TheMommyBlog

Saturday, October 18, 2003

Today we attended the big annual fundraiser for our son’s school. The Walkathon. The idea is to get people to sponsor your child to walk laps around the track, and the more he walks, the more money he raises for the school. It’s a great concept. Unfortunately, they’ve never met our son. Fully one week before the event, he began cheerfully reminding us that he wasn’t going to walk laps. Each time the subject came up, he’d pop in like some radio announcer and remind us that he wasn’t walking. No sir.

This morning, as we were fueling up with omlettes in preparation for the big event, he said, “Mom. There’s something I’m not going to do today, and it starts with “L.”

“Laugh?"
“No.”
“Leak?”
“No.”
“Lick?”
“No.”
“OK, help me out here.”
“LAPS.”

Good thing we asked for flat-rate donations.

So we get in to the car....wait, that doesn’t begin to describe what happened. I announced to the children our imminent departure, then reminded sternly, then brought out clothes for each child, then tried to put them on myself, was roundly rebuffed, then acceeded to entreaties to please to let them dress themselves, then came back later to discover them in underwear again, then started dressing them in earnest, wrestling them into their socks and shoes ("Nooooo! I want white socks!” “Waaaiit!! Why do I hafta be dressed?” “"You ruined it! I want to put on my socks, and then my shoes, then my shirt, and then my shorts!”

Thirty minutes later, after handing each child a rope of licorice as a bribe to leave the house (hell, it was noon somewhere), we made our way to the curb only to realize that Daddy was still at the store with the car. Not wanting to risk a reversion to nudity by re-entering the house, we decided to wait on the sidewalk. Key point here: it’s a sideWALK. Or, in the 20-month-old’s case, a sideRUN. I spent twenty minutes trying to keep them all in sight--one running towards one end of the block, and the other, inevitably, running towards the other (no idea, really where the third was all this time). I went with the youngest and begged the oldest to freeze (hah), and carried a screaming, wriggling, thrashing marlin of a toddler 100 yards back to the house, just as my husband pulled up and asked if everyone was excited to go! Sure! Piece of cake!

Short story: no one walked more than a single lap. Saying that the 3-year-old walked that full lap is sort of like saying that the Pony Express succeeded because the riders had such endurance (he rode on Daddy’s shoulders). Ten minutes later, they were all at the playground, drinking 7-Up and talking about how tired they were.

We did manage to accomplish something, though: third, second, and first place in the Really Bad Parents Derby.

P.S. That scattering-to-both-ends-of-the-block thing happened again on the way to the car. Here are the boys at one end, and the baby at the other end. I couldn’t be of use to anyone so I just stood there, helplessly snapping photos. Can’t tell what she’s doing? Here’s a closeup. She’s trying to shove her hat into her pants. She was so angelic at the beginning, but by the time we left, it looked like she’d been drinking Mad Dog instead of 7-Up, the way she was stripping out of constricting clothes and staggering around.

Friday, October 17, 2003

I fell in love today. He’s a little on the short side, but his eyes are so full of feeling that it makes him seem 6 feet tall (long). Here he is--free to a good home.

(Daisy, you’ve outdone yourself.)

Thursday, October 16, 2003

OK, this is total bullshit:

I have issues with...

failure chaos domination murder disease

Take Word Association Test

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Thanks to Dee for the Personality test link. It turns out I have one.

ENTJ - “Field Marshall”. The basic driving force and need is to lead. Tend to seek a position of responsibility and enjoys being an executive. 1.8% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

Enneagram Test Results Type 1 Perfectionism |||||||||||||||||||| 82% Type 2 Helpfulness |||||||||||||||| 66% Type 3 Ambition |||||||||||||||| 66% Type 4 Sensitivity |||||||||| 34% Type 5 Detachment |||||||||| 38% Type 6 Anxiety |||||| 26% Type 7 Adventurousness |||||||||||| 46% Type 8 Hostility |||||||||||||||| 62% Type 9 Calmness |||||||||||||||| 62% Your Conscious-Surface type is 1w2 Your Unconscious-Overall type is 1w2

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

Thursday, October 16, 2003

I have this thing about salmon. I really don’t like it. The taste, the smell of it cooking, and especially the smell of the packaging after it’s been emptied just absolutely makes me gag. Thing is, it’s my husband’s favorite food. A preference with which he has now also infected the children. I don’t know why I find this so distressing, as I never have to eat it myself.

While pregnant and in possession of bionic senses, I would have to open all the windows, spray the offending air with whatever was handy and did not smell like salmon, and sometimes even leave the house until the odor dissapated. I would also get upset if I had forgotton to close our bedroom door to keep the smell from disturbing my sleep later on. In short, I’m a little neurotic about it.

So last night I came home to “fishy” children. Not a biggie, I don’t care what they eat during the day, I’d just prefer not to relive it when I get home. The problem was that I couldn’t tell where the smell was coming from. I scrubbed to counters, the table, and the floor under the kids’ chairs. Still stinky. Then Dylan crawled into my lap and I got a noseful of the fishiest-smelling hair in history. Aaaaaccckkkkkk! How did he get salmon in his hair? Doesn’t that get you disqualified?

“Up! Up! Out! Bath! Bubbles! Now!” I plonked everyone in the tub and went, shuddering, back to my favorite chair.

Which smelled like salmon.

I dropped to my knees, scoured the floor for rotting aquatic fleshy bits, recalling that Logan had left his dinner plate on the chair the other night (Why?? Who does that?), and almost gagging at the thought that it had been ripening since then. Nothing. Then I smelled the slip cover. Gag, gag, gag. Doused it with Fabreeze and moved on.

Cut to this morning, as I was showing off my new, comfy, Hannah Andersson drawstring skirt.

Logan: “Mommy? You know how much you don’t like salmon?”

Me: “...Yeesss....?”

Logan: “Well, that’s how much I don’t like looking at you in those pants.”

Me: “...???...”

Logan: “Because they have ties on them. And I hate ties.”

Me: “...Wow. Okay.” (Rolls eyes.)

Later, he came to me while I was drying my hair and said, “Mommy, I don’t like looking at Dylan in his shorts, either.” He cupped a hand next to his mouth and said in a stage whisper, “They have a rip.”

(Speaking of neurotic.)