Posts from — March 2010

Actual Conversation I Participated In Today While On An Otherwise Lovely Walk

Noah: Why do I have to wear a long sleeved shirt tomorrow?

Me: Because it’s the only shirt we have that’s red, and you need a red shirt for your costume.*

N: But I will be hot in a long sleeve shirt.

Me: Oh, wait, what about your short sleeved red shirt with the car on it?

N: But Mo-om, that shirt has white on it. It won’t be all red!

Me: Well, we’ll turn it inside out. Problem solved!

N: But it’s long-sleeved!

Me: No, it’s short-sleeved. Remember?

N: No it’s not.

Me: Yes. It has sleeves. That are short. Short-sleeved sleeves.

N: THEN WHY IS IT IN MY LONG SLEEVED SHIRT DRAWER.

Me: Oh, I didn’t realize it was. I must have put it in there by mistake. But you can still wear it and be cooler with short sleeves tomorrow.

N: But it’s LONG SLEEVED.

Me: No, remember, we went over this. The red shirt, with the car, with SHORT SLEEVES. You can wear it! And all will be well!

N: BUT IT WILL MAKE ME HOT BECAUSE IT HAS LONG SLEEVES.

Me: (head explodes)

N: Why can’t I just wear a shirt with short sleeves?

Me: Hey! I think you can! There’s this shirt with a car…

N: Mom, that shirt has long sleeves.

Me: Ok, well then I guess you’ll just have to wear your original shirt.

N: BUT I WILL BE HHHHHHHOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT.

Me: Can I interest you in a short sleeved car shirt?

N: It. Has. Long. Sleeves.

Me: It. Has. Short. Sleeves.

N: noitdoesnt

Me: Why don’t we just get it out and see, and then the mystery will be solved?

N: Ok.

(pause)

N: But I know it has long sleeves.

R: GAAAAHHH#(@FAmUTWAOPG$#@W

_______________________________

*For Dr. Seuss’s birthday week(s), Noah’s class was invited to dress up as their favorite Seuss character, and out of all the memorable and interesting character choices, Noah selected the very esoteric and monochrome Fox In Socks. Of course he did.

Last week while L was away giving himself scoliosis from being constantly hunched over large textbooks, Rosie had a small bout of illness that I am not going to go into detail about here. Because I want you to continue to enjoy hot dogs for the occasional meal. You’re welcome. It was mercifully short-lived, which was nice, but occurred almost wholly between the hours of 12am and 5am, which was not nice.  Since she was having fairly frequent spells of her, ah, ailment, I decided to put her in bed with me so that instead of having to drag myself out of shut-eye to change the crib sheets every half hour I could just hold her upside down by her ankles over a trash can next to my bed and then flop back down to sleep, easy-peasy lemon squeezy.  This is the kind of brilliance that can only come from YEARS of practiced laziness.

And the plan was brilliant too, except for the fact that Rosie does not sleep in our bed ever, and clearly wanted to know why the lights were out? And where the hell is my breakfast, woman? My sister, once again lowering my shot at her kidney, slept in the bed with us to keep Rosie from going AWOL off L’s side.  And so we lay there on either side of the bed, Rosie sitting straight up between us in the dark, attempting to contain the peals of laughter that were bouncing around in our chests while Rosie filibustered her way toward dawn. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to realistically convince a 16-month old that you are sleeping (and that therefore she should want to be sleeping) while she pokes and prods you like a science experiment, but it is possibly one of the most comedic situations I’ve ever been in. And it was only enhanced by the fact that every once in a while she would pause and be very still for a minute or so before making some odd sound that would make me bolt upright in fear that I was about to get ailmented all over, only to have nothing come of it and have to lie back down quickly and pretend that I was still “sleeping” despite the fact that I was shaking the bed with my mute laughter.

Now this week L has been struck down with the ailment, and while I feel really sorry for him, I have to say it is not nearly as entertaining. But then, neither is it as full of hot dogs, which is a trade I am willing to make.

*Paring down to one Weekend Still Shot seems more my speed, methinks. Onward ho!

The weather around here seems to be incapable of making up its mind between Sunny and in the High 60s or 100% Chance of Dreary Misery. L’s been at my parents’ house all week in isolated study mode while my mom slugs through the sticky, tantrum-filled trenches with me here, and I have to say that on one of those Misery days it sure does boost the mood a good notch or two to get a call at work from someone at your house wanting to know where your mop is, because she might just clean the kitchen before she starts on your dinner.  It’s all kinds of awesome, except for the fact that I will have to keep stories like that from this week under wraps so that my kids don’t get some sort of unrealistic expectation that by the time they have kids I will have a.) learned how to mop or b.) stopped burning water when attempting to cook.  Sorry ’bout your luck, chickens. 

One small saving grace on the days of weather misery however, was the addition of my old full-sized digital piano to the Yesterhouse.  Rosie sits at that thing forever. Like 5 minutes, or something.  Going to the bathroom has reached near spa-like bliss.  The best part of it though, is the feature that lets you record yourself playing. I can record little tunes for Rosie to bop around to while I take a break….to record her bopping around. Well, anyway, whatever. It’s cute as mess.

Here’s a sample of a little something I recorded for Rosie’s enjoyment:

A Little Dance to a Little Ditty from racher on Vimeo.

ALL RIGHT. FINE. That’s not really me playing. But it totally could be, you guys. If I had a double hand replacement and also a brain transfer with someone who plays the piano. But don’t tell my kids that – what with the sub-par cooking skills and lackadaisical housekeeping, their wonderment at my fake piano playing is ALL I’VE GOT.