And Here's Why

Today was something of a roller coaster. First Steve took the girls down with him to work, where they had a sitter in the morning, and were then going to spend the afternoon at my parents'. I had a lovely and childless and productive day all planned.

But Tilly threw up in the car. So plans changed.

As Steve brought them back here I tried to do all of my going-out errands, but failed. Tilly was fine for the rest of the day, no idea why there was puke, but glad there has been no more. Then I went online to reserve a moving truck, a process that should have taken five minutes but in fact took upwards of two frustrating hours.

By the time 2pm rolled around I was cranky and pissed off. I was hating everyone and everything. Stupid sick kids, stupid freaking truck that's too big, stupid stuck at home, stupid everything.

But then two good things happened, Steve decided to take the rest of the afternoon off and brought me coffee ice cream bars, and I found a coupon code online to save 25% off a truck rental which totally made everything better. I love the internets. And I love Steve. Also I love coffee ice cream bars.

I then finished my errands at a leisurely pace, making sure to take my time strolling though Target's beautiful aisles and breathing slowly and calmly. I returned home to dinner being cooked, folded laundry and beer, what could be better?

Well, then I looked up the books for my courses (which begin in just over a month - yay!) and I love them all. I am taking a writing workshop, which has no required texts, an experimental fiction course, for which I already own three of the ten texts, and a course on rhetorics and poetics, which thankfully has only five required texts, none of which I have and which are all probably over 500 pages, but still, there are only five, and for that I am grateful. I am so ready to go back to school. It's going to be great. Hard work? Yes, but fucking brilliant.

I am now trying very hard not to think about all of the things that didn't get done today. Such as work. Which must now be squeezed into tomorrow. Oh well, soon I will immerse myself in academia and be happy, for now I can tread water and try to keep on packing.

Reparations?

I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long, but you all really must click on the picture below and go check this out right now.



You won't regret it.

And I'll post something soon, nothing as good as Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, but something nonetheless.

Really, go. Go now.

Gooooo, Jungle Barbie!

Life's not easy when you're a hot blonde with eight inch legs, I get all stressed out. I mean, a girl's got a right to party, don't she? Sometimes I gotta just take me a day, you know?

That's why me and my jug of bootleg got busy yesterday.

What? It was after noon.


Then my homegirl Gabriella dropped by and we hung for a while.

She's cool, a little uptight, can't stop talking about fucking Troy Bolton, but girl's got a wild side if you know what I mean.

And no, that's not why my makeup's all smeared!

Well, okay, maybe a little...

What? That skirt was really short...


Anyway, then she left and I was all alone. Well yeah, my jug was still there, but you know what I mean.

So I took a dip and then I felt a little better, but when I climbed out of the jug I slid right down the side! Oh my God! Who knew that shit was so slippery, right?

I'm okay, I'm okay.

Just tired is all.


You can find your own way out, right?

I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a second.

____________________________________________

Note: Matilda made all the outfits, and took all the pictures.
The narrative? Yeah, that was me. Hard to resist given such good raw material. Besides, the girls and I, we have a history with the Barbies.

That baby should have a hat!

The girls and I spent the morning at a local playground yesterday with my friend Sheela and her beautiful babies. We stayed for almost three hours and had a lovely morning; I got to hold four-month-old Fiona, who is so small and beautiful, and I didn't think about work or the move or anything.
Towards the end of the morning Sheela and I were chatting with another mom (whose daughter attended Freya's preschool, but on a different schedule than Freya, in fact they shared the same cubby) and talk turned to nosy and/or snotty strangers who try to tell you how to raise your children. While I am a relatively young parent, this other mother is a bit older and said she never had to deal with many strangers telling her what to do when her children were babies. I on the other hand was approached by multiple random strangers (all women) when Matilda was a baby, who would say charming things like, "How old are you? You don't look old enough to have a baby." Total strangers!

And then I heard one of the best stories I've heard in a long time and so I'm going to share it with you now. The other mom had a friend who was white, married to an African-American man and they had several children. She had brought her children to the park one day and was sitting, holding the baby and chatting.

Another mom turned to her and said, "Your baby is beautiful. What country is he from?"

Stunned, the woman said the only thing she could think of, "Um, my uterus."

"Oh," replied the other mom, "where is that?"

The best part? She was serious. I mean, come on. Really?

Liar Liar Pants on Fire, Oh Wait, You're Not Wearing Pants, Are You?

Like most parents trying their best to do a good job, we've attempted to instill a sense of honesty in our children, a Truth is Always the Best Policy foundation. (They'll get to the subtleties soon enough, and while I'm not one to over-simplify for my children, this is the one exception.)

Freya, however, has become an accomplished liar at the tender age of three. She's very convincing, and she never changes her story. Here's an example:

"Ok, Freya, it's time to go, are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Are you wearing underpants?" (The fact that I have to ask this question each and every time we leave the house is the subject of another, much funnier, post.)

"Yes."

"Show me."

"I'll be right back."

Brief silence.

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs."

"Why?"

"I have to get something."

She NEVER BREAKS! It's scary how focused she is, how she can pick her story and stick with it. I didn't master that until I was at least ten or eleven.