Friday, September 26, 2003

Shhhh ... As promised, I am checking in today. But we must whisper. I am lurking in the bowels of the University of Washington, hijacking a computer in a top-secret science research lab for distinctly non-scientific purposes.

Our move has been postponed until Monday. And so we are still in the hotel ... the Big Guy, the Little Guy, MomBrain, and an ancient, doddering cat with her army tank litter box. Our houseguest arrives tomorrow and ... surprise!!! He gets to stay in the hotel, too. We are not amused.

More later if the black helicopters don't swoop in first.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Monday, September 22, 2003

Well, my little chickadees, this will be my last post for a few days because WE ARE FINALLY MOVING. MomBrain will return, by hook or by crook, by Friday the 26th.

We'll be staying in a hotel for a few days before actually moving in -- I do not cotton to chasing a three-year-old through exposed wires, wet paint, and skill saws. I'm worried about Little Miss Kitty, but she'll just have to do her best.

Why I Love My Mother

God bless my mother. When she heard I was writing an article about doulas because I adore them and had used one myself, she thought I had converted to a scary eastern religion. She had never heard the word "doula" and it did not appear in her old dictionary. "Doula" sounded vaguely foreign, and my fervor vaguely religious. What else could it be? So she covered herself in sackcloth and ashes and hied herself to church, where she asked all the nice Christian ladies to pray for me. Thank goodness for the nice Christian lady with a computer who went home and consulted Google. A quick email to my mom with plenty of LOLs cleared the confusion nicely, and now my mom has only the usual reasons to worry about the safety of my eternal soul.

Paleontology 101

Today's conversation with the Little Guy:

LG: Onions come from dinosaurs.
MB: They do? Who told you that?
LG: I told Carrie.
MB: You told Carrie onions come from dinosaurs?
LG: Yes.
MB: What did Carrie say?
LG: She said I don't like onions.
MB: And who told you that onions come from dinosaurs?
LG: No one. I just decided.
MB: Oh.

Sex in the City - I Think Not

I am very sorry but until my friend Elizabeth starts her own blog I will be forced to share her stories. She is a single mom by choice, with a delightful daughter she adopted from China. She is one of several single women I know in their forties, all smart, accomplished, financially secure, pretty, and emotionally healthy. Sadly I cannot say the same for most unattached men in their forties. They are either loaded with baggage, under- or over-attached to their mothers, gay, or completely deranged. How else to explain the hopeful suitor who entertained Elizabeth last night? It was their first date, he cooked dinner for her (points for courage), all was going well. Then he walked into the kitchen wearing swim goggles so he could chop the onions without crying.

Now I am willing to admit that this is one of those quirky but nifty tricks guys do when they live alone. But on a first date perhaps it is best to chop the onions ahead of time and leave the swim goggles in the back room with your boots and handcuffs. (Where oh where are the Fab 5 when we need them???)

(What is it with onions today?)

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Saturday, September 20, 2003

Wheeee!!! I'm writing, look at meeee!!! I've actually been productive today on these two razzemfrazzem articles. The real due date is tomorrow, and there's hope that I will make it. (I know I said they were due last week but just get over it -- I always buffer my deadlines because it's the only way I have a prayer of meeting them.)

I love coming up with article ideas. I love sending queries. I love negotiating an acceptance. I love conducting interviews. But I do not love the attach-my-butt-to-the-seat-of-the-chair-and-write-the-article part. By the time I get to the end game, I'm bored. I desperately want to do something, anything else. I get nervous. What if I do a bad job? What if the editor hangs my submission on the company bulletin board for everyone to laugh at? What if they refuse to pay me? My insecurities are legion.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Thursday, September 18, 2003

What I Am Supposed To Be Doing Today: Finishing and submitting two feature articles.

What I Have Actually Done:

Packed a preschool lunch for the Little Guy (PB & J, blueberry yogurt, chex mix, grapes, a plum, pear juice).

Attempted to fix bedhead with water in lieu of shower.

Called fortune teller (aka financial advisor) and asked her to look in crystal ball for money.

Met with builder to discuss how, exactly, we are going to live in a house with exposed electrical wires.

Approved a grout color for the bathroom (dark gray).

Went to McStarbucks with the Big Guy (12-ounce drip, low-fat lemon zucchini muffin). Discussed private vs. public. Offered bite of muffin but secretly glad he declined.

Watched Oprah After the Show.

Drank tea. Ate two Fig Newmans.

Threw out package of Fig Newmans. Shook fist.

Ate four pretzels.

Lit orange candle.

Listened to Keith Jarrett "The Koln Concert." Pretended I was playing lightning fast arpeggios as I typed. Wrote three paragraphs. Had breakthrough. Started to enjoy self.

Realized feet were cold and put on shoes (possibly metaphorical relationship to finishing said feature articles).

Updated blog.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

I found myself in Sephora today talking to my very own Queer Guy about the Big Guy's shaving habits. (Now don't get all het up about me using the word "queer" -- this guy looked like he made the last cut for Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and was only too happy to play the part. And he works in a cosmetics store, for Pete's sake.)

Now. The Big Guy is a stylin' dude. He knows how to dress, his shoes are way better than mine, and he's all about self care. But when it comes to shaving he's strictly a low rent guy. And, inspired by Queer Eye, I've been campaigning for him to consider something a little less Gillette, a little less Foamy. So the Queer Guy steered me to Jack Black Beard Lube, which was appropriately expensive and with a nice manly smell.

Does this story have a point? Not really. I just thought you all might sleep better knowing what the Big Guy shaves with.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Here at MomBrain HQ there's been entirely too much navel gazing lately. And I for one am sick of the view. So pick the bellybutton lint out of your teeth and let's go.

Broken Record

MomBrain's brain is very wrinkled. Those wrinkles are not due to intelligence, though. Oh no, my friend -- MomBrain's brain would be quite smooth except for the two songs that have been stuck in my head for my entire lifetime. They have circled around and around so much that they have worn grooves in my gray matter. With the occasional exception of "La Cucaracha," I have been listening to "Suzy Snowflake" and "We Three Kings" since I can remember. It's just the tiniest bit OCD, don't you think? (I expect my Mom to pipe up here and announce that she sang those very songs to me in the womb. Can you think of any other reason I would choose these songs and not the aria from La Wally?)

Somewhere in the blogosphere I read that you can lambast a song right out of your head by imagining that Bob Dylan is singing it. Now, Bob Dylan singing "Suzy Snowflake" and "We Three Kings" is just this side of horrifying, but even that is powerless over the hold these songs have on me. Somebody, stop the madness!!!

Lottery Time

It's finally, blessedly cool, the time of year my mom calls "sweater weather," when we drag out all our fall jackets and if we're very very lucky find money in the pockets. So far I've found nothing, but the Little Guy found a Playmobile tractor trailer and muck spreader. I'm holding out hope for two lost Visa cards.



The Zen of Motherhood

Here is the construction zone that used to be my Zen garden. I miss those Zen moments, but sometimes a good laugh feels better than inner peace.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

This concludes another sleepless night in the House of MomBrain.

Lots of feedback on my Someday Shelf. I feel compelled to reassure Russ that this is not a Before I Die Shelf. I'm pretty sure the bus won't hit me the second I remove the last speck of dust. And I most certainly will not feel free to keel over and call it a day. In fact, it's more like a Click My Heels and Live Shelf. It's full of things that feel forbidden (playing the guitar) or indulgent (therapy) or overwhelming (War & Peace), but that I've always wanted to do.

A whole shelf full of forbidden, indulgent, overwhelming things starts to feel heavy after a while, and I realized that it was costing me psychic energy to maintain it. So first of all, bringing it to life has made it seem much less daunting. And it's downright thrilling to give myself permission to dive into the forbidden and indulgent. It's like eating chocolate covered strawberries for dinner.

An example. As a teenager I was a serious pianist. My ancient, doddering piano teacher forbade me to touch a guitar -- the calluses!!! It would destroy my technique! Well, the piano eventually fell by the wayside, but the guitar stayed on the Someday Shelf, tantalizing but not permitted. But my piano teacher is dead. She can't yell at me any more. Not to mention which I'm a grownup. I can play the guitar if I want to. I can also grow my fingernails, which is why a manicure set also rests delightfully on my Someday Shelf.

Now, there's definitely an overwhelming part to this. Lose that extra 20 lbs once and for all? Attempt some long cherished writing dreams? Complete a triathlon? Most of that stuff is scary for deep, dark psychological reasons, so it'll take me a little longer to get through those things. But with the help of Dr. Freud, I will do it.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Monday, September 15, 2003

My office smells like a guinea pig cage. Not bad guinea pig. Good guinea pig. Fresh straw and woodchips, and those little green kibble bits that smell like grass. Why does my office smell like a clean guinea pig cage? I do not know. There is no straw, no wood, no grassy kibble. And there's no guinea pig that I can see. Just me and a cup of tea and a candle. Hm. Perhaps it's time for a shower.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Getting a Round Tuit

Inspired by my fishing partner, Ruth, I have decided to clean my Someday Shelf. Since I was a little girl my mom has talked about her "Someday Shelf" -- all the things she intends to do someday when she has the time and energy. So I grew up with a mental image of my own Someday Shelf, covered with dusty artifacts that don't move once I put them there. For example, learning to play the guitar has been on my Someday Shelf for 25 years. Learning to play the flute for about 20. And hey, how about this one -- get therapy!

So I've bought an actual shelf for all those things. A tiny toy guitar. A little flute. I even found a Sigmund Freud action figure. And I have a few other things that are meaningful only to me -- a pile of books, a DVD of Gone With the Wind, a bowl of marbles. It's the Someday Shelf brought to life, and I'm going to pick away at it until it's clean. I expect to be shocked at how quickly I can move those things to a "Woo Hoo" shelf.

What's on your Someday Shelf? Are you ever really going to clean it off? How? When?

Inspiration Run Amok

Today is Inspiration Day. Fresh from my Tivo'ed recording of What Not to Wear, I am showered, blow dried, wearing make up and my most flattering clothes. The problem is I am all by myself. Being a SAHM is incredibly isolating. So is being a writer. The two combined are just a death knell to my wardrobe, not to mention personal hygiene.

I need to get out. I need to talk to someone and have them talk back to me. I need to feel like I exist in the world.

Or maybe I just need a hobby.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Saturday, September 13, 2003

Life as Art

The Big Guy has correctly pointed out the unfortunate life metaphor in the fact that my little Zen sand garden is now the Little Guy's favorite toy. All my perfect concentric circles, polished stones, and carefully contained sand has been turned into a construction zone, complete with a dumptruck, a backhoe, and a plastic foreman issuing orders. Sand is everywhere and serenity nowhere. "Stand clear for blasting!"

Accents R Us

I've been meaning to note that the Little Guy sounds like a French Elmer Fudd. Like most small children he struggles with R and L sounds. But he also has occasional trouble with TH sounds, resulting in sentences like "Zis is zee bwoccowi" and "I wike zat wadio."

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Friday, September 12, 2003

The Little Guy's ball pit has become a magpie nest. Besides 300 balls, the pit also contains every shiny fun thing that has caught his eye. Right now the balls are hiding salad tongs, two ladles, a small fire truck, and one purple 2-pound dumbbell. I know there's more under there, though, because it drags and thumps when I move it.

I guess this blog is kind of a magpie nest, too. So here are some shiny, silvery bits.

Dinner with my long-lost friend Ruth last night. In her words, she wasn't able to talk deep well. That is extremely atypical because Ruth is one of the few people I know with a very large Left Brain *and* a very large Right Brain. Her noggin is large indeed and our conversations usually cover the spectrum regardless of depth. But last night neither one of us could be serious. That's okay -- we laughed so hard we wheezed. Sometimes ya just gotta.

Further proof that Mombrain is cute-ilicious: the hot young thang that kept smiling at me from the car in the next lane. Okay, it was a burned out Datsun from the mid-80s, and he had the look of unskilled labor, but still. I would have run away with him if he'd asked.

In a caffeinated craze this morning I emailed the editor of Parenting Magazine and asked her to please stop assuming all her readers were moms. My fulltime dad friends take issue with this, and as a writer and a mom, so do I. But now that I've recovered from my craze and am in a pleasant post-caffeine stupor, I realize I should have let my dad friends speak for themselves. Oopsie. Bad MomBrain, Bad. Honestly I can be so meddlesome sometimes.

The good news is I have not spent any money today on anything that Odious Woman has recently acquired. Unless she just bought Raffia bed linens from Crate and Barrel, in which case I bow to her superior psychic power.

The bad news is one of my neighbors has been doing construction with a jackhammer for about six hours a day. MomBrain's head hurts. It's hard to write about Baby Diarrhea when you are listening to a jackhammer.

There. That's it. My nest is complete.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Damn that Odious Woman. I just bought a Tisha bra. Damn.
posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Where Were You?

9/11. It's still a black hole in my heart. We will honor it the same way we did last year -- by bringing homemade cookies to the local fire station and saying thank you to the firefighters. It's the only way I can think of to involve the Little Guy meaningfully. He gets to see fire trucks. Nanny and I get to feel like we remembered the day. And who doesn't like star-shaped sugar cookies with red, white, and blue sprinkles?

Gasping for Air

Normally I have some breathing space between projects, but not this time. Last night I slammed home the corporate freelance project (huge sigh of relief). And today I get to write about baby diarrhea. That just gives me a warm fuzzy feeling all over. Next week I need to finish three feature articles. Then I get to move house. I plan to put rubber walls in my office.

Best Birthday Card Ever

I still giggle about the birthday card I received years and years ago from an editor friend. "Happy Birthday to someone out with whom I like to hang."

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

Heaven help us, Mimi Smartypants is about to become a mom. What a lucky, lucky girl Nora Smartypants is. Congratulations, sweetie.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

I have just about had it with OdiousWoman and all the money and pain she costs me. Due to her worship of Anne Lamott and now her heartstopping find of rabbit blog I have just subscribed to Salon Premium for $35 I did not want to spend. Arrrgh, I tell you, arrrgh!!! And don't forget the shopping spree at Lucy for clothes I can run in without looking like 10 pounds of potatoes stuffed into a 5-pound sack. Little Miss Odious owes me big time. MomBrain is shaking her delicate little fist in the air. You will pay!!!

Divorce Court

The slope to Splitsville is not as slippery as one might think. In fact, there are many stops along the way where you can salvage, fix, and climb back uphill to wedded bliss. Now, the Big Guy and I have been doing the marriage thing for many years, and generally we stay on the top half of the slope. It snows, we slide, we pull out the bearpaw snowshoes and help each other back up.

Sadly, though, we have descended to a point on the slope that is lower than we have ever been. And frankly I'm not sure we can hike back uphill without professional help. So I have done what anyone in my position would do. I have reported the Big Guy to Dr. Phil. Here is the letter I just posted on his web site:

Dear Dr. Phil:

My husband and I have a good marriage. We've seen the best and worst of each other and have helped each other through some hard times. But I am ready to call it quits over his back-seat driving.

A recent weekend trip was the last straw. Normally I just let him drive and avoid the whole issue, but when he was too sick to drive I agreed to take the wheel. The constant gasping and stomping on an imaginary brake pedal was enough to give me conniptions. And while I welcome his advice in choosing a route, it does not help me when he says he would have gone a different way, when it is clearly too late for me to change direction.

Sure, within two miles of our house we had three near misses. And okay, I missed the entrance ramp of the highway and had to do a three-point-turn on a four-lane-road in the middle of football traffic. And yes, alright, I was weaving just the tiniest bit when I couldn't get my iced tea into the cup holder. BUT since my husband is the one who taught me to drive, I think he needs to take some ownership of this situation. And clearly there are more constructive ways to offer driving advice.

This problem has become so severe that my three-year-old son even told me I had to go to dwiving school to learn how to dwive.

Dr. Phil, can you help?

Sincerely, Marjorie

P.S. It wouldn't kill him to pay me a compliment once in a while either.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Monday, September 08, 2003

An Ode to Ludes

MomBrain is calmer now. Fueled by greasy phad thai followed by a bowl of Lucky Charms, barefoot and cold for once, with the Big Guy healthy enough to handle the Little Guy's bedtime and within a day of slamming home the rest of this freelance project, I'm able to breathe. At least for the moment.

How much do I love Caitlin Flanagan? She started her magazine writing career in 2001 and now she's a contributing editor for the Atlantic Monthly. This month's fab essay is called Housewife Confidential, and if I had the time and energy I'd write more about it. But I don't, which is why CF is writing for the Atlantic and I am not. Well, maybe some other reasons too. But really, you should read it.

Phad thai and Lucky Charms actually leaves kind of a bad taste in your mouth. So does envy. Hm.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Warning: Whining Ahead

I need a vacation from vacation. Preschool started today for the Little Guy, so we dashed to Vancouver BC for a last gasp of summer weekend vacation fun. But there were signs, signs I tell you that I willfully ignored. They bit me in the butt and now I have bite marks on my cute little cheeks.

First there was the part where immediately after loading the car for departure, the Big Guy threw up. He'd been sick but I didn't know he was that sick. Did we cancel the trip? No, but we did postpone it for a day. Except the danged hotel charged us anyway due to their (surprise!) 24-hour cancellation policy. Ack. So we left on Saturday instead with MomBrain driving the merry mobile north. But after three nights of sleeping on the couch for no more than 5 hours a night, my near-spotless safety record was at serious risk. Especially because I kept falling asleep. BG was asleep in the passenger seat, and LG was asleep in his car seat. And hey - all that snoring is contagious.

Okay, I was sleepy but not stupid, so I pulled over at the nearest mall (again with the not stupid) and demanded coffee before continuing. Somewhere in the hunt for coffee and several potty breaks for the newly toilet trained Little Guy plus a pretzel stop and a gander at leather boots, I lost the car keys. Launched a major scavenger hunt and finally found them in the bathroom at JC Penneys. FINE - let's go, except not before spilling hot coffee on the Little Guy's head. He was surprised but not hurt, so off we went again, this time with the Big Guy driving due to extreme alarm at my state of dementia. Now none of us could sleep because the Little Guy's head was wet and smelled like coffee, I was way overcaffeinated, and BG was being a manly man.

But Wait, There's More!

At the hotel, the king-sized bed we reserved had somehow turned into a queen, which does not contain three human bodies, one of whom prefers to sleep sideways. With dementia turning to extreme pissiness, I exiled a wheezing BG to the pullout couch and claimed the bed for LG and me. Which turned out to be a good thing due to the nightmares caused by "Finding Nemo," available for viewing for only $11.99 on the hotel movie system.*

The food was universally horrible. Even my beloved black-iced-tea-unsweetened from McStarbucks was undrinkable. (Though I should have known better than order iced tea in Canada.) We spent Sunday morning at Science World, which LG loved, and then headed home. And I have to say, despite all my complaining, it was good to get a change of scenery. That is how much we hate our little rental house.

* What is it about Disney movies? And why does the American public keep clamoring for more????? Before the opening credits rolled, Mom was killed by a shark. Then poor little Nemo was taken away from his frantic Dad, who spent the next 15 minutes in pure panic looking for his son while Nemo cried for Daddy. Oh, and then there were the dentist-from-hell scenes. We lasted 20 minutes and declared the movie over. Thank goodness LG is still easy to fake out.

An Apology

I am sorry, dear readers. I sound like a very negative person, and I don't like to think of myself that way. I'm beginning to think I need to remove myself from human civilization until I regain my charming, witty outlook. Feh.


posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Friday, September 05, 2003

Last night's conversation with the Little Guy.

Midnight. Much slumbering in the MomBrain household. A voice calls out in the darkness.

LG: Mommy, I neeeeeed you!
MB: (tripping and stumbling) What's the matter, honey?
LG: I have two pwobwems.
MB: You do? What are they?
LG: One pwobwem is you turned out the wights and I have to go potty. And my other pwobwem is you have to sweep.
MB: Would you like me to turn on the bathroom light so you can go potty?
LG: Yes. And you need to help me.
MB: Okay. But I still need to sleep.
LG: I know. That's my pwobwem.
MB: Yes, it is.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

The next time MomBrain says she's going corporate, someone please just slap me. My freelance deadline was Wednesday night. At 10:PM last night they said Oopsie! They need it Sunday instead. I miss a lot of things about professional work, but this hoick-em-up, do-it-for-the-boss, work-all-weekend-while-you're-on-vacation mentality is not one of them.

MomBrain is cranky. Cranky cranky cranky. Maybe I should join forces with the anarchists. They seem to need a mom. And they clearly need a brain.

I have just finished Po Bronson's "What Should I Do With My Life?" and unfortunately I do not know what I should do with my life. This despite many underlines, stars, margin notes, and other book defacements. It did help me reframe the question, though, and feel more comfortable with being uncomfortable.

On to "A Confederacy of Dunces," assigned by my book club. I put off starting it because I was filled with resentment for being forced to read a 400-page Pultizer Prize winner. 400 pages in a month is a lot. And with all respect to the Pulitzer people, they would benefit from a stint judging American Idol. But by page 17 I was hooked. This will surely be one of the best books I read in my lifetime. How come I never heard of it before now???

Off to make coffee and bludgeon that manuscript some more.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Thursday, September 04, 2003

I am a new woman thanks to my hairdressing friend Tim, who owns the ultra cool Salon Blast. I told him I was tired of looking Mom-ish. He said let's turn up the cute-o-meter. I closed my eyes and said Go. And he did it! I call this haircut the perfect 10. I feel 10 pounds lighter, 10 years younger, and 10 times perkier. The true seal of approval came at McStarbucks, though, when the barista handed me my iced tea (black, unsweetened) and said "There you go, Miss." Miss! You young whippersnappers will doubtless roll your eyes, but let me tell you when people start calling you "ma'am" it kinda sucks. I am still a "Miss" at heart, and Tim is the best haircutter guy ever.

You really must check out Woodge's picture of sandy toes. Now that's photography.

OdiousWoman has issued a public challenge to yours truly for a half-mile run on National Run Day. This from the woman who kicks butt in fitness bootcamp, does multitudinous real pushups, and runs 6 miles like she's strolling on the beach. Now, I am not the public humiliation type. And must I remind you all that her initials are OW? Nonetheless, I am inclined to accept the challenge if only to give myself an excuse to shop at Lucy.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

PLEASE, will someone burn some sheep entrails or something and make it rain??? We have had a record-breaking 50-some days in a row of temperatures (well) over 70 degrees with effectively no rain. I am so tired of sweaty sheets. My garden is half dead. The lawn is long gone. Right now, at 3:00 AM, it is 76 degrees. It is just too danged hot and MomBrain has lost her patience.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

Help me, I'm me-e-e-e-elting ...

This business editing gig is causing severe brain fade. I'm sorry but it is just not possible to stay alert while reading sentences like "Provide access to timely and accurate data so that your firm can make intelligent business decisions and apply resources to the highest value-add activities." I knew this would happen, and I prepared for it. I slept well last night. Stoked up on caffeine. Took my vitamins. Exercised. Ate a high-protein lunch. But it's no use. Someone ought to slap a prescription narcotic label on this thing and market it. It probably has a street value. Heck, the zoo could tranquilize elephants with it.

I think it is far more fascinating that the Little Guy managed to poop in the toilet. Apologies to my childfree friends, but this is a big deal.

A Public Flogging to NYC's Laid-Off Dad who vacationed in Seattle and didn't stop to say hi. Okay, he didn't know I live in Seattle. But still.

In the rest of the U.S. you are what you eat. But here in Seattle, you are what you drink. The Big Guy is a tall nonfat. The Little Guy is a kids steamer. And I am a drip.
posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Oh pooh. Skirt Magazine rejected my essay. Well, I suppose I could crumble under the rejection, find my blankie, and grope for the anti-depressants. Or I could just gird my loins and submit it to the Christian Science Monitor. Door #2 please! Someday I'll be wildly famous ... my essays will fill Best American Essays year after year ... I will rule the world!!! And the editor at Skirt will weep bitter tears when she thinks of her lost opportunity.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post

Monday, September 01, 2003

How much food can a 3-year-old eat when he hasn't pooped in three days? Evidently a lot. Dinner was two slices of pizza, one large bagel, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, some avocado, half an apple, a small bowl of peanuts, a cup of milk, a cup of lemonade, and some water to boot. Oh yeah, and ice cream for dessert plus a few honey graham sticks at bedtime. I smell a growth spurt.

I am filled with admiration tonight for single parents. I've been on my own for a week, with help from Nanny for the first three days. And yet even with help, I am doing laundry at 11:00 pm, just finished dragging the trash to the curb, I neeeeeed to wash my hair, and MY HOUSE! All I have to say is eek. And genuine panic sets in when I think of the next three weeks: I have three feature articles due, requiring three interviews, I've committed to this two-week freelance editing gig, and we're moving house. Pass the defibrillator, please.

posted by Marjorie
Link to this post



Copyright 2003-2005 MomBrain