across one lane of traffic, then there is an area that cuts between the grassy median, and then you cross the other lane of Oakview. We were the first car there, then two other cars pulled up: One at the Stop to our left, and one at the Stop directly across from us. There was no one at the Stop sign to our right. We began to cross and as I reached the beginning of the middle of the intersection, a truck (Ford F150-sized, I’d say) came blowing through his Stop sign on my right. He was going about 40-45 miles and hour and didn’t even slow for his Stop sign. I slammed on my brakes, and skidded a few feet in the median section, coming to a stop only a few feet from where the truck passed. I sat on the horn, taught Tiller how to give the bird, and then started shaking. If we had been one second faster, the truck would have hit the front, right side of my van. Another two seconds, and it would have t-boned us on Tiller’s side of the van. Either way, it would have fucked us up, if not killing her.
I spent the next hour or two just thinking about the tenuousness of our existence on this earth, the preciousness of a baby girl, and how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under us, control completely out of our reach. I was FREAKED. Today, I am not so shaky and wigged out, but still kind of scared and angry when I think about it.
Anyway, we picked up Rollie from school and found out that he has been acting out in class. He is hitting, kicking, pushing, and won’t stay in line. They also informed me that Rollie was the most difficult child in the class. Great. Just what a conscientious mother wants to hear. Sure, the teacher added that it was most likely his age – he is the youngest child in his class, and he is within a week of the birthday “grade cutoff” in the state of Georgia.
We have been seeing some of the same behavior at home. Todd and I have been at our wits’ ends (albeit, our wits don’t encompass that much distance) trying to figure out the origin and the solution. Along with this more physical behavior, he has been saying things like,
“I wanna be first.”
“I win.”
“I wanna be in front.”
“You are a joke!”
Rollie continues to bump and cut in front of us. Not a big deal for us, as I know who is going to win if we have a Rollie/Daddy collision; A little bit bigger deal when wobbly, only-walking-for-a-few-months Tiller is the one being bumped and cut off. We have tried taking away privileges and toys. We have tried consistent time-outs. We have, on occasion, tried spanking for extremely blatant and strong physical behavior. Nothing has worked.
He has also been asking us repeatedly “Mama, why do cars bump?” We would answer, “It is not nice to bump.” We had long conversations about how good cars do not bump, and that bad cars bump, and that we will not accept the behavior. In one ear and out the other. He still asked about why they do it, as if I am capable of explaining good and evil?
It became obvious to me after talking to the teachers yesterday, and giving good thought to his behavior at home. It is the influence of that seemingly-innocuous, Oscar-nominated movie “Cars.” His favorite movie. The one he once watched three consecutive times in one day while sick on the couch. The one that is going to break his heart, because we are not letting him watch it anymore.
Yep, it seems that Rollie is questioning us about the behavior, because he can’t watch the movie and tell that some of the cars are good, and some are bad. He is not capable yet of drawing that line between acceptable and non-acceptable behavior. And so it begins: We have now censored what he watches to the extent that we are not allowing him to watch something that he wants to watch. As I type, he is laying on the couch watching that little PBS pussy, Caillou. Sigh.
Wow. Call me Tipper.
That ice cream increases fertility.
Too late for me to take advantage of that now, as we have hit the end of our childbearing phase of this life. But couldn’t I find this out back in 2002 or so, when we were having a little difficulty figuring out why we weren’t conceiving? I must note here that our “battle” with infertility was not fought for years upon years, that many people I know have dealt with infertility obstacles much greater than mine, but that doesn’t make it any less painful when you are in the throes of the despair and suspense and depression that difficulty conceiving brings.
In all seriousness, I don’t think the ice cream would have regulated my whacked hormones, the ones that made my periods do strange things, like not show for three months and make me think I was pregnant, or that made all my exercise and following Weight Watchers to a T be for naught – I still did not lose any weight and wondered what in the hell was wrong with me? I sat around thinking, “Holy shit. I am not only never going to have children, but I am going to be a hairy, menstruation-fucked, hormonal fat ass, too!”
My Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) will not be cured by ice cream, unfortunately. The only thing that cures it? Exercise and diet: “lifestyle changes” if you will, and those just aren’t as damn fun as ice cream. But then, who needs ice cream, when I have two lovely children (a complete set!) and the possibility of being thin again.
I haven’t been running much lately. Up until last week, one or both of the kids had been sick every week since Thanksgiving, which has been fucking awesome, thanks for asking. Anyway, I didn’t make it to the gym much, because it pisses me off when other people bring their sick kids to the gym and to school, (and don’t even get me started on assholes bringing their sick kids into the well-visit waiting room at the Pediatrician’s office) so why should I stoop to their level?
Anyway, that just meant that I didn’t quite get much exercise in the last three months. Pretty pitiful, actually, but I made a promise to myself that since we are all better, we will be making it back to the gym regularly. So, today, I only ran 2.5 miles and it sucked. Why does it have to be so sucky to get back into the swing of exercise?
That being said, I have felt great today mentally, and I know it is the exercise. I know it is good for me, that it is good for my mind, and that it makes me a much better parent, wife, and all-around person.
So, i am back on the wagon. Go me.
What Rollie thinks about salad.
