The Part Where I Have A Bad Idea And Then A Good One
Hey, remember way back something something months ago when I had that shirt giveaway, and Noah chose as his selection that gigantoid blue shirt with the number 5 on it? Yes. Well. A few weeks before his birthday party, I thought it would be funny to act all devastated about the fact that Noah could never wear the shirt again since the number on the front no longer accurately represented his age. OH NO YOU’RE NOT FIVE ANYMORE SO IT’S NOT ALLOWED GOODBYE SHIRRRRRT I’LL MIIIIIIISSSS YOUUUUU! Etc.
Raise your hand if you think that was a good idea.
Yeah, so I kinda felt like pretty much the stupidest parent on the planet after the fifteen minute discussion about how No, You Really Can Absolutely Wear It Even If You Are Six Years Old, I Promise and No, No One Is Going To Laugh At You, And Besides If They Did You Could Tell Them The “5” Was For These Five Fingers Curled Up Into A Fist Right HERE (Of course I didn’t really say that. Not seriously, anyway.) But no matter how emphatically I argued against it, he was steadfast: the shirt was dead to him.
It took me far too many days to come up with what was quite obviously the solution, and that was simply: get him a new shirt. Duh.
So I did. I think he likes it.
This Is Even More Ridiculous After That Last Story
Since I 1.) have kids, and 2.) work at a national magazine about pregnancy and babies, I have been asked (through work, and kind of by default) to participate in an event wherein I will be sitting on a panel of … wait for it … “parenting experts.” That’s right, you heard it here first: I have complete comprehensive and authoritative knowledge of and skill in parenting. I think this means I’m now allowed to sign my name with the letters P.E. after it. If you want to, you can start calling me Supreme Mother. I’ll answer.
As ridiculous as the title of the panel is (because of my participation in it), I do think it will be fun, because, let’s be honest: I like to talk. I just really hope I don’t jeopardize the relationship of the magazine and the sponsor company when every answer I give starts with “Pssht—I dunno. But OMG I have the craziest story that’s vaguely related to that! You gotta hear this one …” and ends with the organizers of the event playing gradually swelling orchestral music under my voice to get me off the stage. I will not go peacefully, though. Oh no. I will have to be dragged from the stage by those floor-length gown-wearing ladies. And I will be yelling BUT I’M AN EXPERRRRRRRRRRT!
Also, the night before the event is opening night of the new, totally rated-R comedy show I’m performing in. Look at me! Wigs and laughs by night, sage to new parents by day! I am a wonder.
Librarians, Look Away
The color-coordinated shelves live on, my friends. And they’re alright, but I have to say, I dream that one day they’ll reach this magnitude of glory. What can I say? I love color more than the alphabet, I guess. Or genres. Definitely more than genres.
Rosie Might Need This
Sometimes I Am A Jerk, (GChat edition)
me: i’m cold
l: where you at?
i need to work, but i am feeling slothful
l: what’s “lr”?
me: liv. rm.
l : stop it
l: i got it Gina
me: … m