FRIDAY, April 15 2011 The Belly Dance
You know what? My giant belly is really starting to come in handy.
It makes a great catcher for stains that would have normally ended up on my lap. It's a lovely conversation piece (now that people aren't afraid to acknowledge it as a pregnancy and not just an unfortunate over-indulgence of ice cream sundaes). It evokes smiles, nods, and--if I'm shlepping my children through a steamy parking lot and they're whining in harmony--looks of sympathy.
Most of all though, it gets me out of a lot of things I would normally have no excuse for. Now when I botch my parking job in the garage, leaving Jeff enough room to exit his car only if he possess the superhero ability to turn himself into a vapor, I just blame it on my belly. As in, I can't possible squeeze out of my own car if the door is too close to the wall. Sorry, honey...
FRIDAY, AUGUST 20 2010 Art Sicko
Yesterday was a long day. I am doing serious battle with a pisser of a cold, and both children had apparently raided the fridge in the middle of the night and gotten into Jeff's stash of Rock Star. I felt like my energy level was somewhere at a negative four, and theirs was about eighty-gajillion to the power of google. And my voice is gone, so yelling at them, while normally pretty ineffective when I can reach 140 decibels, proved to be completely useless when I sound like a squeaky toy.
I'm not gonna lie. I let them get away with everything short of premeditated homicide yesterday. I just didn't have it in me to enforce whatever lax rules I instill on a regular basis. Rollie discovered how much fun a ping pong ball and a ceiling fan can be. And I discovered that Elsa make it from the arm of the couch onto the end table in a single bound, with only one in four attempts ending in disaster...
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24 2010 Birdland
Did I wake up this morning knowing that today I'd be running around my front yard in a bra?
It all started yesterday when I sat in Rollie's room, windows open, watching him throw his toys out of his toybox in search of his new plastic, dragon-slaying sword. I was telling him to stop emptying his toy box, that his stupid sword probably wasn't even in there, but instead of heeding my instructions, he was going on and on, explaining to me why he thought his sword was indeed inside, hidden beneath the yellow diggers and Little People accessories.
I should be disciplining him, I thought. I should get after him about not listening to me. And when he still refuses to stop tossing his toybox like he's searching for contraband, I should physically force him to do so, lead him by the arm and direct him to stoop and pick up every blessed toy that's gone flying across the room...
You are viewing the text version of this site.
To view the full version please install the Adobe Flash Player and ensure your web browser has JavaScript enabled.
Need help? check the requirements page.
