I Should Have Married Stupid

Erin:  Hi!

Me:  Shhhhhhh.  I just got the boys to go down.

Erin:  Oh sorry.  Both of them?  Nice.

Me:  I know.  It wasn't easy.

Erin:  What is that?

Me:  Hmm, what?

Erin:  THAT!

Me:  This?  Oh....it's nothing.

Erin:  Is that booze?

Me:  Yes.  I was drinking.  I'm drunk.

Erin:  What's with the decanter.......and the rag?

Me:  It's actually a kind of vapo-rub type thing.

Erin:  Really?

Me:  Totally.  Finn had a cough.  I got it at the apothecary.

Erin:  Mike.

Me:  I love you.

Erin:  What is it really?

Me:  It's nothing.  Are you hungry?  I'm hungry.

Erin:  Let me see it

Me:  GOOD GOD DON'T SMELL IT!!!!

Erin:  What the fuck!?

Me:  Nothing.  It's just kinda stinky.  How about a sandwich?

That was the exact exchange between Erin and I that didn't happen.  I'm a really shitty actor apparently.  Instead she just looked at me holding the rag and bottle that I'd swiped from work just for the purpose of this shtick, ignored my caught-red-handed-making-the-boys-nap-by-using-chloroform performance/pantomime, and just said, "Nice bottle.  Can you get the rest of the groceries?".  If we ever divorce the reason I'll cite will be that she never plays along and is a big jerk.

The Selfless Volunteer

About a week ago, Evie's kindergarten teacher cornered me and reminded me that I'd put my name down on the classroom volunteer list. I nodded and said "mm hmm...mm hmmm" while Evie yanked on my arm and tried dragging me away with her. Teacher and I had a quick exchange, during which I told her which mornings would work best for me, and she told me...some stuff I didn't really catch.

I'd all but forgotten this conversation until this morning when, as I sleepily waved goodbye to Evie as she walked into her school, I caught sight of her teacher and had the urge to duck and roll, realizing that Today was The Day that I'd said I could volunteer. Bah!

I drove home, having not showered or brushed my teeth yet as usual, and went over the possible scenarios in  my head. Maybe Teacher had forgotten? She didn't look at me in any way that indicated I should be returning in a half hour. Maybe she wouldn't notice if I didn't show up? Good god, of course she would, she's a teacher for crying out loud - they need all the help they can get! I pictured her standing in her classroom at the appointed hour, surrounded by a mountain of small children trying to dogpile her ala Kindergarten Cop, slowly spinning around crying "where is she? Where is my parent volunteeeeeer?!"

I made myself a cup of tea and slugged into the shower, trying to think of ways to bail without seeming like a dick. I wanted to curl up in a ball under the covers in my bed didn't really seem like it would fly. I tried to remind myself that I'd gotten only a few precious opportunities to volunteer for Jonah's classrooms because of my work schedule, and how much I'd looked forward to having a chance to do so with Evie. I also tried to remember why this had at one time seemed like something I'd actually enjoy doing.

I forgot I was wearing this and left it on all day

In the end, I swallowed my fears of the Kindergarteners being smarter than me, and pushed down the images of them pointing their fingers at me saying "ha haaaaa.....Evie's mom is a DUMMY!" (This is actually why I won't volunteer in Jonah's 4th grade class - because there's no question that they're smarter than me). I walked into the school looking very presentable, got my Volunteer sticker, and made my way to class. When I got there, Evie was sitting outside with a parent volunteer, and I thought 'oh come ON! They don't need me here after all, that lady's got it covered.  Goddammit.' 

Then Evie noticed me and her face lit up like it was Christmas morning, and I was the Barbie she'd been waiting for all year. 'Ah', I thought. 'Right. This is why I wanted to volunteer'. 

After her teacher figured out how to introduce me to the class (Her - this is Mrs...Miss...um...Evie's mom...Mi... Me - Janik. Her - oh, right, right, I was going to use the other name... Me - (patient smirk) Her - kids, this is Evie's mom), I got to sit outside the class and help assess their level of understanding of things like the alphabet, numbers, shapes and colors. I found that I had just as difficult of a time introducing myself to the kids as Teacher did. I overheard the other mom say "Hi Logan, I'm Miss Katherine!", but I've always preferred a more formal relationship with kids. I played around with "Miss Amanda" in my head but thought it sounded too much like a mediocre stripper name. When it came time for me to say my polite, proper, I'm-The-Boss name though, I got stuck again. I'm not a Mrs anymore. I'm not a Miss. Does that make me...a Ms? Oh my god. I've always assumed that was for old ladies or french women. I'm not even sure how to say it! Mss? Mzzzz?! 

None of this helped to alleviate the mild panic attack I felt every time a new kid came out into the hall to sit with me. One girl dipped her head lower and lower toward the table until she was breathing directly onto my hand. "Can you tell me what letter this is?" "H!" (spits on my  hand with the 'ch' sound). "That's great! And what sound does H make?" "Huuuuuuuhhhhhhh" (breathes hotly onto my hand). I gave her a check mark and managed to mutter "Very good you're done please send out Nathan!" through a forced smile while keeping my hand as far away from my face as possible. I don't even know why, she didn't seem sick or anything. But you can never be too safe with kids. Germ factories, those things are. By the time I was given my leave I'd convinced myself that I'd acquired everything from lice to the bubonic plague.

Before I left I went out to watch Evie scuttle around with her friends during recess. As they lined up to go back into class, she ran over to me and gave me one of her breathtaking hugs. No wait, really, she runs full force toward me and rams her head into my gut, leaving me doubled over in pain and unable to breathe. After that we kissed and high-fived and she said "mama, no! Stay!" then stuck out her tongue at me as I left.

Ah, right. This is why I wanted to volunteer. That kid is a riot. 

A Quick WTF? Moment

Liam just changed his own diaper.

I'm not really one for building up a story.  Besides that's really the entire story right there.  He changed his diaper.  He was supposed to be napping (hence the nap-time diaper), but I could hear he wasn't, so I peeked in on him.  He was playing with his toys and enjoying them more than usual because he knew he wasn't supposed to be.  The scent in the air told me something was amiss so I asked "did you poopie?".  "No" he lied.  I investigated and found that he was, in fact, wearing a clean diaper....backwards.  About three feet away was his pooped-filled diaper.  

That means he dropped a load and thought, "Eww, well this won't do.  I'll just slip this off aaaand...yup, that's better.  Let's see now, I could go find daddy for the rest but he'll play that whole 'why aren't you sleeping?' card and I really don't have time for that today.  I'll just go ahead and grab one from this box here......hmm, this over here, that over there.....there, that looks about right!"

Really??!!  How much simpler would it have been to just go use the bathroom??!!  He knows how I get when he does.  Is he denying me my greatest joy just because??  Sadistic little fartknocker!!  WHY??!!

Maybe just to get a reaction.  Ya think?

The little bastard is effing with me.  He can probably do everything I do for him, by himself.  He can probably dress himself, wash himself, and could probably even communicate just fine but fakes it because the speech therapist's toys are way cooler than ours (they really are).  What's next, am I going to find him making grilled cheese at 3am?  I'm fine with that.  In fact it's about time that boy learned to make a decent bloody mary.

Fat Girl

If I had a nickel for every blog post I've written that I then couldn't publish because it would piss someone off and maybe even get me into a little trouble, I'd have about 45 cents. This might be one of those posts.

Remember when I wrote about how I'd unintentionally gotten super hot after my marriage went to hell? Somewhere in that blog post I predicted that I was aware of the fact that the weight likely wouldn't stay off forever, so I'd better enjoy it while it lasted. And enjoy it, I did! I wore bikinis and short skirts and walked around in all states of undress, just because I could.

I even whiteboy danced in the ocean

Lately, though, I've noticed that telltale tightening of the pants. I've had to do more hoisting, more squeezing, more quizzical studying of my reflection in the mirror, thinking "can I seriously pull this off?" It's been a while since I've done this, and I sure didn't miss it. Let me say here that I don't give a flying patootie what other people's bodies look like. I just have a certain image of myself in my head, based on the better part of 35 years' worth experience seeing it as such. And just as I hadn't noticed the weight coming off a while ago, I was clueless that it was coming back on.

It's funny, because in that old post, I knew what I had to do, but I didn't listen to myself: "I realize that in order to keep my new fantastic-looking body, I need to remain depressed, angry and bitter. Under NO circumstances must I become too smitten with someone or, heaven forbid, start going out to eat or letting someone feed me delicious meals. I MUST NOT fall in love."

What did I do? I got happy. I let go of my anger. I became smitten. I started eating. Not just meals, but snacks too. That's right - I fell in love with a snacker. Pretzels and chips and salsas and cheeses and experimental things in the oven at all hours of the night. One could say I was totally fucked from the beginning. If I'd been paying attention it's possible I could have stopped the eventual spillover of my love handles, but the whole point is that I've never payed attention to these things until it was too late.

So of course I've been musing about this to my lover. "Jeez, I'm getting kind of fat again," I'll say, patting my fat roll. To which he replies "hm, well, what are we going to do about that?" I have various responses to this, most of which can be summed up as "Stop fucking offering me snacks all the time!"  I know I should stop here and complain that he doesn't say "psh, you're crazy, woman! You're beautiful and I'd love you no matter how fat you got!" but I have a better sense of humor than that, so I'm not going to pretend that I care all that much, as long as he doesn't become a dick about it.

If I didn't have said sense of humor, the following conversation might have seemed somewhat dickish:

Him: If you get too fat I'll break up with you
Me: Oh yeah? Ha! Jerk.
Him: Ha, okay, you're right. I won't really break up with you.
Me: Oh thank you. You're so good to me, baby.
Him: I just won't be attracted to you anymore. So, I won't want to have sex with you, and I'll become distant... so you'll end up breaking up with me.
Me: (pause, disbelieving stare, then uproarious laughter) Um - oh...my...god. Ha ha ha haaaaaa! I can't believe you just said that out loud.
Him: I know!

At least I know what I'd look like if things got out of control. Several years ago I was looking for a picture of three wolves howling at the moon (because that is a completely normal thing to be looking for), and I found this:

I don't know who that girl is, but she looks just exactly like me (aka cute, plucky and awesome!). It's spooky to come across a picture of your twin wearing a three wolves howling at the moon sweatshirt on the internet. It is also very useful.

I'm going to print several copies of this picture out and put them up all over my boyfriend's house, so he can get used to the idea. Just in case.

Stand and Debooger

Hey I'm getting kind of okay at this preschool gig.  I've been volunteering on Mondays for only a month and I've already got some skills.  Commence the shaping of our future!!

I learned very quickly to always have a tissue.  Always.  Today a little girl held her finger out to me and said "I have a dirty".  A dirty she had indeed.  Rather than take the time to identify what, in fact, was the dirty, I instantly busted out a tissue, dealt with it, and moved on.  I just realized it's still in my pocket.  Ewww.

That brings up another insight...well, more of a resignation.  I used to have nice clothes AND grubby clothes.  Now all the nice clothes have graduated.  If I ever need to look nice again I'll go shopping.

I've also learned that trying to be the "funny daddy" was a mistake.  I feigned a dramatic reaction when one of the boys jumped out from behind the slide and yelled "BOO!"  Now an encore performance is demanded of me every twenty seconds.  "We scawed you scawedy cat!! HAHAHAHAHA".  For the record I wasn't at all scared.  Also I totally could see his feet when he was hiding.  Lame.

At today's post school debriefing I picked up a few more pointers about sharing, positive reinforcement, and something something listening and stuff.  Then the teacher gave us an assignment that threw me for a loop and made me question my pedagogical strategies.

We have to put together a sort of care package for Liam in case of 'an emergency'.  An emergency?  It is to include things like juice, a snack, a nametag, a pack of cigarettes I think, some radiation sickness pills, and a hand written note from Mommy and Daddy.  The note is there so that he can have words to console him in the dark minutes leading up to the annihilation of the human race.

I had no idea this was part of the preschool deal?  These teachers are hard-CORE!  Sure they get summers off but that's a lot of responsibility.  Reading, Writing, and Repopulating the war-torn wasteland that is the post-apocalyptic Earth.

Wolverines!!

Erin bestowed the honor of authoring this letter upon me.  I toyed with something simple like "Remember son.  Water is Life" or "It's best that you forget us.  Move on" and "Don't be a candy-ass.  It's not true what they say about the meek".  But I thought if this would be my final chance to save him I should give more details so I considered "hey, do you remember in Annie when the first thing she asked to do at Daddy Warbucks house was to wash windows, and then the floors in case she drips?  If you say something like that to rich people it will endear them to you and they'll be more likely to adopt you."  In the end I just said something about listening to the grown-ups that are there with you, and we'll be there soon.

Despite my learning in leaps and bounds like this, I'm still humbled by the bad-assery that is Liam's teacher.  She could command an army, and apparently may have to.  If things do get a little Red Dawn-ish though, Liam can rest assured I'll be there with him, for my own survival as much as his.

Maneuvers

The boys have been trying out some new moves.  Eddie Izzard does a great bit about Dr. Heimlich developing his maneuver and how that probably didn't go very well at first (frying pan in the bollocks, etc).  It's kind of like that with my boys' trial and error but with fewer fatalities...so far.

Here's Finn in one of a series of moves I like to call "Save Me from Myselfs".  He gets himself stuck in a few different positions, none of which he's figured a way out of.  The one below is one of the easier ones to remedy since all I have to do is pick him up and set him down again.  Others are trickier, like when he manages to lodge himself in the crevasse between the bed and the wall, or when he crawls into a bedroom, shuts the door behind him, and then freaks out when he can't push the door open because it only opens inward.  Getting him out of that involves gently pushing the door against his screaming head until his body rolls out of the way enough to reach around and grab him by the foot.

Little help?

Most of Liam's new moves involve the potty.  His potty sessions can take up to twenty minutes, depending on the book he's reading, so monitoring his progress is impractical.  Most of the time I let him take care of his business in private.  Lately he's been finishing up, removing the bowl from his potty chair, and shuffling down the hallway to share it, now brimming with success.  This is usually done with his underpants around his ankles so naturally not all of it makes the journey.  A few times he's come around the corner and raised the bowl up over his head in his excitement.  I end up just flushing what's left as his reward and then go fetch the 'bad towels'.

He's also sorting out how to deal with 'nap turds'.  We still give him a pull-up diaper for nap times but now that he's potty training he's not as poop-tolerant as he used to be.  Unfortunately he's my son so he's also inherently lazy.  Last week he tried to distance himself from his poopy diaper without getting out of bed.  I'll spare you the details, but it was disastrous.  The good news is I think the learning curve on that maneuver is pretty steep.

One of his cuter moves is what I call "Eating Everything Like It's Corn on the Cob".  Hot dogs, burritos, PB&J sandwich slices all get attacked from the long side.  It's inefficient and a little messy, but sometimes you get this nice little homage to Heather Ledger's 'Joker'.

Why so serious?

Satan

I just got in a fight with my cat and I'm pretty sure I lost.  It went something like this:

her:  psst, hey.

me:  no.

her:  HEY!

me:  ....please. no.

her:  Get up and let me out.

me:  Use the cat door.

her:  I don't feel like it.  Get up asshole.

me:  For the love of CHRIST!!  I finally started to drift off after waking up in a panic at 5am because I'd realized I'd forgotten to get my TB test checked and NOW I have to take time off from work to do it AGAIN next week and you need me to go open the door and let you out?!  Come ON!!!

her:  You know what I just heard?  "blah blah blah blah let me out"

me:  I hate you.  I've been lying awake for hours.

her:  I know, I've been right here the whole time.  You suck at sleeping.

me:  die.

her:  I'm twelve, I will soon, thanks for bringing that up you insensitive prick.  Now get up and let me out.

me:  I haven't slept more than five hours in a week.

her:  Really?  I haven't been awake that long in a week.

me:  please go away.

her:  Look, obviously there's no hope for sleep now and the boys will be up soon anyway so get up  Come on, there's leftover pizza.  We'll make a morning of it.

me:  I'm not hungry.

her:  Sure you are.  And you're a little hungover too you fucking loadie, have some pizza.

me:  Go away.

her:  Hey look, it's getting light out!

me:  Alright FINE!!

(stomps out of the bedroom to the front door and opens it)

her:  Whoo, a bit chilly.  Nevermind.

(throws cat from house)