Sunday, October 31, 2004
The Pumpkins I've Seen.
Sullen children who delve into your candy bowl nary a "trick or treat" and never a thank you kind of ruin the Halloween spirit for me. Just saying.
No I won't stop whining!
I've decided lately that there will just be no more naps. For me, I mean. Sometimes I feel I have to crash when Casimir does, but lately I'm realizing that it's not worth it, because when he wakes and then of course I have to wake, it's like you just get settled in Happy Nap World and then you're being dragged back from the hungover dead into the chipry world of childhood. I'm thinking it's just not worth the torture, because I don't want to be all grumpy when he gets up and I don't want to always be racing to beep the micro with my coffee inside ASAP.
Shit, I may even just try and do this alltogether. Why go to bed if you have to get up at 5:45? Getting up is just too hard. Why go down to begin with. Except for that brief Paxil period when I'd be out rollerblading at 5am, I've always been a giant, whining, lazy ass about getting up early in the morning. And I've done a darn good job of finding employment without jeopardizing my urgent need to sleep past 7am. Until now. It's a good thing I'm greeted by a little boy with Billy Idol hair playing Peekaboo with his blankie, or I'd never make it to the micro even.
Dizzy.
We're into spinning lately. Casimir has a whole repertoire of his own dance moves, and the one of the moment is just turning in circles and spinning to music. He holds one arm out, his forearm parallel to adorable little chest and his fist leading the way as he turns and turns and turns, while we wait with our arms reaching out desperately to keep him from then clonking into something.
Then he motions for us to join in, persisting until we've joined him on his mint green rug/dance floor. Then he starts spinning, and he expects us to spin. And we spin. Boy, do we really spin. And spin! And then we all. fall. down. It's actually quite fun. You should try it.
No I won't stop whining!
I've decided lately that there will just be no more naps. For me, I mean. Sometimes I feel I have to crash when Casimir does, but lately I'm realizing that it's not worth it, because when he wakes and then of course I have to wake, it's like you just get settled in Happy Nap World and then you're being dragged back from the hungover dead into the chipry world of childhood. I'm thinking it's just not worth the torture, because I don't want to be all grumpy when he gets up and I don't want to always be racing to beep the micro with my coffee inside ASAP.
Shit, I may even just try and do this alltogether. Why go to bed if you have to get up at 5:45? Getting up is just too hard. Why go down to begin with. Except for that brief Paxil period when I'd be out rollerblading at 5am, I've always been a giant, whining, lazy ass about getting up early in the morning. And I've done a darn good job of finding employment without jeopardizing my urgent need to sleep past 7am. Until now. It's a good thing I'm greeted by a little boy with Billy Idol hair playing Peekaboo with his blankie, or I'd never make it to the micro even.
Dizzy.
We're into spinning lately. Casimir has a whole repertoire of his own dance moves, and the one of the moment is just turning in circles and spinning to music. He holds one arm out, his forearm parallel to adorable little chest and his fist leading the way as he turns and turns and turns, while we wait with our arms reaching out desperately to keep him from then clonking into something.
Then he motions for us to join in, persisting until we've joined him on his mint green rug/dance floor. Then he starts spinning, and he expects us to spin. And we spin. Boy, do we really spin. And spin! And then we all. fall. down. It's actually quite fun. You should try it.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
I love this- the October 12th entry about not talking to a grown up all day and then assaulting the spouse with an endless, Mt. Vesuvius outpouring of jabber. It was so funny and right on, that I tried to tell P about it when he got home, in between telling him about the ambulance that almost hit us because that one car wouldn't get out of the way and how Max in Gymboree took our tambourine, before I launched into how I need more undereye concealer and did he know that the girl across the street who keeps parking her car in front of our house actually works at Hooters and leaves in her silly outfit? He tries to be attentive (sometimes) knowing full well that I don't get to talk to anyone who can actually talk all day long most days, and I try to shut up a little (sometimes) and make it extra exciting in the narration. Mostly we're not successful in that first half hour he's home, unless it's one of those days where I know I did something all day and that stuff happened, but I can't quite recall what. Then we're good.
Monday, October 11, 2004
And He saith unto her, Ye shall obey and provide many, many cookies.
I've been too busy to post a riveting blog entry because I've had a bunch of real (as in paid!) work (for money!) to do, the spouse decided desodding and reseeding the yard himself would be fun, and then there's this child here, whose life is in my hands.
Just when I was feeling bad for myself because I've hardly had any time lately to watch any Law & Order spin-offs, I met up with a new freelancing contact and discovered that she has a six-year-old, a one-year-old, is due to have #3 in January, and oh yeah, runs a little editorial freelancing business out of her living room. Voila! Just like that. And oh, incidentally, she was up with her vomiting baby at 3am, and still smiling happily when she met me at noon. And I'm pretty sure it's all without speed, since she's pregnant. As long as she's not working and watching babies and cleaning toilets while her husband watches football, and they're managing it all together, I'm always impressed by people who do so much stuff. It kind of made me feel silly for feeling bad for myself that I no longer have two-day blocks of free time to myself.
Almost, I said.
Weird Things.
a) The weird thing about holding and cuddling with a small boy all day, is that later, when you cuddle with the big grown up man, he just seems really big. We went to the park together and when the daddy emerged from the tunnel slide after baby, and all you could see were his feet, he looked about seven feet tall. It's just sort of funky when you forget people come in big and little, is all I'm saying. Because you're always around the little ones. Like whoa! I forgot that backs can be that big! I'm not rubbing your back. It's too much work!
b) And you just know that you need to reconnect with your nonparent self when Greg Wiggle is starting to look good. The man wears a yellow turtleneck and sings about fruit salad and dinosaurs, for god's sake. And the songs are fun and all, but it's all fun and games until the infectious songs start burning in your brain, relentlessly darkening and tormenting you in your REM sleep, which I fear is beginning to happen.
3) If someone with a hand half the size of your back were willing massage you and cuddle when you awoke in the morning at 5:30 a.m., wouldn't you go back to sleep? Wouldn't you? Because I would. Even if I were one-and-a-half, I'm certain I would.
That is all the weirdness there is time for at present. Time to go Nescafe myself and make some hide-the-broccoli casserole.
Just when I was feeling bad for myself because I've hardly had any time lately to watch any Law & Order spin-offs, I met up with a new freelancing contact and discovered that she has a six-year-old, a one-year-old, is due to have #3 in January, and oh yeah, runs a little editorial freelancing business out of her living room. Voila! Just like that. And oh, incidentally, she was up with her vomiting baby at 3am, and still smiling happily when she met me at noon. And I'm pretty sure it's all without speed, since she's pregnant. As long as she's not working and watching babies and cleaning toilets while her husband watches football, and they're managing it all together, I'm always impressed by people who do so much stuff. It kind of made me feel silly for feeling bad for myself that I no longer have two-day blocks of free time to myself.
Almost, I said.
Weird Things.
a) The weird thing about holding and cuddling with a small boy all day, is that later, when you cuddle with the big grown up man, he just seems really big. We went to the park together and when the daddy emerged from the tunnel slide after baby, and all you could see were his feet, he looked about seven feet tall. It's just sort of funky when you forget people come in big and little, is all I'm saying. Because you're always around the little ones. Like whoa! I forgot that backs can be that big! I'm not rubbing your back. It's too much work!
b) And you just know that you need to reconnect with your nonparent self when Greg Wiggle is starting to look good. The man wears a yellow turtleneck and sings about fruit salad and dinosaurs, for god's sake. And the songs are fun and all, but it's all fun and games until the infectious songs start burning in your brain, relentlessly darkening and tormenting you in your REM sleep, which I fear is beginning to happen.
3) If someone with a hand half the size of your back were willing massage you and cuddle when you awoke in the morning at 5:30 a.m., wouldn't you go back to sleep? Wouldn't you? Because I would. Even if I were one-and-a-half, I'm certain I would.
That is all the weirdness there is time for at present. Time to go Nescafe myself and make some hide-the-broccoli casserole.
