The New Girl

Grab Bag. Or, A Nice Way To Say 'A Bunch Of Random Crap.'

* Today is the 4th anniversary of my mom's death.  She died at 11:30 at night and I am hoping to sleep through the actual MOMENTS.  It hasn't been as present on my mind today as it has been over the last week or so but this weird-ass memory keeps popping into my head.  I have an ASSHAT relative (whom I never could stand) who fancied herself *close* to my mother.  After my mom died, I was talking about it in front of her, when I mentioned the 28th.  She said,*reproving tone* 'TNG, it was the twenty-NINTH.'  I said, 'Uh. NO.  It was the TWENTY-EIGHTH.  They didn't pronounce her dead until the Twenty-Ninth.'  I have NO idea why THAT little trivial bit of nonsense is stuck in my head, but there it is.

* My dad's here.  He FINALLY came to see The Niece.  It is a seven hour trip from his door to ours but I'm not exaggerating to say that it's like, SEVEN TURNS.  It's basically a STRAIGHT SHOT.  And he gets lost every. single. time.

* This weekend, one of my goodest-ever friends is coming from NY to see us.  I can't wait to see her and for her to see TLNG.  She hasn't seen her for the better part of a year and whoo-boy, it's going to be a sight to behold.

* I have been sick a number of times since I've been irregularly posting.  Right now, I have no voice (The Man is not complaining) and I am congested.  HIDEOUS.  I can't even remember what I've told you and what I haven't.  Did I tell you that while The Man was out of town and The Little Sister was on vacation, I got a MASSIVE HORRIBLE VIRUS and had to go to the ER for fluids and anti-vomit medication?  No?  With my poor MIL?  And we didn't get out of there until THREE AM?  And the effing BIRDS WERE CHIRPING?  Obviously, I'm still not over it.

* I'm trying to clean my RIDICULOUSLY DISASTROUS house before my friend comes because, LERD, who in the hell put all those WADS OF DUST AND PET HAIR all over?  And whose EFFING BOOKS are these stacked all around?  And WHAT ON EARTH IS THAAAAT?  ugh.

* Did you know that for the last few months, I've been embedding pithy things in the 'descriptions' of my photos and links (you have to hover to see it, I guess)?  I am thinking I am really funny, right?  But so far, NO ONE has even mentioned it.  It's like my own little joke to myself.  Which is, you know, equal parts funny and er, weird.

* My friend asked me please, please not to clean because if she comes here and my house is super-clean and I have a two year old, she's going to feel bad about herself.  I love her for that, really I do.  But she is petite and if I don't clean?  She'll be SWEPT AWAY inside a DOG-FUR TUMBLEWEED and I don't need THAT SHIT on my conscience.

* Soon I WILL be posting on why I've been so fucked up.  Things are good but, you know, hectic.  But don't worry, inquiring minds!  INFO IS ON THE WAY.

*  Here's a little peek into my life with my dad, and maybe you can empathize.  We had this conversation, probably about 10 years ago.  You have to picture him with his Italian accent, it makes all the difference.

Dad: [Comes into the house through the garage] 'Hey, TNG, you know that hasshole who fills up my truck with peat moss?'

Me: 'Why's the guy gotta be an asshole?'

Dad: 'I dooon' knoooow.  'E just ees.'

Me: 'I mean, he's the guy who fills up your truck with peat moss, right?'

Dad: 'Right.'

Me: 'So, he's just a guy making a living.  Why's he gotta be an asshole?'

Dad: 'I. Don'. Knooow. TNG.  'E just ees.'

Me: 'Well, are there any people in the world who AREN'T assholes?'

Dad: 'Whyyyy Certainly.'

[Pause]

'But _I_ don't know any of them.'

Or, Perhaps It's Because I'm Your Garden Variety Sucker.

I have written before about my feelings re: The Princessification of America's Girl (andsometimesboy) Children.  I don't have any real new feelings on the issue.  It may be that my kid is almost two and has heretofore shown no big interest in 'The Girls,' whom, incidentally, she's always called 'Babies.' (I've, er, never felt the need to correct her.)  She has been so consumed by the Street of Sesame, that the only conversations that we've had about ballerinas, even, were about Zoe and that fucking tutu.

Which has been F I N E with me.

I figured that I'd try to [avoid The Incessespray] ride the Sesame Train as FAR as it will take us.  And, as it turns out, it dropped us off at the shoe store today.

We approached the aisle for sandals and my kid, MY KID, points her little finger at a [nauseating, reflective, overworked, floral designed pink nightmare] pair of sandals and says this:

'Princesses!'

HUH?!

And yes, smart-asses, that IS a picture of the light-up beauties on my COUNTER and not on the store shelves.

Because I am a big enough person to overcome my own distaste for the sake of my child's burgeoning identity.

Composite Self Portrait Through The Ages.

Early 80's



Late 80's



Early 90's



Aaaaany day now...

The Absolute Best Five Minutes I've Spent In A LONG Time

My apologies if you've already seen this (I am the LAST person on earth to see things like this, usually,) but in my current mind-state, it was JUST AWESOME.

You really only HAVE to watch until about 2:05 to get to the GOLD.  But, the rest is great, too.

Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent
Uploaded by dwarthy

Big Bird Song (Come On, Wayward Googling Pervs.)

Here, my friends, are 26 seconds of cuteness in live action.

Keep in mind, these are the lyrics:
La la la la, la la la la, Big Bird song
(repeat)
He wrote the music,
He wrote the words,
Thaaaat's Big Bird's sooooong.

I just love the big finish.  I can't wait to teach her *jazz hands.*

As If An Entire Week Without A Post Wasn't Clue Enough.

Things have not been great here.  Nothing that I can talk about, really, and so--you know, [as per my usually mental glitch] I haven't been talking [to anyone at all.]

I went purple for Maddie. 

Happy Holidays, everyone.

Fun Fact Friday!!

*  My day started at 4:10 this AM. Super fun!

* Yesterday, my kid stood in the kitchen and laughed her head off as I was putting cream cheese on my bagel.  I tried, from every conceivable angle, to figure out why this act was so HILARIOUS to her, but I am still in the dark.

* You need only to know this following fact, to realize that pregnancy turns me into a completely different person: I have a slight aversion to sweet foods.

*  When I was a kid, before I was an official Meat Avoider (tm: Tess), I once had a conversation with my mother that began when she saw my (apparently horrified) expression while she was *cleaning* a chicken (which, you know, means she was ripping the skin off and taking the bones out and shit.)  She laughed and said, 'Look at your face! You're going to do this one day too.'  And I stood as tall as my 7 year old self would go and I said, '_I_, am NEVER doing THAT.'  And, you know, I never have.

* I have been salting and peppering the cream cheese on my bagels.  For the love of pete.  Can you imagine?

*  I used to eat the dinners that my mom made.  I ate the baked chicken and I remember enjoying it, aside from the, uh, bones that were left after the meal.  I remember looking at the literal ribcage on my plate and not really being able to stand it and so I used to spread out my napkin and lay it gently over the remains.

* When I met my best friend in college, we discovered that we had this trait in common.  She ALSO used to cover the remains on her plate.  Yes, yes.  My brand of crazy isn't totally custom made.

* I try very, very hard not to knock what other people are eating.  No matter how foreign to me or whatever.  I used to fend off lots of questions/comments/remarks about what I was eating and I figure, to each his own.

*  With this ONE exception.  When The Little Sister lived in France we went to visit her.  Near the end of the trip, The Brother-in-Law wanted to go to his favorite restaurant, to get his FAVORITE, ALL-TIME, dish in Paris.  Blood Pudding.  As in, you know, baked blood in a casing or whateveromfgcanyouimagine?  After he explained to me what the dish was, I think I had that same horrified look on my face and this is the thought that occurred to me, which, against my own inclination to keep it shut in these situations, I believe I uttered out loud:

'Dude, if you can eat THAT, you could eat another person. Is all I'm saying.'

Leaving On A Jet Plane: Or, The Most Common Post Title When Someone You Know Is Flying Away From You.

Today is the day, all.  Today marks the first-ever day that The Man will be away from this little family, since June of 2007, when [the 12 year date that we were on finally became FAMILY LIFE] we became co-parents to a crazy little girl baby.  I'm a little nervous.  He's a complete wreck. (Although, to be fair, he's a bit of a nervous flyer anyway.)

A hands-on dad, he's never satisfied with the quantity of time that he's able to spend with [TLNG] us as a family, thanks to his long-ass commute.  And the thought of 5 consecutive days without seeing [her] us has him feeling ultra-conflicted. (Although, again to be fair, he's a champion Decision Second-Guesser anyway.  Not kidding.  He holds The World Title.)

And I'm a little apprehensive, too.  I'm feeling better but not great.  We're coming off of a consecutive string of the hardest, most patience-trying days we've had since her infancy.  Two days ago, I completely flipped my shit and had to put her in her crib and walk away from her for the second time in her life.  Not so hot.

When we were [a couple who was free of major responsibilities, except, like, a mortgage] childless, we used to travel separately all the time.  I would miss him when we were apart, obviously, but we functioned independently and it was nothing for me to travel to my hometown without him [probably because his RELIEF at not having to go with me was immense].  But this feels different.  It feels incomplete here without him now. Like we're missing someone, instead of just, like, missing someone.  You know what I mean?

I know that there are people who do this frequently.  Families whose parents take business trips for work, week in and week out.  Military families whose members are gone, frequently, often for months or even years (!) at a time. Single mothers who do this solo-parenting shit every day, no matter what. But we've never done it before.  Like anything else, it's relative, I think.  It's a shock to our collective system.

It will all be fine, I know.  Most of our day will be exactly the same as it is when The Man is home.  But the hardest parts of our day (dinner/bath/bed), the parts that The Man and I do together every night, will be very different.  I'll miss him.  But, I also hope his Traditional Mental Glitch transfers over to the Parenting Mental Glitch and that, per his usual, once he gets there, he enjoys himself and the break from the rigors of work, home, work, home, work.  I want him to feel free of guilt and routine.  Even though it's hard for him to be apart from TLNG, I want him to get a break.  I'm hoping he comes back refreshed and energized.

And also?

Ready to do this shit when I go to BlogHer in July.