1. Turn off your computer and RUN/SPRINT/FLEE/FLY/SCRAMBLE to your local grocery store. The candy section. Find it! Hurry! Now, look for a yellow box or bag bearing the words: "Reese's Pieces GONE NUTS: PEANUTS and peanut butter!" If you cannot find this candy, track down the store manager and MUTILATE him/her!
1b. REESE'S PIECES WITH PEANUTS! O!M!G!
1c. Someone brought two boxes to work and left them in the snack room. Usually this means they are for general consumption, but I didn't bother to double-check. Those boxes are mine. And if more show up, they will be mine, too.
1d. And if I were an airport screener, I would allow you into the terminal with your handgun if you offered me a box of this candy.
2. I painted all weekend long. I hadn't painted in eons. Eons of eons. And you know what?
2b. Painting is like crack-cocaine.
2c. Actually, CREATING is like crack-cocaine. Any chance I get to CREATE something lately, I run with it. Painting, learning guitar, writing, trying a new recipe, whatever. I am enjoying CREATING as if it were sex. And creating via sex is fun, too, but that's not where I'm at right now.
3. Munchkin and I watched "Singin' in the Rain" about 50 times this weekend. We still like "An American in Paris" better, but... The first time you watch "Singin' in the Rain", you think, "Gawd, how corny!" Only, it gets better and better with every viewing, so that by the 30th viewing, you're ready to build a time machine so you can go back and have Gene Kelly's babies.
4. I'm not going to take a vow of celibacy or anything, but I am really enjoying my independence lately. Really, really, really.
5. My sinus infection is getting better, but Munchkin's is not. And her dad keeps giving her sugar, which only makes it worse. So I guess he can pay the doctor's bill.
5b. Munchkin also seems to be developing cavities. WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?
5c. PoorMunchkin. :(
5d. But she's doing spectacularly at school. She's beginning to get past her shyness and really make friends. ...I am swelling with a mixture of pride and relief.
5e. Children. Are. Spectacular.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
2006, 02/24 - Friday!
It's FRIDAY!
Meaning I haven't seen my baby in person in TWO DAYS, and I miss her, and I get to see her as soon as this foolishly long work-day ends!
We've nearly worn-out our copy of "An American in Paris," so, tonight, I think we shall rent "Singin' in the Rain."
And, if someone could direct me on proper punctuation usage inside and around quotation marks, that would be great. They stop teaching grammar and punctuation after sixth grade, you know.
Meaning I haven't seen my baby in person in TWO DAYS, and I miss her, and I get to see her as soon as this foolishly long work-day ends!
We've nearly worn-out our copy of "An American in Paris," so, tonight, I think we shall rent "Singin' in the Rain."
And, if someone could direct me on proper punctuation usage inside and around quotation marks, that would be great. They stop teaching grammar and punctuation after sixth grade, you know.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
2006, 02/14 - Crappie Update
Pseudo-Update: I have been back to the grocery store at least three times already, and "CRAPPIE" Magazine has been nowhere to be seen.
2006, 02/14 - Baby
Four is a really difficult age. Four is Independence. Four is Entitlement. Four is Gimme, Gimme, Gimme.
There are episodes where Munchkin makes a request which must be denied, and her immediate response is to begin bawling or yelling. This only makes the denial more firm. A calm and considerate "Oh, please, Mommy?" would at least get a moment's consideration. The diva hissy fit of "PLEASE, PLEAAAAAASE!! YOU NEVER LET ME DO WHAT I WANT!" wins nothing but a Time-Out, and perhaps loss of a priviledge. It's getting repetitive. Can we move on to age five and be done with this lesson, please?
Of course there are good points to this age as well. Munchkin can do so many things by herself now. She can make her own peanut butter sandwich from start to clean-up. She can help with chores. She can wash herself. She can pick out her own clothes, dress herself, and come out looking completely coordinated. She can dig through her toybox without tossing toys everywhere. She can put things back where they belong. She can help me remember things.
And there are things, simply in her nature, that she has always been able to do, still does, and, most likely, will always be able to do. She has always been able to make me laugh. She has always been able to work a remote control (almost always!). She has always been ticklish. She has always been able to sing. She has always been able to dance. She still experiences the joy of simply being alive.
My four-year-old is still my baby, and she still lets me call her "my baby." She still loves to be held close and rocked. This is what we did tonight at bedtime. I held her in my arms and I rocked her. She leaned against me and smiled.
I sang the song/chant I made up for her when she was less than a week old. No one but us knows this song.
I watched her face in the dark. Same big, sparkling eyes, same eyelashes, same color hair, same eyebrows, same lips as when she was a baby. For a fleeting moment, she was that baby again. She is that baby. With the chunky thighs, chubby cheeks, pudgy fingers, huge cloth diaper. Look how big that baby is now. Her legs have stretched. Her hair is thick and long. Her ears have clogged (ha ha). She wears almost my same size hat--not the tiny, pink, stretchy, cotton caps anymore.
We've grown together.
When she was born, she and I had almost the same length of hair. We've grown our hair out together.
We're both different people now. We are both more mature. The love has not changed. It is full and constant. We make adjustments in ourselves--consciously on my part, less-so on her part--for each other.
I'll never be perfect. And she'll never be Sara Crewe from "A Little Princess." She is Munchkin. She is herself. She is perfectly herself.
I was once her. I was once a baby with chunky thighs, chubby cheeks, pudgy fingers. I had the same big, sparkling eyes and the same shaped eyebrows. Maybe I am perfectly myself, too.
There are episodes where Munchkin makes a request which must be denied, and her immediate response is to begin bawling or yelling. This only makes the denial more firm. A calm and considerate "Oh, please, Mommy?" would at least get a moment's consideration. The diva hissy fit of "PLEASE, PLEAAAAAASE!! YOU NEVER LET ME DO WHAT I WANT!" wins nothing but a Time-Out, and perhaps loss of a priviledge. It's getting repetitive. Can we move on to age five and be done with this lesson, please?
Of course there are good points to this age as well. Munchkin can do so many things by herself now. She can make her own peanut butter sandwich from start to clean-up. She can help with chores. She can wash herself. She can pick out her own clothes, dress herself, and come out looking completely coordinated. She can dig through her toybox without tossing toys everywhere. She can put things back where they belong. She can help me remember things.
And there are things, simply in her nature, that she has always been able to do, still does, and, most likely, will always be able to do. She has always been able to make me laugh. She has always been able to work a remote control (almost always!). She has always been ticklish. She has always been able to sing. She has always been able to dance. She still experiences the joy of simply being alive.
My four-year-old is still my baby, and she still lets me call her "my baby." She still loves to be held close and rocked. This is what we did tonight at bedtime. I held her in my arms and I rocked her. She leaned against me and smiled.
I sang the song/chant I made up for her when she was less than a week old. No one but us knows this song.
I watched her face in the dark. Same big, sparkling eyes, same eyelashes, same color hair, same eyebrows, same lips as when she was a baby. For a fleeting moment, she was that baby again. She is that baby. With the chunky thighs, chubby cheeks, pudgy fingers, huge cloth diaper. Look how big that baby is now. Her legs have stretched. Her hair is thick and long. Her ears have clogged (ha ha). She wears almost my same size hat--not the tiny, pink, stretchy, cotton caps anymore.
We've grown together.
When she was born, she and I had almost the same length of hair. We've grown our hair out together.
We're both different people now. We are both more mature. The love has not changed. It is full and constant. We make adjustments in ourselves--consciously on my part, less-so on her part--for each other.
I'll never be perfect. And she'll never be Sara Crewe from "A Little Princess." She is Munchkin. She is herself. She is perfectly herself.
I was once her. I was once a baby with chunky thighs, chubby cheeks, pudgy fingers. I had the same big, sparkling eyes and the same shaped eyebrows. Maybe I am perfectly myself, too.
Friday, February 10, 2006
2006, 02/10 - "Love Stories"
1. Munchkin stays with her dad most Wednesday and Thursday nights, as well as every other Saturday. Every Friday when I see her again, she seems to have grown an inch.
2. I had a song in my head. I did not sing it out loud. Out of the blue, Munchkin started singing it. We thought that was cool.
2b. The song, by the way, was "Skin Is, My" by Andrew Bird. A song that makes no sense.
3. HELPFUL HINT: When you have a cold, you may not be able to smell things. So when you buy a new jar of minced garlic, and you can't smell it, please don't assume you chose a lame brand and proceed to smother extra garlic on your sandwich. Especially because garlic will make your cold go away, and then you'll be able to smell everything.
4. This site doesn't have to be all about Munchkin-conversations, does it? Mommies have lives apart from their children, sometimes, right? So who wants to read my love story? Great! Here ya go:
Last night, right after work, I headed to the grocery store, where I was able to observe a rather nice-looking guy--no wedding ring, definitely mid-forties, in good shape, wearing business slacks and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I ended up behind him in the check-out line. He was looking at me, but I couldn't really see him because the sun was directly in my eyes. (Stupid, west-facing, glass-walled grocery store!--Although, with all that light shining directly at me, I probably appeared to be a red-headed 10-items-or-less-purchasing ANGEL!) I had to turn my face away from the sun, and, as I did, I caught sight of a magazine titled "CRAPPIE". It was a fishing magazine with really dopey-looking guys in a boat on the cover. I wondered if it was real, because it was next to all the feminine magazines, and this was so funny to me that I started smiling, and couldn't stop, and I looked like an idiot. But I was a happy idiot, right?
In an effort to stop smiling, I turned around and started looking at the nice-looking guy's purchases while I waited for free counter space. I decided he was definitely a recently-divorced bachelor; he was buying beer, donuts, some other stuff, and--*gasp*--the same brand of baby spinach leaves as I had in my hand! When I set my stuff on the counter, I knew he saw my spinach leaves, too. [He was definitely watching me, and I didn't even have ketchup on my face or anything! (I know, cuz I checked when I got home.)] We were ANONYMOUS SPINACH BUDDIES! HAWT! I wanted to comment, but I'm still sick and my throat was really dry; my voice has been coming and going randomly. So I remained silent. Silent and smiling about CRAPPIE Magazine--and smiling about smiling about CRAPPIE Magazine.
Anyway, he paid and left, then I paid and left. I saw him in the parking lot as I came out, putting away his grocery cart. He paused, looking in my direction. We were now too far apart for me to nonchalantly speak to him, so I just smiled and headed to my car. I managed to get out of the parking lot two cars ahead of him, and I saw that he had a little [secret color] car TOO! We were Anonymous Spinach Buddies AND Little [secret color] Car Pals!! Then we lost each other. It was over. *sob*
4b. Love Story #2: There was a really hot guy in the office today. REALLY hot. (Married, too! The bastard!) But SO HOT. HOTTTTTT. As I put in an email to Punky today:
2. I had a song in my head. I did not sing it out loud. Out of the blue, Munchkin started singing it. We thought that was cool.
2b. The song, by the way, was "Skin Is, My" by Andrew Bird. A song that makes no sense.
3. HELPFUL HINT: When you have a cold, you may not be able to smell things. So when you buy a new jar of minced garlic, and you can't smell it, please don't assume you chose a lame brand and proceed to smother extra garlic on your sandwich. Especially because garlic will make your cold go away, and then you'll be able to smell everything.
4. This site doesn't have to be all about Munchkin-conversations, does it? Mommies have lives apart from their children, sometimes, right? So who wants to read my love story? Great! Here ya go:
Last night, right after work, I headed to the grocery store, where I was able to observe a rather nice-looking guy--no wedding ring, definitely mid-forties, in good shape, wearing business slacks and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I ended up behind him in the check-out line. He was looking at me, but I couldn't really see him because the sun was directly in my eyes. (Stupid, west-facing, glass-walled grocery store!--Although, with all that light shining directly at me, I probably appeared to be a red-headed 10-items-or-less-purchasing ANGEL!) I had to turn my face away from the sun, and, as I did, I caught sight of a magazine titled "CRAPPIE". It was a fishing magazine with really dopey-looking guys in a boat on the cover. I wondered if it was real, because it was next to all the feminine magazines, and this was so funny to me that I started smiling, and couldn't stop, and I looked like an idiot. But I was a happy idiot, right?
In an effort to stop smiling, I turned around and started looking at the nice-looking guy's purchases while I waited for free counter space. I decided he was definitely a recently-divorced bachelor; he was buying beer, donuts, some other stuff, and--*gasp*--the same brand of baby spinach leaves as I had in my hand! When I set my stuff on the counter, I knew he saw my spinach leaves, too. [He was definitely watching me, and I didn't even have ketchup on my face or anything! (I know, cuz I checked when I got home.)] We were ANONYMOUS SPINACH BUDDIES! HAWT! I wanted to comment, but I'm still sick and my throat was really dry; my voice has been coming and going randomly. So I remained silent. Silent and smiling about CRAPPIE Magazine--and smiling about smiling about CRAPPIE Magazine.
Anyway, he paid and left, then I paid and left. I saw him in the parking lot as I came out, putting away his grocery cart. He paused, looking in my direction. We were now too far apart for me to nonchalantly speak to him, so I just smiled and headed to my car. I managed to get out of the parking lot two cars ahead of him, and I saw that he had a little [secret color] car TOO! We were Anonymous Spinach Buddies AND Little [secret color] Car Pals!! Then we lost each other. It was over. *sob*
4b. Love Story #2: There was a really hot guy in the office today. REALLY hot. (Married, too! The bastard!) But SO HOT. HOTTTTTT. As I put in an email to Punky today:
He's HERE!
Omg, still hot. Really hot. Damn hot. *thumping foot* *droooooling*
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