now i've never committed murder but i am fairly certain that homicidal rage can occur in one of two ways. either there is a big monumental rage-causing event (such as discovering that your husband has thrown away the half-pan of brownies you were saving for dinner when you were 9+ months pregnant because he did not want them. side note: who does that!?). or it can be the accumulation of a lot of seemingly inconsequential things. likely compounded by a serious lack of sleep and picking green beans out of your unwashed, uncombed hair on the way to work. it was this second type of homicidal rage that overtook me yesterday.
the details themselves are mundane so i won't waste space on the internet. however, the state of homicidal rage provides a strange heightened sense of awareness. when i was riding my bike home barefoot (long story) and the little nubs of my purple glow-in-the-dark plastic pedals were boring into my previously-perfectly-pedicured feet, i had the opportunity to visualize and ponder the phrase "when the shit hits the fan." it is truly representative of the lead-in to the homicidal rage. having become more closely acquainted with poo in the last 5 months, i believe whole heartedly that shit itself, existing quietly in a pile perhaps even in an easily-disposable package, is bad enough. shit in motion is just plain wrong.
also, i can now officially appreciate the phrase "bone tired" and it doesn't have anything to do with fatigue in the bones. it's actually when you finally get a chance to lay down and you feel like your skin is so tired and worn out that you're not sure it's going to keep holding your bones in.
06 April 2011
28 March 2011
Through the Looking Glass
i <3 my little family.
i have come to the realization, however, that i live in a parallel universe to the one i previously inhabited -- everything looks the same but, among other things, i am no longer allowed to call my husband by his first name. he is now "daddy" and the one time i slipped and called him aaron -- the same name i have been calling him for the last 2 1/2 years -- i was scolded for being confusing. hello, i am confused! i haven't used the word daddy in 25 years myself and it certainly wasn't in any sort of context i now want to attach to my husband. nor do i associate my black glittery toenails hidden by hot pink patent leather boat shoes with the word "mommy."
it also has become necessary to speak, at all times, in the third person. look P, mommy is in the kitchen. mommy is smashing up some carrots for P. mommy is pouring the smashed carrots into little bitty cups. all the better in a sing-songy voice, if not a full-fledge song (preferably to the tune of the beattles' yellow submarine). i try not to think too hard about narrating my own, pathetic existence. P thinks its fascinating when i dictate letters about discovery deadlines and settlement offers in song mode at home. i doubt he has a lot of strong feelings one way or the other regarding my other activities.
along the same lines, having a baby invites the most passive-aggressive communication i have ever experienced. first, you can use your baby as your mouthpiece to boss people around. for example, when a crowd gathers uncomfortably close to watch you clean up the worst poop you've ever seen (a record that is broken time and time again), just say: get out of my face grandpa, i need some room to breathe. translate: P could give two shits, literally, who is stuck up his butt, almost literally, but mommy needs some fresh air.
you can also comment on pretty much anything through your baby by telling your baby to "say" something. say "that sweater is ugly, dude." translate: mommy thinks that sweater is ugly, dude. but it's cute when a baby says it, so it's okay.
then there are the rhetorical questions. like when you've asked your husband to empty the diaper genie 47 times but it is still full and the squish of pushing yet another saturated diaper in is making your stomach turn a little bit. you say: hey P, is daddy ever going to take out the diaper genie like he said he would 47 times ago? or is mommy going to have to keep pushing your big stinky squishy diapers in there foreeeeeeever? translate: i am annoyed because you have not done as i have asked. or: for the 48th time, please do what i have asked. also hidden in the translation: i am annoyed at the existence of the diaper genie, which is a $25 plastic bucket that requires $7 proprietary plastic bags and teases you with the unattainable possibility that you might ever stop smelling poo.
also popular: is daddy a big fat poo-poo head? translate: i am accepting apologies. and wouldn't it be nice if __________? translate: do ___________, preferably ASAMFP.
you really have to be careful not to let your guard down when you're using these techniques because it becomes second nature and the baby monitor can turn on you any second as it broadcasts your smart-ass remarks to who knows where. you can follow the white rabbit into the hole but you've gotta be quick if you're going to outlast and outsmart him and avoid becoming a significantly less glamourous pile of mushy mommy with pleated jeans, tangled hair and a family of fanny packs.
i have come to the realization, however, that i live in a parallel universe to the one i previously inhabited -- everything looks the same but, among other things, i am no longer allowed to call my husband by his first name. he is now "daddy" and the one time i slipped and called him aaron -- the same name i have been calling him for the last 2 1/2 years -- i was scolded for being confusing. hello, i am confused! i haven't used the word daddy in 25 years myself and it certainly wasn't in any sort of context i now want to attach to my husband. nor do i associate my black glittery toenails hidden by hot pink patent leather boat shoes with the word "mommy."it also has become necessary to speak, at all times, in the third person. look P, mommy is in the kitchen. mommy is smashing up some carrots for P. mommy is pouring the smashed carrots into little bitty cups. all the better in a sing-songy voice, if not a full-fledge song (preferably to the tune of the beattles' yellow submarine). i try not to think too hard about narrating my own, pathetic existence. P thinks its fascinating when i dictate letters about discovery deadlines and settlement offers in song mode at home. i doubt he has a lot of strong feelings one way or the other regarding my other activities.
along the same lines, having a baby invites the most passive-aggressive communication i have ever experienced. first, you can use your baby as your mouthpiece to boss people around. for example, when a crowd gathers uncomfortably close to watch you clean up the worst poop you've ever seen (a record that is broken time and time again), just say: get out of my face grandpa, i need some room to breathe. translate: P could give two shits, literally, who is stuck up his butt, almost literally, but mommy needs some fresh air.
you can also comment on pretty much anything through your baby by telling your baby to "say" something. say "that sweater is ugly, dude." translate: mommy thinks that sweater is ugly, dude. but it's cute when a baby says it, so it's okay.
then there are the rhetorical questions. like when you've asked your husband to empty the diaper genie 47 times but it is still full and the squish of pushing yet another saturated diaper in is making your stomach turn a little bit. you say: hey P, is daddy ever going to take out the diaper genie like he said he would 47 times ago? or is mommy going to have to keep pushing your big stinky squishy diapers in there foreeeeeeever? translate: i am annoyed because you have not done as i have asked. or: for the 48th time, please do what i have asked. also hidden in the translation: i am annoyed at the existence of the diaper genie, which is a $25 plastic bucket that requires $7 proprietary plastic bags and teases you with the unattainable possibility that you might ever stop smelling poo.
also popular: is daddy a big fat poo-poo head? translate: i am accepting apologies. and wouldn't it be nice if __________? translate: do ___________, preferably ASAMFP.
you really have to be careful not to let your guard down when you're using these techniques because it becomes second nature and the baby monitor can turn on you any second as it broadcasts your smart-ass remarks to who knows where. you can follow the white rabbit into the hole but you've gotta be quick if you're going to outlast and outsmart him and avoid becoming a significantly less glamourous pile of mushy mommy with pleated jeans, tangled hair and a family of fanny packs.
16 March 2011
Bringing Sexy Back
i have been inspired to resurrect my blog by, of all things, the lameness of others. i am a firm believer in it's-never-too-late. for example, it's never too late to eat a bowl of ice cream. it's never too late to pick up the book you started 6 months ago and put down 5 months ago. it's never too late to file some marginally-applicable authority (and well disguised argument) with the court in a desperate effort to get the last word in. thus, i feel no shame in picking up the pen after many, many months of saying nothing of my glamorous life.
arguably, if you even have time to update the internet on your goings-on, there is a problem. however, i promise i will never recount everything (or anything) i ate in the last 24 hours or blindly list every mannequin featured at madame tussaud's. i'll save those gems for after P checks me in to a nursing home, the posh-ness of which is a direct reflection on his assessment of my parenting. because in all seriousness, until that time i have many, many other things to report on.
the complete failure of humanity comes to mind. i've managed to keep 9 3/4 months of pregnancy (the perils of which will no doubt be the topic of a future episode) and the subsequent 4 1/2 months of motherhood pretty light-hearted -- although i should have anticipated that a baby who made his appearance at 4:55 a.m. would consider that an appropriate time to wake up every morning thereafter. at any rate, a judge ruled today that there is nothing inappropriate, dishonest, or outrageous about baiting an obviously mentally ill homeless man with cigarettes, secretly videotaping an innocent conversation, and spinning his responses to parallel the characteristics of a fugitive on the FBI's most wanted list for decapitating his family and setting his house on fire, and broadcasting these so-called "uncanny similarities "on a statewide newsbroadcast. is this easily-recognizable local homeless man actually a mass murderer? tune in at 10 to find out! . . . to find out that, although they both have blue eyes and attend prayer meetings, the answer is unequivocally NO because local legend, affectionately known as parkaman, is six inches too tall and has a verified identity (even if he's not sure what it is). no matter that he received death threats after the story aired. no matter that he was forced to relocate his "home" from the ditch in front of walmart store no. 1299 to an undisclosed location. again -- makes my stomach turn over, but, as a matter of law, not outrageous.
this is what we in america call free speech. you need not speak the absolute truth, even if you know unequivocally what it is, but only the "substantial" truth skewed in a way to maximize your ratings. you need not respect the space of a homeless man because "there is no right to privacy in a public park." the word "no" actually means "yes" when you lack the wherewithall to recognize when someone is duping you with tobacco. and oh yes, there's nothing wrong with secretly videorecording and publishing a conversation as long as one person -- presumably the person with the camera -- knows it's there. this is the america i must raise my son in and protect him from.
so i get it -- that's the law and it's a balancing act of one person's rights and responsibilities against another. and maybe it works well for the average person. being the outspoken author of a blog, i may myself have to rely on the substantial truth defense some day. but why does the law leave behind the people who need it most? the people who can't stand up for and protect themselves. the unsexy. imagine if someone compared me to a mass murderer on a statewide television broadcast . . . i'd make a career out of making bad publicity for those jerks and good publicity for me. use that as a jumpstart to write some legislation demanding the return of integrity to the news media, spend a few months lobbying in D.C. and finally be interesting enough to appear on the howard stern show. presumably to explain how my proposed legislation gels with my love and respect for howard stern. in fact, aren't there any hard-nosed journalists who would do just about anything to get a story out there that want to fabricate a story about me? i guess i'm not exactly an easy target.
today i feel the weight of both the bigness and the smallness of the world. and so, i am back.
arguably, if you even have time to update the internet on your goings-on, there is a problem. however, i promise i will never recount everything (or anything) i ate in the last 24 hours or blindly list every mannequin featured at madame tussaud's. i'll save those gems for after P checks me in to a nursing home, the posh-ness of which is a direct reflection on his assessment of my parenting. because in all seriousness, until that time i have many, many other things to report on.
the complete failure of humanity comes to mind. i've managed to keep 9 3/4 months of pregnancy (the perils of which will no doubt be the topic of a future episode) and the subsequent 4 1/2 months of motherhood pretty light-hearted -- although i should have anticipated that a baby who made his appearance at 4:55 a.m. would consider that an appropriate time to wake up every morning thereafter. at any rate, a judge ruled today that there is nothing inappropriate, dishonest, or outrageous about baiting an obviously mentally ill homeless man with cigarettes, secretly videotaping an innocent conversation, and spinning his responses to parallel the characteristics of a fugitive on the FBI's most wanted list for decapitating his family and setting his house on fire, and broadcasting these so-called "uncanny similarities "on a statewide newsbroadcast. is this easily-recognizable local homeless man actually a mass murderer? tune in at 10 to find out! . . . to find out that, although they both have blue eyes and attend prayer meetings, the answer is unequivocally NO because local legend, affectionately known as parkaman, is six inches too tall and has a verified identity (even if he's not sure what it is). no matter that he received death threats after the story aired. no matter that he was forced to relocate his "home" from the ditch in front of walmart store no. 1299 to an undisclosed location. again -- makes my stomach turn over, but, as a matter of law, not outrageous.
this is what we in america call free speech. you need not speak the absolute truth, even if you know unequivocally what it is, but only the "substantial" truth skewed in a way to maximize your ratings. you need not respect the space of a homeless man because "there is no right to privacy in a public park." the word "no" actually means "yes" when you lack the wherewithall to recognize when someone is duping you with tobacco. and oh yes, there's nothing wrong with secretly videorecording and publishing a conversation as long as one person -- presumably the person with the camera -- knows it's there. this is the america i must raise my son in and protect him from.
so i get it -- that's the law and it's a balancing act of one person's rights and responsibilities against another. and maybe it works well for the average person. being the outspoken author of a blog, i may myself have to rely on the substantial truth defense some day. but why does the law leave behind the people who need it most? the people who can't stand up for and protect themselves. the unsexy. imagine if someone compared me to a mass murderer on a statewide television broadcast . . . i'd make a career out of making bad publicity for those jerks and good publicity for me. use that as a jumpstart to write some legislation demanding the return of integrity to the news media, spend a few months lobbying in D.C. and finally be interesting enough to appear on the howard stern show. presumably to explain how my proposed legislation gels with my love and respect for howard stern. in fact, aren't there any hard-nosed journalists who would do just about anything to get a story out there that want to fabricate a story about me? i guess i'm not exactly an easy target.
in other news, P has a new trick: what i like to call the NEED IT NOW. this presents itself mostly when P is sitting in my lap while i am trying to get some work done at home. as long as i'm writing, P is happy to sit in my lap, grunting quietly and kick-kick-kick-kicking his little legs (and only every 6th or 7th one will hit my hand, sending my pen skidding across the page). but as soon as i pick something up -- my phone, my dictator, a sandwich -- P comes to life! he immediately perks up and i can hear the unformed thought screaming through his head: "i don't know what that is but i NEED IT IN MY MOUTH ASAMFP!" as he stretches his little arms and pants and groans with effort. (his little trick presents itself at the end of the video, after much wiggling and jiggling and giggling). so far, P is content with just wanting, and not actually having. this will not last long . . . but his excitement and curiosity at the unknown are uplifting.
today i feel the weight of both the bigness and the smallness of the world. and so, i am back.
get your sexy on
go 'head be gone with it.
12 July 2009
Bridge Ices Before Road -- And Other Revelations
a couple of weeks ago, i realized that i am married. that only took a little over a year. aaron and i were standing outside late at night, in the same spot where we had our first kiss ironically, fumbling to get our key in the door in the dark. that was the moment i realized that i will spend every night with aaron for the rest of my life, whether we make it in before sundown or are fumbling in the dark for our keys. there was no associated feeling of dread or euphoria ... only a weird sense of reality. reality for me though looks a lot like this:
so who's complaining?
i'm coming up on my two-year anniversary of being in arizona and i'm still not quite adjusted. for example, in virginia, the sign says "bridge ices before road." this is still what i expect to see when i cross a bridge. i just can't get used to "ice forms on bridge first." my brain skips a beat every time as it struggles to process my pre-conceived notion of what i think the sign should say and what the sign actually says.
i will go on and on about the DMV (department of motor vehicles) which is actually the MVD (motor vehicle department) in arizona and i see no reason why VDOT cannot refer equally to the virginia and arizona departments of transportation.
i'm still not used to the dry -- which is OK because it means i get to buy a lot of yummy-smelling moisturizer -- and i still don't feel like it's humid. ever. however, i will repeat: dry heat, my ass. it's HOT. i got my first dose of "extreme heat warning" in phoenix yesterday when i gave a seminar on supplemental needs trusts to the hydrocephalus association support group. i was thrilled by the technical difficulties in my power point presentation so that i did not have to lift my arms to point at it after traveling just a few blocks in the 115 degree heat from the parking garage to the hospital. sheesh. it is literally like being in an oven. on the bright side (as always), there's no need for make-up with those bright eyes and flushed cheeks and smoothly-gliding lip gloss!
i'm still amazed at the scenery every time i drive by the red rocks in sedona or zip down the 17 through the rugged nothingness that is bloody basin and bumblebee. i still think it's weird that i live my entire life at a mile above sea level -- only a few hundred feet less than the highest point in virginia -- mount rogers at 5,729 feet. so ... i guess it takes more than a couple years to overcome 25 of life on the farm.
in general, life's as slow in northern arizona as it is in central virginia -- but not for me! i've moved my grandpa's 13" tv and complete collection of futurama DVDs from virginia to tempe to prescott to flagstaff to prescott valley and am finally settling down (haha) -- back in prescott. i've gone from unproven law school grad to attorney, wife, and small business owner/part-time bike shop girl. (side note: if you haven't already, check out our progress at sultana cycles. needless to say it's been a long, time-consuming progress, and i'm sure there will be lots of fun times in the future, like when we have to figure out how to do our taxes ...) i've also gone from mostly blonde to brunette ... and trust me, it is much more fun to have a fake hair color and forego the endless hours spent pulling out those gray hairs.
for picking up and moving 2500 miles away to a place i'd never been on a whim, i've done pretty good. here's to more adventure. (and more time to share it ...)
so who's complaining?i'm coming up on my two-year anniversary of being in arizona and i'm still not quite adjusted. for example, in virginia, the sign says "bridge ices before road." this is still what i expect to see when i cross a bridge. i just can't get used to "ice forms on bridge first." my brain skips a beat every time as it struggles to process my pre-conceived notion of what i think the sign should say and what the sign actually says.
i will go on and on about the DMV (department of motor vehicles) which is actually the MVD (motor vehicle department) in arizona and i see no reason why VDOT cannot refer equally to the virginia and arizona departments of transportation.
i'm still not used to the dry -- which is OK because it means i get to buy a lot of yummy-smelling moisturizer -- and i still don't feel like it's humid. ever. however, i will repeat: dry heat, my ass. it's HOT. i got my first dose of "extreme heat warning" in phoenix yesterday when i gave a seminar on supplemental needs trusts to the hydrocephalus association support group. i was thrilled by the technical difficulties in my power point presentation so that i did not have to lift my arms to point at it after traveling just a few blocks in the 115 degree heat from the parking garage to the hospital. sheesh. it is literally like being in an oven. on the bright side (as always), there's no need for make-up with those bright eyes and flushed cheeks and smoothly-gliding lip gloss!
i'm still amazed at the scenery every time i drive by the red rocks in sedona or zip down the 17 through the rugged nothingness that is bloody basin and bumblebee. i still think it's weird that i live my entire life at a mile above sea level -- only a few hundred feet less than the highest point in virginia -- mount rogers at 5,729 feet. so ... i guess it takes more than a couple years to overcome 25 of life on the farm.
in general, life's as slow in northern arizona as it is in central virginia -- but not for me! i've moved my grandpa's 13" tv and complete collection of futurama DVDs from virginia to tempe to prescott to flagstaff to prescott valley and am finally settling down (haha) -- back in prescott. i've gone from unproven law school grad to attorney, wife, and small business owner/part-time bike shop girl. (side note: if you haven't already, check out our progress at sultana cycles. needless to say it's been a long, time-consuming progress, and i'm sure there will be lots of fun times in the future, like when we have to figure out how to do our taxes ...) i've also gone from mostly blonde to brunette ... and trust me, it is much more fun to have a fake hair color and forego the endless hours spent pulling out those gray hairs.
for picking up and moving 2500 miles away to a place i'd never been on a whim, i've done pretty good. here's to more adventure. (and more time to share it ...)
20 May 2009
Urban Experiment
my husband has an idea for every day of the year. most of these revolve around how to run an awesome business -- whether its for rolling your own cigarettes or serving subpoenas or managing a non-profit clinic providing behavioral health services. as glamourous as all those options are, we have decided to start a bike shop. i say "we" even though i know almost nothing about bicycles -- having learned to ride in law school at age 22 and getting my first real bike for my 26th birthday.
(i like this one because it reminds me of an artsy bicycle ad -- when really i'm just too fast for the camera in my birthday dress. whoooosh.)
so it's really aaron who is opening the bike shop as he as all the knowledge, skills, and ideas ... but i imagine a husband with a small business will entail a lot of saturdays spent tooling around the bike shop bringing aaron cookies, putting things neatly on shelves, and learning how to grease bolts or whatever. not to mention fun pre-opening day activities scraping 5 years of dust off the window sills, applying a new coat of paint, poring over subleases and insurance agreements, trolling the internet for deals on things we need, etc.
though i know it will be a lot of work, i am super-excited. my husband has dreams and ideas and he's doing something about it. it feels like a long time since i fell in that category. plus, we have fun doing lots of other more mundane things together. like watching history channel specials on hitler's body guard. playing with fires. sticking magnets to things. we might as well have our shoulder-to-shoulder time playing in grease and arguing over the merits of disc brakes versus rim brakes. (FYI: disc brakes suck and my husband would never, ever argue with that.)
so now for something completely different: part-time bike shop girl at sultana cycles!
(i like this one because it reminds me of an artsy bicycle ad -- when really i'm just too fast for the camera in my birthday dress. whoooosh.)so it's really aaron who is opening the bike shop as he as all the knowledge, skills, and ideas ... but i imagine a husband with a small business will entail a lot of saturdays spent tooling around the bike shop bringing aaron cookies, putting things neatly on shelves, and learning how to grease bolts or whatever. not to mention fun pre-opening day activities scraping 5 years of dust off the window sills, applying a new coat of paint, poring over subleases and insurance agreements, trolling the internet for deals on things we need, etc.
though i know it will be a lot of work, i am super-excited. my husband has dreams and ideas and he's doing something about it. it feels like a long time since i fell in that category. plus, we have fun doing lots of other more mundane things together. like watching history channel specials on hitler's body guard. playing with fires. sticking magnets to things. we might as well have our shoulder-to-shoulder time playing in grease and arguing over the merits of disc brakes versus rim brakes. (FYI: disc brakes suck and my husband would never, ever argue with that.)
so now for something completely different: part-time bike shop girl at sultana cycles!
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