TheMommyBlog

Friday, October 10, 2003

OK. Just went to get a cup of coffee, grabbed the skim milk, and it poured out in lumps.

Friday, October 10, 2003

Lemme set the scene: Sleep deprived. Here ‘til 8:00 p.m., reviewing files. Up three times last night with dd. Breakfast meeting this morning with Management Committee at 8:30. Dug up some earrings to wear in feeble effort to look more professional. Pearl came loose, no problem, glued it back in, tucked my hair behind my ears, and hopped in the car.

Fast forward: breakfast was great, sat with my boss the CFO and some HR ladies, hopped in the car to come back to my office. Glanced in the mirror, and AAAAAACCCKKKK! What is that shit hanging from my earlobe?? There is a GLOB of Gorrilla Glue that seeped out from behind the pearl, flowed lavalike over the base of the earring, crept to the tip of my earlobe, and hung there like sap on a treetrunk. It was actually kind of pretty, catching the light in an amberlike glow, but it could also be mistaken for a huge, infectious pus bubble. Why didn’t those “nice” HR ladies say anything??? I looked like Ben Stiller in There’s Something About Mary showing up at Cameron Diaz’s door with a glop of sperm hanging from the side of his head.

And then, as is my wont, I made it worse. I tried to wipe it off when I stopped at an intersection. Now it’s all over my fingertips. And the steering wheel. Just how much glue did I put in there? I was suddenly reminded of a Burt Reynolds movie I saw centuries ago where he is having an affair with Kim Bassinger, and somehow they managed to get glue all over their hands, and she tries to remove his belt but then can’t put it down, and then the husband comes home and Burt hides in the closet, but then the toy Scottish terrier is clawing at the door, so Burt picks it up and holds it in his lap. Kim, meanwhile, is distracting her husband by asking him to look out the window with her hands and the belt behind her back, while jerking her head at Burt to start crawling out of the room, but of course now his hand is stuck to the dog’s fur, so he has to crawl, commando style, across the huge bedroom suite, get into his car (quickly abandoning a futile attempt to fasten the seatbelt) and get out of the gated complex and past the security guard, steering with the dog stuck to his hand. Back in the bedroom, Kim puts her hands at her side, cracks the belt like a whip, and says, “Honey, we’re going to do something different tonight!”

One minute later, I gingerly steered into my parking space, took out the earring (it was exceptionaly easy to keep track of, with the post stuck to my forefinger and the back stuck to my thumb), used my hip and elbow to swipe my security badge and get inside the door, and stood there glaring at my hand.

Finally, having poured half a bottle of Crystal Geyser over my hands and that stupid pearl, I can now type without a sensation akin to stepping stickily across a movie theater floor.

Thursday, October 09, 2003

So I called my husband the other day while he and the kids were out doing yard work, and while we were talking, he cupped his hand over the receiver to tell our 5-year-old to put down the very sharp knife he was waving around, and then came back and picked up where he left off. Of course, I couldn’t hear a word he was saying, because I could think was: “sharp…knife…waving…please…no…”

I apologized for interrupting, and asked to speak to Logan, who was very loudly protesting in the background.

“Hi Logan! Hey, if Daddy asks you to stop doing something dangerous, that’s a good thing. He’s looking out for you.”

“But I wanted it and I wasn’t near anyone.”

“That doesn’t matter. The point (as it were) is that it’s not a toy, and it’s very sharp, and there is never a time when it’s OK to play with it like a sword, and it’s definitely not OK for your little brother and sister to get that idea from watching you. Daddy’s doing a good thing—he’s protecting you! He’s being a hero!”

[Mumbled.] “He’s being a jerk.”

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

We don’t want to talk about it.

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

If you’ve been following, and I’m sure you have, you already know that we have a small antibiotics fair going on here. Dylan just finished his course, I’m in the middle of mine, and, to our collective dismay, Logan is just starting his. Now, I was raised in the Catholic church, so I know a little something about rituals, and I can tell you with full confidence that Logan is one of the most ritual-happy beings on the planet. Here’s a typical dosage routine:

“Mommy, something hasn’t happened yet tonight…something that starts with ‘M’...” (He HATES taking medicine, so it’s always funny that he reminds us.)

‘OK, let’s go! Here it is! Drink when you’re ready.” [Sits down for a long wait.]

“OK…got my glass of water…need to fill it up alllll the way to the top…OK, I’m ready. Gotta warm up.”

[Puts down the water and the spoon and shakes out his arms, jogs in place, and swivels his neck. Picks up the spoon and then the water again.]

“Here goes nothing….[softly] I am going to die...OK, countdown…30, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1….”

[Puts down the water and spoon again and stands quietly, staring at his feet.]

“OK, I can do this. I’m strong. I’m a super hero. OK. Gonna drink it now.”

[Bursting] “Logan, will you please just drink it???”

“Mom. I’ll make you a deal. If I drink it, can I wash the spoon out?”

[Can he wash the spoo…] “Of COURSE you can! Let’s do it!”

“OK, wait, I gotta loosen up some more [jogs in place]. Here goes nothing…[stares at the spoon, raises it to his mouth, opens wide, starts to tilt, hesitates, tilts again, hesitates]”

[Mom giving her 5-year-old a very hard stare]

”[GULP] Gotta take a deep breath…”

[Finally drinks the #^*&(#$&()@ medicine, slams the spoon down on the counter, grabs the water, drinks the ENTIRE glass (Mommy gets a flash about bedtime accidents), and says,

“Mommy, I gotta tell you a secret in your ear: don’t tell Daddy about the medicine, so I can tell him.”

“OK hon.” [passes out.]