Showing posts from June, 2008

Date Night

P and I went on a date Saturday night. It was the first time we'd been out together since my mom visited back in February. I hired a wholesome teen from church to babysit for us. We were all atwitter over our temporary freedom and couldn't decide what to do with ourselves. We finally decided to go to one of those Japanese prepare-it-in-front-of-you places. They have a pretty decent vegetarian entree so I always get that (as opposed to, well, nothing). And they offer some nice, strong libations at the bar as an added bonus. We arrived and submitted our name to the hostess. Then we settled at the bar for a drink. P scanned the drink menu and convinced me that I'd enjoy this green "Samurai" drink that had Midori melon liqueur in it. I didn't, but that's okay. As we sat there, we noticed two families that arrived with mucho small children in tow. In my mind, this isn't a kid-friendly place. That's why we don't bring ours (I'm convinced she'

A Study in Multi-Tasking


I have a big what?

Over time the kid has become more aware of the differences between girls and boys. Now, there are lots of other things that still confuse her. Like, why she doesn't have a husband, for example (although she is giving strong consideration to marrying Prince Eric from "The Little Mermaid"). And why some random boy she just met at the park five minutes ago isn't her cousin. ("This is my cousin!" "Ahhhh, no.") And why she can't have popcorn for dinner. But she does seem to have a handle on the girl/boy thing for the most part. She knows that she and I are girls and that we each have a gyna. "Guy-na" is how she pronounces it. Don't ask - it's a family thing that comes from growing up with sisters. She also knows that her father has a penis. P and I are both fairly modest people. Maybe a lot modest. We don't walk around nakie or anything. The other day I was getting A ready for preschool when she decided she needed to use the ba

The lady said to turn left

I took the afternoon off to spend with the kid yesterday. I decided to take her to a restaurant that's owned by one of my new web clients. He had some documents for me so I thought I'd take the kid and have lunch there. The restaurant is about thirty minutes from my house and I didn't know exactly how to get there, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to use my new GPS. (What, you thought I would use that rummage sale cash to better the world or something?) The GPS works beautifully. But there is one downside that I did not predict, and I discovered it on our trip yesterday. Voice from the GPS: "Turn left" Voice from the backseat: "Mama, she said to turn left. Turn left. The lady said to turn left. Did you turn left? She said to turn left." This went on for every command that the GPS lady gave me. We are driving to DC on vacation next week, so you can imagine how I am looking forward to hearing the directions twice . . . for 16 hours. Any

Just for the record, she's not having a party

By the time the kid was two years old or so, I started envisioning some future incarnation of her as the girl in high school/college who always knows where the party is. Everyone will call her to find out what's going down, I predicted. But now I realize that the reason why she will always know the party scoop is because . . . she will be the one having them. For several weeks now, the kid has been telling everyone that she is having a party. A couple weeks ago we were at the farmers' market (or "markets farmer," as she calls it) and someone handed us a work-at-home flyer. It was pretty colorful (and no doubt a lucrative opportunity, too!). A took the flyer and said, "Oh good, I can use this for my party." She told my friend Jen, "You can come to my party!" Jen looked at me with a quizzical expression. "What party?" she mouthed over A's head. "I have no idea," I said and shrugged my shoulders. At church on Sunday she interru

Ding Dong, the Crap is Gone

The rummage sale was fairly successful (I'm sure you were dying to know). It was a staggering amount of work, but it really is better to be organized in advance than just to toss your stuff out into the driveway and hope that you are fairly compensated for it. The hardcore rummagers were there early and the high chair, stroller, etc. were gone within the first half hour or so. I didn't get too many people trying to haggle. I invited a lot of people I know, and people you know are less likely to bleed you dry. In fact, lots of nice people stopped by. My friend Nancy even came by just to hang out. There were a few creepy shoppers. One guy grumbled that I only had girl clothes. Then he said his sister had a little boy and that he needed boy clothes. But, oddly enough, he bought a pair of khaki pants with a huge flower embroidered on the leg. Another lady came in and held up a fuchsia Gymboree sweater and a pair of light green Gap pants. "These are perfect together!" she

These Here are Scary Times

Yesterday morning, the kid climbed into my lap just before she had to leave for preschool with her father. I was in the office-slash-guest-bedroom catching up on a few emails before I had to leave, too. She looked up at a round, black clock that's been on the wall in there forever. It's got a red cat's face in the middle and in place of the numbers are the words "nap play eat" repeated around the perimeter. (It is also ticks louder than artillery fire, which does seem to keep visitors from staying too long. A few have been known to take the batteries out. One overnight guest simply took it off the wall and exiled it to the dining room.) "That clock has a cat on it!" A exclaimed. I guess it took her 3+ years to notice it. "Yes, your Aunt Craggy bought me that clock a long time ago," I said. "Before you were born." And then she said it. "When I was born in your tummy?" My heart fluttered and tears sprang to my eyes. She didn&#

What to do with my innards when I die

I am planning to stay on this earth long enough to meet my grandchild(ren) and to hen-peck my husband relentlessly until he gives in and keels over first. In fact, I plan to live so long that my daughter will have to put me in a home and pay someone to wipe spittle off my chin. But, should something happen to me . . . I'm not really convinced that my other half fully understands my post-mortem wishes. So, I hope one of my friends will direct him to this blog post. (He does not read my blog, in case you hadn't guessed.) If I have any body parts that the medical establishment could make use of, it is welcome to them. A lot of my parts don't work right (thanks for nothing, uterus!) but maybe I have a kidney or an eyeball that might help someone out. I'm sure my broken thumb is out of the running. (A side note to my friends: would you people stop texting me? my thumb does not freakin' bend and it takes me an hour to respond!) I don't really care what happens to my b

Come, Rummage

For the past few weeks I have been busy pricing stuff for the rummage sale I'm having on Saturday. The basement is full and the kid has too much stuff. Last night I was pricing heaps of clothing and felt compelled to go upstairs and check to be sure that yes, my child really does have just one body. I think we can blame her shopaholic Meemaw for some of the piles. It's bittersweet, though, selling baby clothing. And feels awfully . . . final. We have talked about the possibility of adopting again someday, but if we do, the child would not be an infant. I am, of course, saving a lot of stuff. Anything made by my mom and anything that makes me a little verklempt when I pick it up - it stays. I've suggested to P that he take the kid somewhere on Saturday because I'm pretty sure she is going to have a meltdown when she sees her gear in the driveway. If you know anyone in my neck of the woods who has a baby girl or who is thinking of producing one, send them my way on Saturd

Hey, when did I get old?

To be sure, there have been signs that I am getting old. I can't sleep through the night anymore without having to get up and pee. I listen to NPR an awful lot. Some of my body parts are getting a little creaky. I refer to college students as "kids." I mean, I don't listen to jazz (yet), but I'm probably headed in that direction. Today our little family attended a local festival. I was excited to check it out, because I weighed in at Weight Watchers this morning and was feeling a little splurgy today. I felt confident that some deep-fried goodness was surely coming my way. The festival also included rides, music, dancing, a marketplace, etc. We also got there early enough to obtain free tickets for a 45-minute cruise on a tour boat. Upon arrival we bought some ride tickets. The kid rode a couple of kiddie rides. And then I said this: "Hey, let's ride the Tilt-a-Whirl." P shook his head and mumbled something like, "You guys go ahead." So A

What He Got

Since I was kind enough to list some of my husband's quirks in a recent post, I thought it only fair that I should divulge what sort of deal he got when he married me I will not fill ice cube trays no matter what. If you ask me about it, I will swear on a stack of Bibles that I have never consumed a drink with an ice cube in it in my entire life. (That tinkling you hear is just your imagination.) P makes a big show about refilling them, sighing loudly, making editorial comments, and stomping around the kitchen. I have no idea why I can't/won't refill them, but I can't/won't. I will consume almost an entire can of Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi and then put the can in the refrigerator - with one sip in it. Said can will bounce around the fridge for several days until finally it gets knocked over and that one sip ends up on the asparagus. I cuss like a longshoreman. I have no idea what a longshoreman is/does, but if the saying is true, apparently they have very filthy mouths.

You're Peeing on My Pee

The kid and I were out of town for the weekend. We were supposed to attend a dog fair today with the rescue but it got rained out. Our trip was not for nought, though, because we had a lot of fun. Lots of mother-daughter quality time, doncha know. We headed out after my Weight Watchers meeting on Saturday morning. We had a two-hour car ride ahead of us, but we stopped several times along the way. My suspicion is that she has some sort of checklist that catalogs every public restroom in the state. And she plans to use all of them. The pet supply store we visited along the way? Check. The outlet mall where we stopped to buy a Father's Day gift? Check. The restaurant where we ate lunch? Check and check. Yes, she had to use that one twice. Five minutes apart. This particular restaurant is an older joint with just two small stalls in the ladies' room. We were in one stall and some unsuspecting patron was in the other. After A went, I decided I'd go ahead and use the facilities m

16 years ago today . . .

. . . I asked a Marine to dance. My roommate and I were at a large dance club in downtown Washington DC called "The Dome" (affectionately known as "The Do Me" by many of its patrons - isn't that quaint?) I'm sure it's long gone. I was 22 and a student at George Mason University, also working full time for an Air Force General. The Dome allowed 18-20-year-olds to enter, but only those over 21 were given "I can drink" bracelets. I spotted a tall, skinny, dark-haired (just like I like 'em!) Marine lurking around the dance floor while his drunken Jarhead friends spun manically near the deejay's booth. I followed him at a distance, positioning myself strategically so that he could ask me to dance. Others came up and asked me to dance as I stood there. "No, thanks!" I told them. I was holding out for the shy one with the ever-so-slightly-too-large front teeth (I thought he was cute, but I figured this minor flaw might keep him from

This Means You!

As I have mentioned in previous posts, our current foster dog adores the kid. The term "glutton for punishment" comes to mind. Chloe wants to sleep on A's bed . . . even while A is in it. She wants to kiss her on the lips and would prefer to be physically touching her at all times. She wants to hang out in her room and chew her toys. She thinks A is her BFF. Alas, Chloe's love is mostly unrequited. The kid has no tolerance for a dog laying on her feet while she tries to watch "Peter Pan" for the 15th night in a row. Some days she says that "Chloe is so cuuuuute" and other days the poor dog can't do anything right. On Sunday night I was on the phone and the kid kept asking me for "a piece of sticky tape." (As opposed to the unsticky kind, I guess.) I took the path of least resistance and gave her several strips. Finally I hung up and went to see what she was up to. She had hung this sign on her bedroom door: "What does it say?&qu

I don't wanna be happy!

I'm feeling industrious this morning. The kid is sleeping in (the long day of dictatorial rule yesterday must have worn her out). I need to get her up for church but I don't mind telling you that I am afraid of my own child. She can be sort of mecurial. Yesterday she was having a tantrum and I said something like, "Why are you crying? Don't you want to be happy?" "I don't wanna be happy!" she wailed. Anyway, I gave both of the Boxers a bath this morning. I skipped Karl, but only because it is his birthday. Plus, when I give him a bath, his fur doesn't fully dry until Christmas. Clean Still dirty Happy 10th birthday, Karl Lee! Yesterday I took the kid to a local agility trial, where a friend of mine was competing. After that we went to one of those paint-it-yourself pottery joints. She painted a plate for her dad for Father's Day. I helped out a little, but it definitely looks like a three-year-old did it. We put her hand print in the middle b