No real direction today; just a collection of widely scattered thoughts that I felt like getting out there in a meaningful way. Since I can't actually do that, I'll just put them in my blog instead.
Grant is growing again. I know this because for lunch he ate 6 pieces of lunch meat, a whole pbj sandwich, a granola bar, a bagel, a cup of applesauce and all of his milk. I think when he hits junior high and really starts eating, we'll have to purchase him some kind of membership at Old Country Buffet so we can be sure he gets enough chow.
We arrived home from Arizona to -30 windchills and I am trying to remember why we live here. Jobs, family -- something like that, but pretty meaningless in light of the vile weather.
Which, I've noticed, the weather people on local tv are fond of giving perky names like "Canadian Clipper," I guess on the theory that the sheer jauntiness of the name will cause us to forget that our skin freezes when we walk out to get the mail.
Skin. I have ignored it for a very long time, but now that I am over (f-word), I find that it can no longer be neglected. I have to make time to slather it with lotion after showering -- no small chore, finding an extra 3 minutes in my already abbreviated, kid-attuned shower routine -- or I risk developing nasty, scaly patches, or worse, cracks and splits. These, let me tell you, hurt like the worst paper cut you can imagine, and they refuse to heal without even more attention, like antibiotic cream and bandaids on all the affected areas. I have gone to bed with nearly every finger swathed in a bandage of some sort, like some sort of refugee from a cartoon piano accident.
This morning, the kids let me have a pee in peace. This is remarkable because of its rarity. Normally, I have an actual audience in the bathroom, often an audience that asks uncomfortably frank questions about whatever they may have noticed about the Potty Experience a la Mom. If I don't have a peanut gallery (or is it peenut?) then I have people standing right outside either tattling (Abby Kate), asking for snacks (Grant), or flinging themselves bodily against the door with much wailing and gnashing of teeth (Maggie). Every mother in the world knows what I'm talking about.
I always swore as a parent I would never be a total sucker and buy all that tie-in merchandise that is put out by every children's program out there, be it Nickelodeon or PBS. I was so, so wrong. I have embraced my inner Elmo now and purchased not one, but two Dora the Explorer Valentine books -- not just tie-in merchandise; seasonal tie-in merchandise. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Grant is growing again. I know this because for lunch he ate 6 pieces of lunch meat, a whole pbj sandwich, a granola bar, a bagel, a cup of applesauce and all of his milk. I think when he hits junior high and really starts eating, we'll have to purchase him some kind of membership at Old Country Buffet so we can be sure he gets enough chow.
We arrived home from Arizona to -30 windchills and I am trying to remember why we live here. Jobs, family -- something like that, but pretty meaningless in light of the vile weather.
Which, I've noticed, the weather people on local tv are fond of giving perky names like "Canadian Clipper," I guess on the theory that the sheer jauntiness of the name will cause us to forget that our skin freezes when we walk out to get the mail.
Skin. I have ignored it for a very long time, but now that I am over (f-word), I find that it can no longer be neglected. I have to make time to slather it with lotion after showering -- no small chore, finding an extra 3 minutes in my already abbreviated, kid-attuned shower routine -- or I risk developing nasty, scaly patches, or worse, cracks and splits. These, let me tell you, hurt like the worst paper cut you can imagine, and they refuse to heal without even more attention, like antibiotic cream and bandaids on all the affected areas. I have gone to bed with nearly every finger swathed in a bandage of some sort, like some sort of refugee from a cartoon piano accident.
This morning, the kids let me have a pee in peace. This is remarkable because of its rarity. Normally, I have an actual audience in the bathroom, often an audience that asks uncomfortably frank questions about whatever they may have noticed about the Potty Experience a la Mom. If I don't have a peanut gallery (or is it peenut?) then I have people standing right outside either tattling (Abby Kate), asking for snacks (Grant), or flinging themselves bodily against the door with much wailing and gnashing of teeth (Maggie). Every mother in the world knows what I'm talking about.
I always swore as a parent I would never be a total sucker and buy all that tie-in merchandise that is put out by every children's program out there, be it Nickelodeon or PBS. I was so, so wrong. I have embraced my inner Elmo now and purchased not one, but two Dora the Explorer Valentine books -- not just tie-in merchandise; seasonal tie-in merchandise. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
No comments:
Post a Comment