In addition to the general oddities that come with this whole person-cooking process, some really strange behaviors are starting to break through my previous rational and logical schedule.
When my skin feels itchy and dry, I water the plants. Because if I'm dry, the plants must be too? (Last pregnancy, I repotted all my plants because they looked 'confined' in their pots.) I am unbearably warm all the time, so my darling child is prancing about in a tee shirt and shorts. My poor fish have been issued a warning - it is their responsibility to stay alive with minimal assistance from me. Apparently my mothering instinct doesn't apply to fish....
But the weirdest thing that is happening this week is the continuous presence of earworms. EW! No, not actual worms. Earworms are songs that get stuck in your head and repeat until your subconscious is somehow distracted by something more important. (Oh, look! Something shiny!)
I've been listening to the same CD for four months, because the CD player in the basement is frightfully old and will only play Chris Isaak and Pink Floyd. Until this week, none of the Chris Isaak songs have stuck with me past breakfast. Now I run through the entire CD at least once a day. Not just one song over and over, but one song and then the next one, and the next one...
And they don't go away. I am now permanently haunted by songs in my head, whether it be Chris Isaak, Barney or a stupid commercial jingle. (Five dollar foot looooong, anyone?)
Sometimes, this new form of torment produces some funny results. I was singing along with the song in my head, which happened to be the Sarah Palin rap from SNL. (By the way, props to Amy Poehler for going on with the show at the very end of the third trimester!) I happened to be in the same room with Darling Child at the time, and said "All the mavericks in the house, put your hands up!"
Baby Girl put down her crayon, put her hands in the air and said "What what!" and then went back to coloring.
I've never laughed so hard in my life.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Holiday Ideas
Husby and I were discussing possible gift ideas for the Darling Child, who has recently shown an increase in imagination (see previous post). He had observed how much she had enjoyed playing with the Fischer Price playhouse at her Nana/Papa's house, and suggested we look into something along those lines.
"Lets get her a kitchen playset!" he enthused, delighted with his new idea.
"Honey," I reasoned, "who is going to show her how to use it?" He got quiet for a minute, pondering the reality of such a troublesome glitch.
"When is your sister coming into town?" he asked.
"February, probably."
"Oh. Good. One of these girls is going to have to learn how to cook. Seriously - where are we going to go for Thanksgiving in twenty years?"
Oooh, another sticky wicket. We fell silent for a moment, again pondering the bleak future of a Microwave Thanksgiving. Then inspiration struck...
"We'll go to my sister's house! She can totally cook Thanksgiving."
And so our holiday plans for 2028 are set, we are going to Aunt Lissa's house.
"Lets get her a kitchen playset!" he enthused, delighted with his new idea.
"Honey," I reasoned, "who is going to show her how to use it?" He got quiet for a minute, pondering the reality of such a troublesome glitch.
"When is your sister coming into town?" he asked.
"February, probably."
"Oh. Good. One of these girls is going to have to learn how to cook. Seriously - where are we going to go for Thanksgiving in twenty years?"
Oooh, another sticky wicket. We fell silent for a moment, again pondering the bleak future of a Microwave Thanksgiving. Then inspiration struck...
"We'll go to my sister's house! She can totally cook Thanksgiving."
And so our holiday plans for 2028 are set, we are going to Aunt Lissa's house.
My OTHER Daddy
I was at the doctor's office with Darling Daughter (whose gastro-intestinial escapades will not be recorded for posterity). I had already gotten the stink-eye from some of the staff, who thought I qualified for "Crappy Mom of the Year" because I hadn't brought her in at the first sign of trouble. Knowing full well that I would have gotten nominated for "Over protective, get-her-off-the-internet Mom of the Year" if I had brought her in earlier, I mentally flipped them all the bird and carried on my merry way.
Until...
Darling Daughter, dressed in butterfly wings and paisley pants, sat patiently through most of the exam. After tolerating my meaningless conversation with the doctor about her health and well being, she chirped "Momma, I want to go see my other daddy."
Uh....what? I couldn't help myself. I looked at her and asked "Who?" She repeated, several times, that she wanted to see the OTHER daddy today. The doctor had politely averted his eyes at this point, to avoid embarrassing me if my 2.5 year old was really ratting me out for some illicit affair.
Apparently frustrated that I wasn't getting the message, Darling Child escalates her request. "Momma, I want to see my other daddy, you know, the Black Daddy." I swear I heard the doctor laughing at me as he added "adulterer, most likely with multiple partners" to my list of mom-crimes.
I decided that the worst thing I could do was attend to this random request, thereby validating her warped little reality. So I ignored her, and tried to continue my conversation about her diet with the doctor.
The doctor, whom I now suspect is horrified by my affairs with so many different people as to have to identify them according to their race, issued some perscriptions with a bit of a chuckle. As far as I know, the suspicious staff has not yet notified the authorities. I'm hoping I didn't make the list on the doctor's nightly recap to his family..."You'll never believe what this toddler said to her Mom today..."
Husby, to his credit, laughed at the idea that I have multiple Baby Daddies to manage. He merely inquired if the Black Daddy was rich, or could cook...
Until...
Darling Daughter, dressed in butterfly wings and paisley pants, sat patiently through most of the exam. After tolerating my meaningless conversation with the doctor about her health and well being, she chirped "Momma, I want to go see my other daddy."
Uh....what? I couldn't help myself. I looked at her and asked "Who?" She repeated, several times, that she wanted to see the OTHER daddy today. The doctor had politely averted his eyes at this point, to avoid embarrassing me if my 2.5 year old was really ratting me out for some illicit affair.
Apparently frustrated that I wasn't getting the message, Darling Child escalates her request. "Momma, I want to see my other daddy, you know, the Black Daddy." I swear I heard the doctor laughing at me as he added "adulterer, most likely with multiple partners" to my list of mom-crimes.
I decided that the worst thing I could do was attend to this random request, thereby validating her warped little reality. So I ignored her, and tried to continue my conversation about her diet with the doctor.
The doctor, whom I now suspect is horrified by my affairs with so many different people as to have to identify them according to their race, issued some perscriptions with a bit of a chuckle. As far as I know, the suspicious staff has not yet notified the authorities. I'm hoping I didn't make the list on the doctor's nightly recap to his family..."You'll never believe what this toddler said to her Mom today..."
Husby, to his credit, laughed at the idea that I have multiple Baby Daddies to manage. He merely inquired if the Black Daddy was rich, or could cook...
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Funny things Husby Said
"Oh, honey, don't worry. You don't make it look easy at all."
-In response to my assertion that people think I've got it made because from the outside, everything I do looks effortless.
"Oh yeah? What kind of car do you drive?"
-In response to my assertion that I'm not stubborn or defiant and that Darling Child probably got those traits from him.
"Well, you need to take a class in 'Nice'."
-In response to my assertion that he needs to take a class in how-to-set-an-alarm.
"We need to think about maybe painting the baby's room."
-Oblivious to the fact that I've shown him the can of paint I bought to paint the baby's room.
"What are you going to do, get a tattoo and dye your hair?"
-In response to my assertion that being 45 years old will be more liberating than 30.
-In response to my assertion that people think I've got it made because from the outside, everything I do looks effortless.
"Oh yeah? What kind of car do you drive?"
-In response to my assertion that I'm not stubborn or defiant and that Darling Child probably got those traits from him.
"Well, you need to take a class in 'Nice'."
-In response to my assertion that he needs to take a class in how-to-set-an-alarm.
"We need to think about maybe painting the baby's room."
-Oblivious to the fact that I've shown him the can of paint I bought to paint the baby's room.
"What are you going to do, get a tattoo and dye your hair?"
-In response to my assertion that being 45 years old will be more liberating than 30.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Cooking A Person
Last night Husby made some crack about how he has to do everything around the house...so I was obligated to remind him of all the things that I have to do.
My tirade, said occasionally in earnest but this time in jest, finally wound to it's inevitable conclusion. "And," I barked, "I already cooked you one person, and then you asked for another person, and I'm cooking that one too!"
The mood changed, and Husby got very serious. He said "You cooked my favorite person. You're really good at cooking people, and I can't wait to meet the new person."
:)
My tirade, said occasionally in earnest but this time in jest, finally wound to it's inevitable conclusion. "And," I barked, "I already cooked you one person, and then you asked for another person, and I'm cooking that one too!"
The mood changed, and Husby got very serious. He said "You cooked my favorite person. You're really good at cooking people, and I can't wait to meet the new person."
:)
Overruled
Overruled!
I suggested Taco Bell for lunch. I believe I got something akin to an eye roll from my unborn child, but she seemed willing to go along with the plan. I told one of the other therapists that I was going to go get some lunch, and I wasn't going to eat salad one more time this week. As soon as I mentioned the "s" word, it suddenly sounded like the most delicious thing I could possibly eat.
Now, I'm not a total carnivore, I do eat salad on occasion. But this week, I've had three. THREE. And instead of using that guilty "you'll feel better and your pants won't squeeze you so much" logic, I actually wanted to eat each them. Each salad has been a feast, almost like a brownie sundae.
Now, seriously. What kind of baby craves salad? Is this someone I really want to have in the house? Can't you just hear it..."Mom, we're out of fresh vegetables AGAIN. When are you going to the store?" or "Mom, there is too much junk food in this house. Why can't we ever eat the good stuff?"
I've already got one kid that prefers salty foods to sweet, and really doesn't care for chocolate. Am I going to be totally outnumbered by these freakish children?
(I also want pineapple and lemonade. What the hell is going on here?)
I suggested Taco Bell for lunch. I believe I got something akin to an eye roll from my unborn child, but she seemed willing to go along with the plan. I told one of the other therapists that I was going to go get some lunch, and I wasn't going to eat salad one more time this week. As soon as I mentioned the "s" word, it suddenly sounded like the most delicious thing I could possibly eat.
Now, I'm not a total carnivore, I do eat salad on occasion. But this week, I've had three. THREE. And instead of using that guilty "you'll feel better and your pants won't squeeze you so much" logic, I actually wanted to eat each them. Each salad has been a feast, almost like a brownie sundae.
Now, seriously. What kind of baby craves salad? Is this someone I really want to have in the house? Can't you just hear it..."Mom, we're out of fresh vegetables AGAIN. When are you going to the store?" or "Mom, there is too much junk food in this house. Why can't we ever eat the good stuff?"
I've already got one kid that prefers salty foods to sweet, and really doesn't care for chocolate. Am I going to be totally outnumbered by these freakish children?
(I also want pineapple and lemonade. What the hell is going on here?)
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Way I See It
Upon arriving home from work yesterday, I flung open the door to the bedroom to allow for maximum air circulation. It was ghastly hot that day, and we could have used the cross breeze, but we have to keep our door closed to keep our renegade dog off of our bed.
In addition to the ghastly heat, there was a distinct odor in the room. I soon discovered the offending source of the odor, and resolved to temporarily suspend my vow to not nag Husby. Just this one time, right?
Husby, whom we all know and love, is an avid sailor. And avid sailors have extra bags for their sailing accoutrement, like spare shorts, socks, shoes, sun screen and Labatt's Light. After a full day of sailing on Sunday, this extra bag smelled EXTRA bad. I've previously admonished him in my gentle, dulcet tones to get that stink bag off my bed before I throw it out. The bag wasn't on my bed this time, but was offensive enough just sitting in the corner.
I lovingly gestured to his corner of the room which is stacked up knee high with assorted piles of clothes and said "Whatever is in that pile that stinks, move it." He sniffed the air and reluctantly agreed that something in that general area didn't smell great.
Now, if it had been my pile of stuff that stunk, and this fact had been brought to my attention, I would have acted promptly and removed the offending odor causing item. Right? (I do have a pile o' crap of my own, you see. I am not a germ-a-phobe or a neat-nik. It is just that my piles of junk are much, much smaller. And considerably less stinky.)
On the other hand, an offhand comment from him along the lines of "these rooms look un-finished. Should we finish them?" has resulted in a flurry of activity. In two months, we have new blinds, window treatments in three rooms, paint colors picked and plants perched cheerfully on tables. I have new pictures hung all around and a new light fixture coming in the mail.
My question is this: How is it that one comment from Mr. Male Privilege results in all sorts of productivity, while a simple request from Ms. Amazing Wife gets a nose wrinkle and a nap?
(this is the same dog who allegedly has such bad hips that he can't climb the stairs, but is quite capable of getting on and off my bed at a moments notice. More to follow on that subject, you can be sure.)
In addition to the ghastly heat, there was a distinct odor in the room. I soon discovered the offending source of the odor, and resolved to temporarily suspend my vow to not nag Husby. Just this one time, right?
Husby, whom we all know and love, is an avid sailor. And avid sailors have extra bags for their sailing accoutrement, like spare shorts, socks, shoes, sun screen and Labatt's Light. After a full day of sailing on Sunday, this extra bag smelled EXTRA bad. I've previously admonished him in my gentle, dulcet tones to get that stink bag off my bed before I throw it out. The bag wasn't on my bed this time, but was offensive enough just sitting in the corner.
I lovingly gestured to his corner of the room which is stacked up knee high with assorted piles of clothes and said "Whatever is in that pile that stinks, move it." He sniffed the air and reluctantly agreed that something in that general area didn't smell great.
Now, if it had been my pile of stuff that stunk, and this fact had been brought to my attention, I would have acted promptly and removed the offending odor causing item. Right? (I do have a pile o' crap of my own, you see. I am not a germ-a-phobe or a neat-nik. It is just that my piles of junk are much, much smaller. And considerably less stinky.)
You don't need me to finish the story but I'm going to anyway - of course, the offending bag is still in the corner of the room, happily stinking up the joint. I might as well have let the dog into the room.
On the other hand, an offhand comment from him along the lines of "these rooms look un-finished. Should we finish them?" has resulted in a flurry of activity. In two months, we have new blinds, window treatments in three rooms, paint colors picked and plants perched cheerfully on tables. I have new pictures hung all around and a new light fixture coming in the mail.
My question is this: How is it that one comment from Mr. Male Privilege results in all sorts of productivity, while a simple request from Ms. Amazing Wife gets a nose wrinkle and a nap?
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