1985: You might have been a child of the ’80s, but you had nothing on my mullet.
1990: Headband, GapKids.
1995: Was I trying to guarantee that no high school boy would ever want to talk to me ever? Or was this just my attempt to look like Dave Barry?
2000: Nothing against Kate Goselin who appears to be going through a hard time, but let it be known, I had the hairdo first.
2005: I married that Asian guy for his money; he married me for the hair.
I want to tell you about the perfect day I had yesterday, beginning with taking Baby Girl to tot watch and then coming home to play “Find the Car Keys” which always have a way of ending up between the sheets with Lovey Loverpants who was off of work.
I want to tell you how we then found the car keys and went shopping for the wee-est most edible pair of baby crocs ever manufactured, and how we had a leisurely lunch where our laughs were NOT punctuated with glances sideways to see if anyone needed something cut up bite size, or to ensure no napkins had been confetti shredded onto the floor.
I also want to tell you how I rode my bike fast fast fast and gamely across town to the indie theatre to meet Haddy and watch the marvelous Valentino documentary. I want to tell you about all those magnificent haute couture gowns.
But I can’t tell you all about that perfect day which was yesterday, because it all has been eclipsed by this one moment I experienced in the car today. I was the lowest I have ever been on gas, coasting by the grace of the merciful God of the universe, watching the empty tank light light up like a star atop a Christmas tree…oh please God, please let me not have to stall out here….
We made it to the gas station on fumes alone. And then.
I looked back to see that little face, the sapphire jewels for eyes, the smile so easy and bright. That face said, We’re having fun, Mama! Riding in the car, the whooooosh, the beeeeeeeps, the lights and honks, and slobbery bow wows leaning their heads out of those what are they called? Doors? Shoes? Applesauce?
It took my breath away, that unflappable spirit as revealed in that sweet sweet face that can change the course of the cosmos in the matter of a second.
Originally uploaded by shamrox
These boots were made for walking. Or, ya know, just standing in one place. In front of an exerball and that laundry my mama never seems to get to putting away.
more...Hey! I finished my Capstone project and now that I am d-u-n done with school forever and ever amen, Baby Girl has joined me in celebrating by completely annihilating our private property.
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Tuesday she scampered away from me whilst I was trying change her diaper. Nothing new. Problem being her sweet little cheeks were completely poop-smeared and she proceeded to poop-stamp the bedspread (where the changing pad lies) like it was parchment paper and her butt was a Chinese chop.
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Wednesday I shared with her the magic of Redi-Whip. She was hesitant at first, clenching her lips as I angled the Redi Torpedo of Whip toward her little maw. But then she came a waddling back, saying “Mom! Mom!” which in Baby Girl-ese really means “More!” Next thing I know I am squirting it into her mouth. She proceeds to spit it out like volanic lava, wipe it on her hands, and then smear it across the back of my shirt.
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This morning she whizzed on aforementioned bedspread. I changed her into a swim diaper to go to the sprinkler park. Upon return, the swim dipe had evidently given her the worst rash in diaper wearing history, so I put her in a cloth diaper for her nap. Fifteen minutes later, I heard crying from her room. I went in to discover a naked girl, diaper pooped on to oblivion, and shards of poop smeared all over her crib, blanket, and bedsheet.
There is no rest for the weary. Not even weary grad student mamas that thought they were going to get a break.
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Baby Girl? What’s that white stuff in your hand you’re about to smear on my shirt?
Running from the law.
Mug shot.
10. Paint my hallway. The whiteness of the walls has gone from whispering at me to full-on screaming a la Charlotte Perkins Gilman at me. Lovey Loverpants wants a purpley gray. I want a buttery yellow. At this point, I don’t care if Baby Girl goes all graffiti on them. Anything but white!
9. Hit the gym at least 3x/week. Thesis booty is a creepin’, soon to be cascading if I don’t make the gym my party place.
8. Send my Nana a new picture of the baby. My dad told me it’s the only thing that brings her happiness. I feel terrible for delaying this happiness!!
7. Go to bed by 11p at the latest. My recent bedtimes have been OBSCENE. They should be rated something ominous to keep small children from learning about them.
6. Deep clean our bedroom. Moving the pile of dirty clothes to the hamper? Does not constitute deep cleaning
5. Finish reading the 3 books for pleasure I started before my thesis unhinged its proverbial jaw and swallowed my life anaconda-style whole.
4. Take some new books out of the ‘bary for Baby Girl. I’ve been hesitating because I’m so bad about returning them. No ‘scuses no mo.
3. Take Baby Girl to the aquarium. Need to go to library to get free passes. Again, no excuses!
2. Eat more salads. Which requires my fridge to contain more than one vegetable at a time.
1. Give this girl a tissue, a change of shirt, and buy this girl some pants:
