Hi.

How are you? What's new with you? What's the best thing that happened to you today?

Me? I'm good. I did not get a speeding ticket yesterday. I did this by not speeding. Duh. I didn't see the copolice hiding behind the sign, and then I was automatically afraid I was speeding, even though I hardly ever do, and then he pulled out, and I was all "Oh Shit", and then he pulled somebody else over. I felt so smug. I was all "Ha! Take THAT for Speeding! Yeah! Bet you wish you weren't all up in my business now!" because when you don't speed, everyone passes you and you begin to feel like they're all commenting on you somehow. Ok, so maybe it's just me.

ANYWAY.

Apparently clothes take away the Bean's superpowers or something. Like, if cloth touches her skin she'll melt. Some kind of Samson-esque thing, with the addition of clothing = the cutting of hair. She's convinced, at any rate, because the worst tantrums for the past few days have been over clothing and diapers. Usually I just give up and let her run around butt naked. Of course, hilarity ensues because she isn't potty trained. Yesterday she comes up to me saying "Butt?" and holds out a hand full of turd. I shriek "Uk!", to which she replies "Uk!" and drops it, splat. I laughed good and hard at that. No really, I did. It was funny. Last night and today she's decided a better idea is to poop in the diaper, then take the diaper off and bring the whole mess to the grown up in charge. Hilarity, folks, hilarity! It's like Easter, only the eggs aren't chocolate.

I miss my husband. I know he's around here somewhere. I've been carting the Boy to acting rehearsals and what have you, and he's been home finding those special eggs. It's funny, because it's not like we've spent That much time apart, it's only been, maybe, three days this week, but it feels like much much more. I love him and I miss him.

My little baby sleeps with her feet in the air, like this:


I ask you, how?

It is warming up here in New York. I'm still wearing sweaters, but I usually do that till about 75 degrees. I'm just pleased there's no snow.

ASIDE:
Die, snow, die! Hahahaha! You've melted! I fart in your general direction!
I FEEL MUCH BETTER NOW, THANKS

Tomorrow we're going to be drinking margaritas in celebration. Simon has made a bet with Boy that he can get me to eat the worm. He can't believe I've made it this far in life wormless. He says three drinks and the money is his. I say, I can't have three drinks, I'm nursing, and even if it were thirty drinks I still wouldn't eat the worm. The bottle says the worm is there because it's traditional blah blah the worm is a key blah blah blah something something it's not there for looks. It does not say "Super tasty! Doesn't even crunch like bug! Yum!" I say it's there because a bunch of Mexicans are chopping agave and thinking "The sun sure is hot, and these things are prickly, but at least I can get a chuckle out of the notion that some drunk idiot gringos actually eat these nasty ass grub bugs". I refuse to be pwned thus.

Imagining how hard it is to get those little pincher things out from between your teeth, whilst apologizing for the randomness and atrocious run-on sentences,
ephelba

Definately a bad witch.

So, the night before I cooked some spag sauce for the folks staying home, insisted the Boy make a dinner to take with him to his play rehearsal, and forgot to feed myself. I got some fast food and opted for Coke to drink, thinking I'd get some shit done when I got home. What I hadn't counted on was the caffeine high lasting till two in the morning. Or the Bug going on some wild sleep strike, waking up at six in the morning, and pretty much not sleeping the rest of the day. I was whupped.

This would also be the day that the Bean doesn't eat breakfast. She throws a record tantrum at lunch, but in the end consents to eat. Because of this I have high hopes for her demeanor after her nap, but Boy has Jazz band practice smack in the middle of her nap time. After much heart ache, I decide she needs the nap too much, and he needs the practice too much, so I'll put her down and pray the house is still standing when I get home. Only she won't go to sleep either. So. I pack everybody up and we all got to the school to discover there is no practice.

Ooooo Kay.

Later I drop the Boy off at his rehersal. I'm really hurting by the time I get home, and as I open the door I listen to see what kind of mood the Bean is in. She's nearly always throwing a fit over something lately. I didn't hear her, so I listened for the baby, and that's when I realized she was downstairs in the van.

Horrors!

Simon and I watched a few episodes of the Wire, and then I was getting the Bean her medicine and changing diapers and trying to get the silly baby to sleep, when the Boy called to ask why I wasn't there to get him. Oh, sorry, it's because I have forgotten you.

Shit.

I blame the tired. I just can't beat the tired.

Going to bed now,
ephelba

Book Slut

Simon has accused me of being a book slut. He says I'll read anything with a cover on it. The truth is, I don't even need a cover- I'll read blogs, pamphlets, even cereal boxes. However, I counter that because Simon reads the same books I read, he must be a book slut too. He says he's just slumming.

Mostly, he picks on me because I read YA novels. YA novels rock because they're an easy, quick read. When you're too mommy brained to remember to put diapers in the drier, an easy read is good. I do read adult books, but I find myself frustrated. Take, for example, The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I'm reading it, and I'm very pleased that I catch almost all the Geek references. I know enough Spanish that I can make most of those references out too. I do have a basic understanding of the literary tools used- the author uses other characters to narrate Oscar's life because he wants to emphasize Oscar's singularity. I think. And there's obviously symbolism employed, because there's a great golden mongoose that keeps showing up, and large animals that aren't really there have to symbolize something, I'm pretty sure. My problem with the book is that once I'm done reading it I can't tell you why everyone thinks it's so great. I don't get it. What was the point of Oscar? Why do we spend so much time following his mom? What the hell does the mongoose mean? I'm not left with the warm fuzzy feeling of having read a great book, I'm just left feeling stupid.

Taking refuge in the fact she was a chem/math major,
ephelba

Children

What an odd day. The first half went sooo well, and the second half soooo bad.

Morning: got the kids together enough to go eat lunch in the park. Even remembered the camera. Remembered to wash and dry the diapers. Folded laundry.

Evening: I took a much needed nap with the girls, and woke up with a sore throat and a general craptacular feeling. I told the fam it was cereal for dinner, then took the little one with me to the grocery store. Did not cook for the family. Did not make a list before going to the store. Was not the kind of mom/wife I want to be.

I am totally fighting a cold, I can tell, but I have high hopes that I will win.

On another note, there was a dude at the grocery store wearing a t-shirt that said "Fuck you, You Fucking Fucker". It is my opinion that such a t-shirt was meant to be worn at, say, an adult party, perhaps, or maybe at a bar. It was not meant to be worn at a grocery store where one is likely to run into nine year old kiddos. At such times, the meaning of the shirt changes from "Fuck you" to "I'm a Tremendously Large Asshole". And that's what I have to say about that.

Hoping to wake up feeling snappy,
ephelba

Well, she's ours.

Ain't she pretty?

Myfarmer took me to get her. When I saw her I felt so, hmmmm, awed. Yes. I was in awe. I knew I was going to buy her and she was going to be the most awesome vehicle I had ever owned.

ASIDE:
I say "I" but I mean "We". You know. I'll be driving it the most though.
BECAUSE I LOVES ME SOME SIMON:

The Nissan? I loved her. But. Imagine if you will, being nine months pregnant. You've put your daughter's carseat behind your seat for ease of putting her in the car, but that shoves your seat up. You have stand on one leg, fish the other leg around the steering wheel, lower your rump to the seat, grab the wheel and haul yourself into place. Getting out is just as fun. After the baby arrives you add her carseat to the mix. Now both of the front seats are shoved forward. The Boy has to inhale to reach his seatbelt buckle. Every time you go anywhere you know that a car wreck means your legs are going to be soooo screwed, but you know you won't care as long as the children are safe. Sadly, you're not sure you can count on that either. Then the littlest one needs a new carseat, and suddenly you have to take two cars to go anywhere as a family.

So. It was time. Now we've got sooo much room it's like driving a house. I can rest easier about the kiddos being safe. The little things are nice too- like having a heater and a cd player and lots of pockety places to put things. Oh! And it's a great excuse to get some flash new deedley balls. Behold:
Detail:
And today I got some matching placemats to put over the seats where the girls put their feets, because we want the seats to stay nice.

In other news: The littlest girl grows a tooth. Apparently she plans on using it to take my nipples off.

The house is still clean (Yay us! Everybody, even the Bean, has helped with this.)

I am not pregnant. Hormonally bitchy? OH YES.

The dog has received her annual spring haircut and is on her way to looking fly. Or at least, not matted.

And with that, I go to bed.

Goodnight,
ephelba

We might have a winner!

A 2000 Honda Odyssey with slightly less than a million miles on it. If things work out, as soon as we buy it we'll have to take it to the shop because it's due for its 100000 mile maintenance fest, but they are good vehicles, they are, and the price is low, it is, so we're calling it good.

It took me more than 30 years, but I've turned into a minivan-driving-mother of three.

Huh.

I think I'm ok with that.

Guess I'll have to sign the girls up for soccer next,
ephelba

Can Zofran get you high?

Ok, so, like, No. It's for nausea. Nausea is a fancy way of saying "feeling like you're going to throw up and wishing you could just die". Zofran doesn't make you feel high, it makes you stop feeling like barfing.

It's twenty dollars for 4 milligrams. You can't find a cheaper way to (try to) get high? Might I suggest cough syrup?

How bout you check out 52 projects, or Learning to Love You More, or the Generosity Game or You Are Beautiful. How bout you go for a walk. How bout you learn to be happy with the life you've got?

Who am I kidding? I'm talking to the kind of asshat who steals Zofran from their grandfather who's dying of cancer.

A little tired of people finding her blog this way,
ephelba

Things to be proud of.

Today I could have taken a nap, because the planets aligned in such a manner that both the girls slept at the same time for nearly three hours. Instead of taking a nearly three hour long, lovely, golden, sweet, delicious, warm, fuzzy nap, I cleaned the kitchen. I even mopped the floor a bit.

Damn skippy.

Also? I made dinner, including the cooking of the eggs* all by myself, on time and with more than one item.

Also? I kicked the monkey off my back and didn't drink any coffee. Of the caffeinated sort.

Also? I researched, called, emailed about and dithered over, like, a million and a half cars, minivans, suvs and such. Yeah. They're still sofa king expensive. And how.

Also? When the Boy got upset about whether he'll be able to hack going to school, I didn't beat him with a chair whilst shouting "WTF? Dude! Quit thinking up things to upset yourself with and go to sleep because guess what! You're homeschooled!!!" I wasn't super sensitive caring Mom, because this kind of shit pushes my buttons, but I was nice enough to talk him down before I sent him back to bed.

Also? I was tempted with the Hanging Out With Friends after the meeting, but I knew Simon and the girls were waiting and I didn't want to let them down, so I came home right away. Even though I really wanted to stay and play. I didn't. I was good.

Ummmm. I think that's all. Cleaning your house, feeding your family and not beating your children is supposed to be a given. It's sort of sad that I feel like it's an accomplishment. Seeing as how that's what I want to have happen in my house, though, means I can be glad that I got what I want. I would like to think it only gets easier.

Going to go to sleep in her cleaner house much earlier than usual, thus earning even more bonus points,
ephelba

* I can and do cook, but Simon is the Egg Master. I know eggs seem like a simple thing to cook, but I generally cock it up somehow. They're always edible, but rarely super. I did pretty good tonight.
The other thing I tend to do is cook one food and call it dinner. Like, if I said "We're having pancakes for dinner" then we're having pancakes. No bacon, no eggs, not even syrup. You think I'm kidding. Simon knows I'm not, and wishes I'd consent to at least using plates on pancake night....

Kirikou and the Sorceress

This takes the prize for The Cartoon With The Most T1ttays Ever! Some are round, some are flaccid, some have pasties, but none are covered. This is appropriate, one could argue, given the setting of the cartoon. They aren't really sexualized. Seriously though? for us Mericans it takes a bit of getting used to.

The actual story line is ok, but I was bothered by (what I took to be) the blatant message "Sex makes you a man". The baby Kirikou heals the Sorceress, then talks her into kissing him and grows instantly into a handsome man. She, of course, is still kneeling, which creates a tableau that made me and Simon laugh heartily. Then she and he decide to "Stay in the forest a while". Oh yeah they do. Boy says I'm blowing things all out of proportion, and anyways, sex does make you a man.

Obviously needing to do some more parenting,
ephelba

PS
Cars? They are sofa king expensive, and I'm not even kidding. I'm going to end up driving a cozy coupe.

I R HAZ STOOPID

Alright, so it's a given that I can't be trusted with my own fertility. No news there. And we know that, although the plumbing has been rerouted, the baby juice is still lingering in The Mister's pipes. OK. Yeah. So. See, even though I'm nursing, my body kicked into "We could make a baby"gear last month. Cool. I was down with that, because This time we would be Good and use condoms and stuff when we were supposed to. Yeah. Which would have been on such and so date. Which means that yesterday my Aunt should have come to visit. But she didn't. Nor did she come today. Ok, Fine, Shit, Whatever, I take a pregnancy test and it says "Hey! You passed! Alrighty! No Baby for You!" except I'm like "Hey? Where's my Aunt?" so I consult the Oracle and it says "You big dumbass- nursing can cause random wacky cycles complete with extra fun fertility at unpredictable times" and I'm all like "Shit! How can I not know this !?! Because ACK- Like there's been so much fun lovin lately and who the hell knows what is going on!"

If I make it through the next two months without getting pregnant it will be SUCH a miracle.

Going to look at minivans on Craigslist,
ephelba

Indeterminate

When you're talking about a system of linear equations, indeterminate means you've either got infinitely many solutions or none at all. Our life is indeterminate right now.

Our apartment is perched at the intersection of four other functions. We smell the smoke from one neighbor's apartment, hear the music from the other, wake to the parties and door slams of the bar next door, and worry about the PCBs from the old factory site behind the house. The solution to this system? We could move. Anywhere. Somewhere warm, maybe? To the neighboring town? To the town where Simon works? That would be the set of infinite solutions. We could stay here and suck it up like we have been sucking it up for the past two years. That would be No Solution.

Then there's the transportation problem. Simon drives a truck that we can't all fit into. I drive a little Nissan Sentra that I Love, but frankly, when we all piled in we looked like we were in a clown car. Then the Bug grew out of the baby bucket car seat and into a new carseat that doesn't fit in the back with the Bean's seat and the Boy. Now when we go somewhere all together we have to take two cars. The water pump and possibly the timing belt have gone on it (EEEP). It's in the shop awaiting a diagnosis, but it brings home the point that, really, we need a new car. Do we spend the money to fix the Nissan? That doesn't fit us? But is cheaper than buying a new car? That would fit us? Infinite Solutions or No Solutions.

This year is setting up to be a good year for us financially. Simon got a raise. We're going to be able to pay off most of our debts. We're hoping to be good little Americans and make some long awaited purchases. It's frustrating because it seems like whenever we take two steps forward we have to take one step back.

I suppose the truth of it is that all the available solutions are good. Either we're moving to a better housing situation and driving there in a new minivan, or we're not changing a thing and we're no worse off than when we started. Somehow it just doesn't feel that way.

Right now, as I'm typing this, Chef is singing "Suck on my chocolate salty balls" and Boy is about to see Mr. Hanky for the first time. The girls are fairly entranced too. Ahhhh, South Park.... the cartoon your whole family can enjoy.

Feeling oh so proud,
ephelba