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Posts Tagged ‘Motherhood’

Tiller: 17 Months

Wednesday, March 7th, 2007

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.

Tags: Milestones, Motherhood, Tiller
Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

FREEEEEDDOOOOOOM!

Friday, March 2nd, 2007

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?

Tags: DVR, House to Myself, Motherhood
Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

Our Weekend in Savannah: Part II

Tuesday, February 20th, 2007

As I said, I felt like SHIT on Saturday. Nausea and splitting headache, which i think were due more to lack of sleep than quantity of alcohol. Complete and utter shit, all the same. I told Todd I didn’t want to drink a lot, so that I would feel good on Saturday. He made me drink.

We woke up, ate some continental breakfast, then headed out to get a new digital camera. (Ours finally pissed us off enough to be retired.) Then we had a tasty sandwich at a sub place and headed back to the room for naps. I was disappointed that I was so tired on Saturday – I far would have preferred strolling the squares all day Saturday, but knew I must sleep or I would never make it through the wedding on Saturday night.

We slept for two hours, then woke up, had a snack and dressed for the wedding. The trolley (ring! ring! ring! goes the bell) was picking up at 5:40 for the 6:30 wedding. We rushed around getting dressed and got on the trolley. We picked up more wedding guests at the Mulberry Inn and the Desoto Hilton. I have never seen so many women wearing dead animals in my life.

The wedding was at The Oglethorpe Club. Another beautiful house, right across the street from the original Armstrong College, where my father once attended classes. As we pulled up around the corner on to Bull St., we heard the piper playing. I swear to God, they had a bagpiper greeting the guests on the corner.

We got off the trolley, then proceeded up the stairs (festooned in beautiful greenery and white roses – I think they spent more on flowers than I spent on my whole wedding. There were white roses all over the whole house.) We checked my coat, then went up to the second floor for the ceremony. They conducted the ceremony in an upstairs, wood-paneled, long and narrow room. It was dark and candlelit. The bride wore a beautiful dress, and the the whole wedding party was decked out in Scottish tartan. The groom and his family wore their tartan; the bride and wedding party wore their own. Women wore a tartan sash with a brooch, including the bride. Nice, unusual touch. The piper piped as the wedding party entered. They also had a four-piece string instrument thing going on. The ceremony was very short, which was nice, because about half of us were standing in the back of the room.

After the ceremony, it was off to the bar. The Oglethorpe is a men’s club. I was a little weirded out about things I have heard about it (no black members, no women allowed to walk up the front steps, etc.) All of that didn’t matter – they could have made me crawl around on my knees as long as I could partake of the buffet.

I’m going to throw down the gauntlet: BEST. WEDDING. BUFFET. EVER. There were the usual carving tables, and an open bar, but the piece de resistance was the asparagus/cheese/tomato sandwich/oyster table. If you know me, you know they had me at “cheese,” but if you throw in tomato sandwiches with the crusts (I still call them “the bones”) cut off, I am yours. There were so many different kinds of stinky, blue-veined cheeses that I would have been sick even trying a bite of each one. Todd, meanie that he is, didn’t think it was appropriate for me to put a whole chunk of cheese in my purse at the end of the evening. I am horrified at the thought of the cheese in a trashcan in the basement of the Oglethorpe Club.

Add in a bottomless pan of freshly-fried, hot oysters? Holy crap! I am surprised I didn’t get sick. I spent half the evening hovering around the oyster dish with a bunch of old southern men, waiting for the next batch to come out. I think I impressed them with my oyster-eating prowess. I was so tired that night, that i took it easy on the drinking. Well, I did start at 7:00 or so and drink till 3 something in the morning, but i was a good girl. I felt fine on Sunday. One reason? I ate my weight in buffet. The reception lasted a long time, and people were pretty toasty by the end. I was pretty sober myself, having spent more time stuffing my face and looking at old weapons and pictures of Civil War generals.

In the end, the bride and groom came down the wide front steps of the club as we showered them with white rose petals. Both had changed: The groom was wearing ridiculous plaid pants, a bowtie, and a tam. The bride wore pants and sweater, along with a wide-brimmed hat and her tartan sash as a scarf. The “getaway” car was not a car at all – Definitely the cutest “Just married” getaway ever: They climbed onto a vintage tandem bike, complete with basket and bell, then rode off into Monterrey Square. (I think it was Monterrey Square). Adorable. I got a little choked up, and I don’t even know them.

We took the trolley back to the hotel, then changed, and met people at the bar the wedding party had chosen. I am going to go ahead and say it was possibly the most hideous place I have ever been. Some kind of karaoke bar, attached to a bar that looked just like an Applebee’s. I guess I am a snob, but I am picky. It is bad enough hearing the original versions of crappy rock songs (think Creed or one of those bands with numbers in their names), but hearing drunks butcher them even further was downright painful.

I drank PBRs with Kate (the bride’s sister and Todd’s friend), her husband, and her lecherous uncle from Bogota. They gave up the ghost and headed home. Todd was just kicking it into high gear (for those of you who know Todd, this is the part where he starts stirring his drink with his fingers, and then licking them merrily one by one) and so despite the fact that I was ready to fall into bed, I took one for the team and accompanied him for a few more hours.

We finally found a couple other like-minded guests who decided to venture with us to another bar, Hang Fire. My friend Donnie had recommended this place as having an excellent jukebox, and so when a fellow wedding guest mentioned it as a place where they might go, I jumped at the chance. It was pretty cool, but by the time we got there, everyone was wasted, and they had a band playing, so I didn’t get a chance to check out the jukebox. I did get to see the shocked look on the face of the little South Carolina girl who had joined us, when she saw two girls making out in the corner and about ten guys taking camera phone pictures of them. That actually made the trip worthwhile. She then got into an argument with her date, who had somehow offended her by putting down “Carolina” and “the status quo in Columbia.” They were a riot. We met a very nice Chicago girl who had been living in Savannah for a couple of years and tried to convince us that since we like Wilco we like jam bands. Ain’t gonna happen. We finally walked back to the hotel with the feuding Columbian (of Columbia, SC) couple. I was asleep within five minutes.

I woke up feeling wonderful; Todd, not so much. Ah, sweet feeling of a Sunday morning without hangover or regret. We looked around in vain for somewhere neat to eat, then in desperation and hunger, I phoned my friend Jason, who recommended The Firefly Cafe, which looked awesome, but had a wait of what looked like hours (think Flying Biscuit waits). We went down the street to a J. Christopher’s, which was actually really good, and had IHOP-style bottomless coffee on the table.

On the way, I caught sight of this guy who was carrying an interesting sign. I am guessing he strolls the streets every Sunday to put fear of God into Saturday night’s hangover victims roving the streets searching for a cure; Everyone out on Sunday morning seemed to be a slow-moving student, or a well-dressed churchgoer in a fancy hat. It was Sunday, crisp and bright, and the people were walking their dogs with coffee in hand, and the church bells rang at noon. Lovely morning. Todd looked like death eating a ham sandwich, which only cast into relief my elation at having a sunny morning without kids or hangover.

Some things are indescribably perfect. We had a wonderful time (hard not to without kids), and I didn’t even mention all the six degrees of separation, or the menage a trois come-ons (or so we like to flatter ourselves,) or the Episcopal Mafia. You can see more of our pictures from the trip by clicking on my Flickr link to the right. They should be up some time today.

Oh, p.s.! On Saturday, even with my hangover, we “discovered” an awesome artist at Chroma Gallery on Barnard. I posted about it here on Atlanta Metblogs, as the artist is an Atlantan. If you ever want to see what I am saying about Atlanta, there are links to my posts on Metroblogging Atlanta to the right.

Tags: Church, Drinking, hangover, Metblogs, Motherhood, savannah, todd, wedding
Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments »

I Still Want My Mommy

Tuesday, February 13th, 2007

In case you don’t know, or don’t read Dogwood Girl regularly, parenting is hard as fuck. The hardest part, by far, is the worry in the back of your mind that something might happen to one of your children. It is constant. It never goes away. One can imagine losing a parent, sibling, or spouse. Losing a child is unimaginable. There is a saying, and I’m not sure to whom it is attributed, that having a child is forever having your heart walk around outside your body. You are helpless in protecting it. I can imagine no more frightening exercise in letting go of one’s fear than seeing a child walk away from you for the first time, or seeing a child drive away alone in a car.

The second hardest part is the sheer relentlessness of the physical requirements of caring for a child. You can schedule it to death, but the unscheduled will occur, and you will have to take care of it, right then and there. You can plan to write for an hour while the children watch Sesame Street, but they will make countless requests for snacks, diaper changes, channel changes, outfit changes, toy dispute reconciliations, and the occasional refereeing of to-the-death grudge matches. Having children means that things that usually take one minute will take ten. Things that take an hour will take at least two hours. It is a job that starts around 7a.m., but might start at 5:30 a.m. some mornings. (No advance notice is given if that is the case, but you can rest assured that if you stay out dancing with the girls until 5:30 a.m. the night before, that your son will wake up at 5:30 the next morning.) You do not get a breakfast, lunch or dinner break. You do not get an anything break. You are lucky if you get to take a shit by yourself, or if you do not have to cut that short to make sure that after you heard that shattering glass noise your child is not now eating glass. You are lucky if you get to wipe before getting up from the toilet. I have actually stood up from the toilet and not had the time to pull up my pants before rushing out of the bathroom to check on the latest catastrophe, my pants still around my ankles. The day usually ends at 7:30 or eight for us, but if someone is sick, or teething, or scared, or cold, or wets the bed, then you might have wakeup calls at any hour of the evening. And you still might have to get up at 5:30 a.m. the next day. So, you have anywhere from 12 to 14 hour days, with no breaks, and with being on call 24 hours a day. And weekends. In a good, healthy, sane week, you might work about 85 hours. Unpaid, but for the satisfaction of a snuggle here or a kiss or hug there. There is also the laughter. Kids say some damn funny stuff, and you have to appreciate that the laughter is part of the payoff, or you would be left with nothing.

And here is what to me is the next hardest part of parenting: Being sick while you are a parent. It sucks the biggest cock EVER.

It started Friday. Rollie was being a total shit, and even had to be taken out of the restaurant at dinner for his behavior. I should have known what was up, because he wouldn’t eat anything at dinner, including french fries, which is Mommy 101 for “You are going to be up all night with a puking kid.” Sure enough, we put the kids down Friday night at the Lakehouse, where we were staying because we were having the downstairs walls in our house painted. Now, the heat died this fall at the Lakehouse, so it is heated by only gas logs, but if you dress like lumberjacks and keep the logs on all the time, and sleep in two or three quilts at night, you are okay. It is not, however, conducive to being a sickhouse, where one has to get up out of bed multiple times in a night to clean up pukey kids, change puked-on sheets, and make up clean beds. Todd shivered the night away on the couch next to a drafty window, while I slept in his bed, and got up with Tiller who awoke crying multiple times. We made it through the night, thought maybe Rollie had just had too much chocolate milk at dinner, then he puked up his breakfast. Did I mention that the Lake has a washer, but no dryer? We dry the clothes on the line outside. It was about 30 degrees and cloudy. Time to go home. Todd packed up Rollie, while I cleaned up at the house with the help of my Dad, then followed with the still-healthy Tiller.

We came back to the house, and unpacked everything, starting to do laundry, while William, our painter, finished up painting downstairs. Todd and I, in our great wisdom, do not have a television in our bedroom. We feel it promotes a healthy marriage, where we talk or read before going to bed, rather than flipping through channels, or one of us watching something downstairs, while the other watches t.v. in bed.

We are idiots. It is pure hell to be stuck in a sickroom with two puking kids, and NO TELEVISION. Pure. Hell. Yep, Tiller went down for a nap at about 2 pm and woke up screaming bloody murder five minutes later. Covered in puke. I almost threw out her pitiful Hello Kitty doll, the one where kitty is wearing a Jackie-O pillbox hat, and carrying a cute pocketbook, and has a poodle on a leash. Very cute. Doesn’t machine wash. (Note to non-parents: Gifts that do not machine-wash end up in the trash.)

Diarrhea began not long after that. That was Saturday. No more puke out of either of them, but diarrhea continued through Sunday at 5 pm, when I started puking.

You know when you are really sick? I mean uncontrollable puking until the dry heaves hit, and you are still nauseated, when you start throwing up bile and possibly cracking ribs in the process? That’s when the diarrhea hits, and there is a lovely crossover period where you are sick from both ends, and you wish that your toilet was withing puking distance of your bathtub, so that you could do both at once. Then the vomiting subsides and you are left with an emptying diarrhea that lasts for hours and you shiver and are cold and you break out in a cold sweat and then the covers are too much, but it doesn’t matter because you can’t lie in bed for more than five minutes before having to rush back into the bathroom, and you are spent and so dehydrated and thirsty, but you are scared to drink anything, because every time something enters your mouth, it comes directly back out the other end.

Most of all, you want your Mommy, and unfortunately, you are the mommy.

Now imagine being that sick, and having two kids who are also sick. To give credit where credit is due, my dear husband took care of me and the kids while we were all sick this weekend, but just the guilt alone of being sick and not feeling like taking care of the little ones when they are sick is terrible. I was sick all night Sunday. I was weak and spent all day yesterday. The other bad part of being a sick family is when you are the non-sick one: All chores fell on Todd Sunday night and all day Monday. Not only are you responsible for puke and diarrhea cleanup, but you are responsible for planning and preparing meals (a land mine field of menu planning that dictates what kind of puke and diarrhea you will be cleaning up in the coming hours), laundry detail, and the gnawing fear that you have a toilet with your name on it in the future.

I started feeling better yesterday afternoon, but I was still weak and tired and unable to eat much. The kids seemed to be feeling better, but everyone was kind of laying around. Todd fixed dinner and Tiller puked it up. Both kids had more diarrhea after dinner. They had baths and went to bed. I made it till about 9 and then hit the hay myself, hoping to get a decent night’s sleep and recoup some energy. Tiller puked at 10, awakening with a cry. It is hard to describe how pitiful kids are when they puke in their beds: They wake up scared and in the dark and covered in their own sick. It is also hard to describe the sinking feeling you get as a parent when your kids wake up sick. Let’s just say that when I heard Todd utter “crap” upon checking on Tiller, I knew what had happened. She woke up puking again at 11. Luckily, she slept through the rest of the night uneventfully, because we only had one clean sheet left for her crib. Rollie crawled into bed with us at 6:30 a.m. All in all, a fairly decent night’s sleep.

This morning? Both kids have had breakfast and still no puke or cha-chas. (My sister and I call diarrhea “cha-chas”. We got it from Beavis and Butthead – they ridiculed their friend Daria by singing “Diarrhea Cha Cha Cha,” and it stuck with us. It makes something terrible sound so much cuter, no?)

Anyway, wish us luck. Todd is still healthy. I think i am feeling better. Tiller is asleep on my lap, as I type this w1H.

But I still want my Mommy.

Tags: Motherhood, parenting, The Sickness
Posted in Uncategorized | 13 Comments »

You Are a Joke

Friday, February 2nd, 2007

Rollie’s latest thing, other than learning the word “Dammit” from his Grandma, is to say to people, “You are a joke.” The first time he said this to me, I even kind of had my feelings hurt. He just hadn’t said that many mean things before. I got over that, though, and explained to him that it wasn’t nice to say that to people, and that it would hurt feelings, etc. He looked at me blankly, laughed, and said, “Mama, you are a joke.”

I am so good at this job.

It seems that he picked this little gem up from (where else?) t.v. He loves the movie Cars, and in fact, it was the first movie Todd ever took him to see in the theater. (He made it about 20 minutes.) We have it on DVD. It is a pretty benign movie, rated G, but the cars race and bump into each other and say things like “You are a joke.” There is a laughably “mean” car, too.

It is scary how easy it is to imprint things upon the blanket of freshly fallen snow that is the mind of the three-year-old. They are without a single imperfection, and then language begins to assail them from every side, and suddenly, they are saying, “mama, You are a joke,” or “We’re home, dammit!”

This is a very heavy job, raising a kid. For a perfectionist, or even a failed perfectionist, it is really difficult to know that there are no A +s in parenting. Parenting involves watching the slow erosion of a perfect being into an imperfect person, and simply trying to prevent them from sliding below average into sociopath. There is no other way. It is terrifying and beautiful, and the weightiest responsibility I have ever felt.

There are small victories, though. Like getting to wipe your son’s ass after he poops in the potty. Because at least he pooped in the potty, instead of in the diaper, or in his Batman undies, or crouched under the kitchen table hiding from you.

Tags: Motherhood, poop, Rollie, Rollieisms
Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments »

I Know

Thursday, February 1st, 2007

I should not look a gift horse in the mouth, or be ungrateful, but when you leave the vacuum cleaner, broom and dustpan, windex, paper towels, and furniture polish all over the house, it is pretty obvious what you think of my housekeeping skills. That is okay – I will overlook the insult as long as you keep my kids. Even if you did stock my pantry with vanilla wafers, double stuff Oreos, two kinds of jelly with sugar (even though we had two sugar-free versions already), a tin of Hershey’s kisses, Rice Krispies, and two new containers of pourable sugar (as opposed to the cheap bagged type I use). I mean, if I wanted my kids to eat that crap, it would probably be in the pantry already, but whatever. More with which Mama can sabotage her diet after 8 pm.

Seriously: I cringe at the thought of what has entered my children’s mouths throughout the various times they have been taken care of by their grandparents. I know it will not kill them, and the free time is worth a cavity or two, but the worst part? I cannot physically bring myself to throw out those Oreos. A full bag? I cannot do it. They will sit there and slowly ruin my weight loss until Todd comes home on Saturday, when they will succumb to one of two scenarios: 1)Todd shows extreme willpower and kicks them to the curb. 2) Todd goes out for drinks with the boys, and then comes home, skulks around the kitchen as the rest of us sleep, then eats Oreos in one sitting with a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

I know this is our weakness, and not theirs. Why does it have to be so hard?

Tags: food, Grandparents, Motherhood, todd, weight
Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments »

Kiss My Bass

Tuesday, January 30th, 2007

In addition to the cast of characters we have seen here in Orlando, we also took in some sights. I skipped the theme park stuff, and hit the outlet malls yesterday while Todd was working. I took the trolley line and on the way there, i had the pleasure of being surrounded by a bunch of German conventioneers. i have no idea what they were saying, but it doesn’t really matter, as German accents always sound sinister to me, even when they are laughing and smiling. As if they are going to give me one last cigarette before they make me turn around and shoot me execution-style into the grave I have just finished digging for myself. On the way back, I met a stereotypical large Irish family, replete with mischievous sons. The mom loved the Simon and Garfunkel that looped on the trolley, over and over. The driver on the way back was from Chicago, and he was new, and he didn’t know where he was going. It is not a good sign when you have to tell the driver how to drive his route.

After I got back to the hotel, Todd and I went to Outback, mate. Seems that everything in Orlando is themed, franchised, and a chain. Todd and I competed in a contest against one another for who could come up with the most Australian words (bonzer! Billabong! Didgeridoo?); they must be pronounced with an Australian accent, of course. Anyone who knows my husband knows that he killed me in this game. If there is anything Todd loves, it is slang. He also loves to make me do any kind of accent or sound effect, because I am exceedingly terrible at both. If you want to illicit giggles from the both of us, the way to do it is to get me to do a machine gun sound effect, or get Todd to do R2D2 imitating Chewbacca. Good stuff. Chains are lame, but don’t worry, I managed to choke down a prime rib and a bottle of wine. I will survive.

After that, we headed back to the mall (Orlando is basically one big mall with some roller coasters thrown in for good measure.) Todd had a balance left over on a $500 gift certificate a client gave him last Christmas to Bass Pro Shops. Todd doesn’t really hunt, so we have been stretching the gift certificate for years now.

Bass Pro Shops are just awesome. There is so much stuff that you don’t need in there to catch a fish! There are also knives, guns, ammo, live fish tanks, and camping stuff. Did I mention the bird calls and cute dog toys to teach your lab to retrieve dead birds? They have huge boats in the parking lot and ATVs on the showroom floor inside. They also have really nice Columbia clothing that makes me want to go camping. By the way, ladies, if you are ever stranded in a Bass Pro Shops megastore, just go to the electronics section and get the cute young Irish boy to show you how the GPS works. You will have no idea what they are talking about, or if you do, just act like you don’t, and he will keep on talking. In that accent. Until your husband comes and finds you and breaks the two of you up. (Actually, i really did want to check out the GPS, because I am fascinated by them and want to try Geocacheing. But I wasn’t about to tell Patrick the Irish boy that.)

One more thing about Bass Pro Shops? You can play these fun target practice games. It is fun as shit, and old, grizzled hunter types think you are really cute when you whoop and holler when you hit the targets and make the bells and whistles go off. What I’m saying, girls, is Bass Pro Shops is a great ego-booster. You are so much cuter than the other wives in there, with their “Kiss My Bass” shirts on.

Okay, so after that, we went back to the hotel bar to have one last drink, because I was really tired, but we ended up drinking with a bunch of tire salesmen from all over the southeast until about 2 a.m. One of them looked like a cross between Al Sharpton and Morris Day. (See picture of him from across hotel bar.)
I felt a little doodieish this morning, but still managed to get out for lunch and to go with Todd to drop off Ronnie at Universal Studios. It was a real live backlot for a film studio, and I saw absolutely no famous people. Tonight? Dinner and a movie. Home tomorrow to kiss my babies, whom I miss very much, not that you can tell it from anything I’ve written here.

Tags: Bass, Motherhood, Orlando, todd
Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

Darth Maul!

Monday, January 29th, 2007

Unfortunately, Todd would be a shitty paparazzo; When he had the opportunity to snap a picture of Ray Parks at the breakfast buffet this a.m., he totally choked. Or maybe he just didn’t yet know how to use his new Treo. But yes, we had breakfast with the actor who played Darth Maul. He was there with wife and child, who was a bit of a cutie with her pink Pumas. Not cute enough to make me miss my kids, though. I slept in, drank coffee over the newspaper, and am now on my way to run. This afternoon? Outlet malls, and maybe a movie. Ahhh, the life of a non-Mom on vacation. Sheer bliss.

Tags: Motherhood, Orlando, Star Wars, todd
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How on Earth?

Wednesday, January 10th, 2007

Wake up. Wake Todd up to feed kids so I can clean blood that stained my inner thighs during the night. Jump in lukewarm bath to rinse, then dry off and throw on clothes. Run downstairs. Make coffee, then pack backpack and diaper bag. Drink cup of coffee, poop (I mean, shit) and then put jackets on everyone, get them to car, strap in carseats, and drive 30 minutes to Rollie’s school. Drop Rollie off. Go to local coffee shop. Drink cup of coffee. Get back in car with Tiller. 10 am meeting with todd to look at house. Leave there to go to grocery store. Go pick up Rollie, and then drive 30 minutes back home. Take kids inside, where todd serves them lunch. Unload groceries. Choke down microwave lunch. Put kids back in car. Drive to Sandy Springs for matilda’s 15 month checkup. Dr. Jeff checks her ears. Ear infection. I ask him to re-check Rollie’s ears. Ear infection. Drive back to East Atlanta, drop prescriptions off, take kids home, give them snacks. Do dishes from breakfast and lunch. Start planning dinner. Blog.

How on earth is it 5:39?

Tags: matilda, Motherhood, Rollie
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Why Cats are Superior

Tuesday, January 9th, 2007

They know when to cut their losses. When things are going kinda crappy with the offspring, they just go ahead and eat the little fuckers.

My day started with hunger, because I am dieting, and then I am not allowed to eat anything until the lady gets here to take my blood and urine for the life insurance policy we are taking out on me in case (duh) I die, which of course doesn’t give one a whole lot of incentive to fast, because what the hell are you going to get out of it, anyway. Todd is a sweetheart and got up with the kids so that I could sleep as long as possible and not have to sit around hungry. I got up at 9 a.m. (the high point of the day). I started my period.

I proceeded to drink black coffee until the nurse arrived at 10. The kids cried and whined and bugged the crap out of the nurse while she asked me about every runny nose I have ever had, and the name, number, and address of the doctor for which I saw each runny nose. She then tried to take blood from one arm, then the other, then my hand. It was awesome. I peed in a cup and there was blood in it and i had to explain to her that I was on the rag. Lovely. Did I mention she brought her own scale? It said I was 9 pounds heavier than my scale says I am. Fucking great.
Todd called to say that he wouldn’t be home for lunch. By the time the nurse left it was noon. I put lunch on for the kids. I ate my crap diet lunch. I tried to watch Antiques Roadshow while the kids ran around pushing their cars and shopping cart and couldn’t hear a thing. I shut off the t.v. and finished eating while staring out the window at a squirrel. I did the breakfast and lunch dishes, and put on dinner. I changed two poopy diapers.

Went upstairs, read to the kids, and then put them down for their naps. This consists of putting down Matilda, and then tucking Rollie in, shutting the gate, blowing kisses, asking him to please, please, please not wake Tiller because Mama will be mad, and please stay in bed, and don’t make any noise, and maybe when we get up we will watch Curious George and eat snacks, Yes, raisins, and please? And then i hope for the best.

I laid down for an hour, and I could tell Rollie wasn’t asleep, because he was talking the whole time, but it never occurred to me that he was up there taking off his diaper, putting the poop into the back of the remote control truck, and then taking little pieces and running them over with the treads of his monster truck and smushing them into the carpet, and running the truck roughshod over the books he had pulled off his shelves, which were now empty.

When I finally went up to check on him, he was standing naked at the gate, smiling at me. He went over and picked up two little pieces of poop, one in each hand, and held them out to me, palm up, as if in offering. When I opened the gate, he cheerfully walked around the corner and turned his palms over above the toilet, neatly depositing them into the bowl, then turning to me in expectation of approval.

I think he may be slightly retarded.

After that, I gave him a bath, put Batman underwear on him, and with the exception of the times when we are out, at school, napping, or sleeping, he will Goddamn be wearing them, until he is potty trained. So help me God, amen.

Tags: cats, Motherhood, poop, potty training, Rollie
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Dogwood Girl