They say you should write what you know, and what I know is mostly teaching, and kids, parenting and all the other odds and ends that make a life. I try pretty hard, though, to not write about marriage. I know Erma Bombeck and Judith Viorst made a good living writing about the trials and tribulations of marriage, but I think I'm better off not doing so. For one thing, it would sorta be dirty pool, since I have this great place I could do all sorts of venting, and J does not. Yes, yes, I know, he could start his own blog and tell everyone about how bad I am at remembering to close cabinet doors, and how often I forget to do things I said I would do, but he won't. Not because he doesn't want to air our dirty laundry, but because writing isn't his thing. And, he isn't into airing dirty laundry, either. And neither am I, really.
So if I wrote about our marriage then all I'd be writing is the good stuff, and people would think that we were some sort of Stepford couple with no problems at all, and frankly I don't think anybody wants to read about that, either. (Well, I will say that J is really good at buying anniversary presents, and thinks of clever ones every year, and goes way out of his way to find something that fits into the "traditional" gift for that year and everything. It's wonderfully cute and endearing and I get some marvelous gifts out of it. I'll write about them sometime.) And if I wrote about just marriage in general people would think I was writing about J and me, and we'd have people looking at us funny at parties because they'd think they knew stuff about us that they really didn't.
Speaking of, that little story I wrote about the boy and the pancakes? Entirely fiction. J can cook when he wants to. Just so you know.
And when Bombeck and Viorst wrote about their families, and pretty much everything else, they were funny. Really, really gut-bustingly funny. I have discovered that I am mostly funny when I'm not trying to be. When I try too hard, I am not funny at all. I've played characters on stage and every time I've tried to give my funniest delivery of any line...nothing. You could hear crickets chirp. So it's probably best that I stick to other topics and not try to be funny about my dear ones' foibles.
I'll just have to write about my own.
disapproving kitty
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
From Now On, I'm Sticking to "Goodnight Moon"
I did it again, even though I know I shouldn't. I should just play games on my phone and stop clicking links I shouldn't. But I am glutton for getting really pissed off by people I don't know and shouldn't care about. Given the gazillions of flame wars out there about, well, everything, I'm clearly not alone in this, but I have a tendency to do it while surfing on my phone, late at night, before going to sleep. This is a problem and also my saving grace, because it means I can't really engage in the dialogue effectively what with the tiny keyboard and all. And because I have an unusually short attention span for an adult, I typically forget about the idiocy I was reading by the time I do eventually get to my computer. But if I get annoyed enough, it keeps me awake. I lie there running through lengthy diatribes in my head.
If the issue is really, truly important, then I will get off my duff, go find my computer, and engage, even if it is 2 AM. It wasn't that important, but it has bugged me enough that I'm still thinking about it. This time, it was another entry into all the crap out there about How To Be A Perfect Parent.
These articles aren't titled that, of course. They're usually along the lines of "10 Reasons You MUST Breastfeed Your Baby" and include all sorts of pseudo-science nonsense about how women who don't breastfeed aren't as attached, the children grow up to be more hostile, sick and stupid and there's always the strong underlying implication that all women could breastfeed if only they weren't such slackers, or were more dedicated to their children. All of this is crap. Every last word.
It's not crap because breastfeeding is bad, of course. It is, in fact, one the healthiest things a woman can do for her baby. But all the rest about attachment and intelligence is just guesswork. There are some studies that show correlation, but none that show absolute causality, and most people can't tell the difference. But that's not the reason it's crap, either.
It's crap because who are they, (or who am I for that matter,) to stand there and try their damnedest to shame another person, about whom they know nothing, because they have chosen different parenting strategies from theirs? It could be breastfeeding, or sleeping arrangements, the safety of baby products or food, vaccinations, appropriate diets, child safety or in the case of my most recent hands-up-in-the-air moment, getting your baby to sleep. This woman was giving her top ten list of why cry-it-out, or whatever they call it now, was absolutely horrendous. I think she even called it abuse, describing CIO adherents people who will let their baby scream in direst agony for hours on end and never go to them. Pul-eese.
On the flip side of that coin, I've heard advocates of co-sleeping painted at negligent, co-dependent parents who don't care if they roll over and smother their infant to death. Right.
I'm not sure why it is that believers one side or other of any parenting choice feel the need to absolutely lambast those who make alternate decisions. Those parents are ill-informed, uncaring monsters. Their children destined to be a crop of stunted, hobbled misfits who will be unable to function in the world! That may be, but it won't be because they didn't get every color of vegetable every day or wash with Johnson and Johnsons.
Gimmie a break, sanctimonious parenting-lady. Parenting is guesswork. You read it all, talk to all the people who've been there before and then give it a try. What works with one kid won't with another. And the ultimate truth is that while even if your way is absolutely right, my way might be just as right, too. It's not a zero-sum game or a competition. So shut it with your do-it-my-way-or-your-baby-will-be-scarred-for-life, okay?
Because if you keep it up, I will have to get into a flame war, and I really, really do need my sleep.
If the issue is really, truly important, then I will get off my duff, go find my computer, and engage, even if it is 2 AM. It wasn't that important, but it has bugged me enough that I'm still thinking about it. This time, it was another entry into all the crap out there about How To Be A Perfect Parent.
These articles aren't titled that, of course. They're usually along the lines of "10 Reasons You MUST Breastfeed Your Baby" and include all sorts of pseudo-science nonsense about how women who don't breastfeed aren't as attached, the children grow up to be more hostile, sick and stupid and there's always the strong underlying implication that all women could breastfeed if only they weren't such slackers, or were more dedicated to their children. All of this is crap. Every last word.
It's not crap because breastfeeding is bad, of course. It is, in fact, one the healthiest things a woman can do for her baby. But all the rest about attachment and intelligence is just guesswork. There are some studies that show correlation, but none that show absolute causality, and most people can't tell the difference. But that's not the reason it's crap, either.
It's crap because who are they, (or who am I for that matter,) to stand there and try their damnedest to shame another person, about whom they know nothing, because they have chosen different parenting strategies from theirs? It could be breastfeeding, or sleeping arrangements, the safety of baby products or food, vaccinations, appropriate diets, child safety or in the case of my most recent hands-up-in-the-air moment, getting your baby to sleep. This woman was giving her top ten list of why cry-it-out, or whatever they call it now, was absolutely horrendous. I think she even called it abuse, describing CIO adherents people who will let their baby scream in direst agony for hours on end and never go to them. Pul-eese.
On the flip side of that coin, I've heard advocates of co-sleeping painted at negligent, co-dependent parents who don't care if they roll over and smother their infant to death. Right.
I'm not sure why it is that believers one side or other of any parenting choice feel the need to absolutely lambast those who make alternate decisions. Those parents are ill-informed, uncaring monsters. Their children destined to be a crop of stunted, hobbled misfits who will be unable to function in the world! That may be, but it won't be because they didn't get every color of vegetable every day or wash with Johnson and Johnsons.
Gimmie a break, sanctimonious parenting-lady. Parenting is guesswork. You read it all, talk to all the people who've been there before and then give it a try. What works with one kid won't with another. And the ultimate truth is that while even if your way is absolutely right, my way might be just as right, too. It's not a zero-sum game or a competition. So shut it with your do-it-my-way-or-your-baby-will-be-scarred-for-life, okay?
Because if you keep it up, I will have to get into a flame war, and I really, really do need my sleep.
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Lake
I'm at the Lake today. The lake has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I've been coming here since I was an infant. My father has been coming here since he was around four or five. His Aunt Marie and Uncle Lohmie (pronounced all as one word --Uncooloamy-- by everyone I know) had a little cottage here. Back then it had an outhouse out back, and a dirt and gravel road.
When I was five, they built an actual house, with a garage up back that still had some of the feel of the old cottage, with a small shower to wash off all the sand before you trooped inside. It was definitely more comfortable to visit after that, but it had lost some of its charm.
When I was about 13, my parents bought a small cottage about three doors down. They named it Shadynook, after a cottage my mother's family had had when she was little. This new Shadynook was tiny. It had one central room with an L-shaped screened in porch around the front and north side. Two bedrooms off the main room, which had a kitchen of sorts at the back. The kitchen area was so small there was no room for the fridge, so that was kept in the small bathroom, along with canned goods up along a supporting beam that became a shelf. The shower was made out of thin metal that boomed like thunder every time you hit it, turning showering into a far more exciting experience than usual. Not long after my family had cleared out 30 years of dust and dirt, we had friends over, and one of my brother's pals announced "Excuse me while I go to the pantry."
There was no A/C, the walls didn't go to the ceiling, and the only phone was a single rotary dial up on the wall. Important phone numbers, like the one pizza place that would deliver, were scrawled up on the wood next to it. Exposed two-by-fours of the un-drywalled walls were turned into bookshelves that housed hundreds of old paperbacks, and dozens of decks of cards. There was no TV. Entertainment during the day was the lake itself, and the dozen feet of sandy beach before it. Two canoes, a rowboat, fishing tackle and enough pails and shovels to dig our way to China should we choose. In the evenings we played Hearts and Spades or Oh, Hell and talked. We played solitaire with actual cards. And talked and talked and talked. We were our own entertainment.
That little cottage is long gone now, with its thunderous shower, no privacy and mice, spiders and every other kind of critter imaginable sharing the space with us. In its place is a lovely house that still hosts more critters than I would like, but it boasts Wi-fi, more computers than occupants, multiple flat screen TVs, gaming consoles, DVD players, DVR, gourmet kitchen with a huge walk-in pantry that doesn't feature a toilet, and three full bathrooms. And it has central air. Were it still the cottage, we couldn't be out here because it would be too hot to breathe. So I'm not saying that I'd like to have the old Shadynook back instead.
But every now and then I'd like to go to "The Lake." I wish I could have the little cottage next door, where I could go and not be surrounded by the hum of electric gadgets, where everything was casual, and there was nothing between you and all the gorgeousness of nature but an old window screen. I wish I could take my children there.
And then I'd want to come back into the air conditioning and get onto the computer.
When I was five, they built an actual house, with a garage up back that still had some of the feel of the old cottage, with a small shower to wash off all the sand before you trooped inside. It was definitely more comfortable to visit after that, but it had lost some of its charm.
When I was about 13, my parents bought a small cottage about three doors down. They named it Shadynook, after a cottage my mother's family had had when she was little. This new Shadynook was tiny. It had one central room with an L-shaped screened in porch around the front and north side. Two bedrooms off the main room, which had a kitchen of sorts at the back. The kitchen area was so small there was no room for the fridge, so that was kept in the small bathroom, along with canned goods up along a supporting beam that became a shelf. The shower was made out of thin metal that boomed like thunder every time you hit it, turning showering into a far more exciting experience than usual. Not long after my family had cleared out 30 years of dust and dirt, we had friends over, and one of my brother's pals announced "Excuse me while I go to the pantry."
There was no A/C, the walls didn't go to the ceiling, and the only phone was a single rotary dial up on the wall. Important phone numbers, like the one pizza place that would deliver, were scrawled up on the wood next to it. Exposed two-by-fours of the un-drywalled walls were turned into bookshelves that housed hundreds of old paperbacks, and dozens of decks of cards. There was no TV. Entertainment during the day was the lake itself, and the dozen feet of sandy beach before it. Two canoes, a rowboat, fishing tackle and enough pails and shovels to dig our way to China should we choose. In the evenings we played Hearts and Spades or Oh, Hell and talked. We played solitaire with actual cards. And talked and talked and talked. We were our own entertainment.
That little cottage is long gone now, with its thunderous shower, no privacy and mice, spiders and every other kind of critter imaginable sharing the space with us. In its place is a lovely house that still hosts more critters than I would like, but it boasts Wi-fi, more computers than occupants, multiple flat screen TVs, gaming consoles, DVD players, DVR, gourmet kitchen with a huge walk-in pantry that doesn't feature a toilet, and three full bathrooms. And it has central air. Were it still the cottage, we couldn't be out here because it would be too hot to breathe. So I'm not saying that I'd like to have the old Shadynook back instead.
But every now and then I'd like to go to "The Lake." I wish I could have the little cottage next door, where I could go and not be surrounded by the hum of electric gadgets, where everything was casual, and there was nothing between you and all the gorgeousness of nature but an old window screen. I wish I could take my children there.
And then I'd want to come back into the air conditioning and get onto the computer.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
updated goal
I'd really like to finish that story I started a while back. I don't think I can post on it every day, though, so I think perhaps an updated goal will be to write each day, even if I don't post, to try to finish it. I know where the story is going, and maybe how it ends.
I have few deep thoughts today. I've discovered that having lovely long nails may be aesthetically pleasing, but it's lousy for typing. And while I enjoy having nail polish on, it's lousy for housework and any other job requiring use of my fingers. I can't quite bear to cut them, though.
So that's it. Nothing much today.
I have few deep thoughts today. I've discovered that having lovely long nails may be aesthetically pleasing, but it's lousy for typing. And while I enjoy having nail polish on, it's lousy for housework and any other job requiring use of my fingers. I can't quite bear to cut them, though.
So that's it. Nothing much today.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The 60 minute nap
2:00 PM Naptime. Take kids upstairs, get them settled into their rooms. I have time to lie down for 60 minutes! Hooray! I'm very tired, since DD was up several times with nightmares last night.
2:03 PM DD wants her blankie. Blankie is at daycare. Alternate blankie is NOT acceptable. Ten minutes of calming and distracting.
2:12 PM She's in bed. Ok, 48 minutes of a lie down till the handyman comes at 3. That's a decent rest.
2:13 PM "Mommy! I need help to go to the bathroom." On the potty. Off the potty. On again. "I want to go in YOUR bathroom" "I want to go in MY bathroom" On the potty, off again.
2:24 PM Okay. She is back in her bed. I can lie down for 35 minutes! That's pretty good.
2:26 "Mommeeeee! I'm huuuuunnngry!"
Me: Do you want string cheese?
DD: No.
Me: Square cheese?
DD: No.
Me: What DO you want?
DD: Olibes.
Me: We don't have any olives.
DD: Why?
Me: We didn't buy any at the store.
DD: Why?
Me: We just didn't.
DD: Why?
Me: (time for a change of subject) You can have graham cracker with peanut butter.
DD: I just want a cracker.
Me: Just a cracker? Do you want peanut butter on it?
DD: No. I just want a cracker.
Downstairs. Up again. "Here's your cracker."
DD: I WANT PEANUT BUTTER ON IT!
Me: But, OhfortheloveofMike....No. That's not what you said. You are stalling. You can have the cracker or nothing. What do you choose?
DD: (takes cracker, begins to wail)
2:44 She's wailing, but in her crib. I can rest for 16 minutes. Okay. That's something. I settle in. I can ignore loud wailing.
2:46 DS: Mommy! I need help wiping! (are you kidding me?!)
2:50 OKAY. Now they are both in bed. Pottied. Washed. Fed. Quiet. I can rest for...10 minutes. It's better than nothing. Ahhhhh.... Lying down......
2:53 (Knock, knock, knock!) The handyman is here.
<sigh>
2:03 PM DD wants her blankie. Blankie is at daycare. Alternate blankie is NOT acceptable. Ten minutes of calming and distracting.
2:12 PM She's in bed. Ok, 48 minutes of a lie down till the handyman comes at 3. That's a decent rest.
2:13 PM "Mommy! I need help to go to the bathroom." On the potty. Off the potty. On again. "I want to go in YOUR bathroom" "I want to go in MY bathroom" On the potty, off again.
2:24 PM Okay. She is back in her bed. I can lie down for 35 minutes! That's pretty good.
2:26 "Mommeeeee! I'm huuuuunnngry!"
Me: Do you want string cheese?
DD: No.
Me: Square cheese?
DD: No.
Me: What DO you want?
DD: Olibes.
Me: We don't have any olives.
DD: Why?
Me: We didn't buy any at the store.
DD: Why?
Me: We just didn't.
DD: Why?
Me: (time for a change of subject) You can have graham cracker with peanut butter.
DD: I just want a cracker.
Me: Just a cracker? Do you want peanut butter on it?
DD: No. I just want a cracker.
Downstairs. Up again. "Here's your cracker."
DD: I WANT PEANUT BUTTER ON IT!
Me: But, OhfortheloveofMike....No. That's not what you said. You are stalling. You can have the cracker or nothing. What do you choose?
DD: (takes cracker, begins to wail)
2:44 She's wailing, but in her crib. I can rest for 16 minutes. Okay. That's something. I settle in. I can ignore loud wailing.
2:46 DS: Mommy! I need help wiping! (are you kidding me?!)
2:50 OKAY. Now they are both in bed. Pottied. Washed. Fed. Quiet. I can rest for...10 minutes. It's better than nothing. Ahhhhh.... Lying down......
2:53 (Knock, knock, knock!) The handyman is here.
<sigh>
Friday, July 15, 2011
Ribs on the Sidewalk Incident -- Part 3
On our way out we went past another playground, and believe it or not, the kids wanted to play on it. Now, the adults in our little merry band had not eaten, were hot, dusty and sticky and wanted something cold to drink. I knew this. But I was determined that this was not a bad idea to take my kids here and in my deranged, hungry brain, I knew that the way to prove this was to allow them to play on the super-overcrowded playground. Again.
I watched DS like a hawk. This time, he did do his usual routine. Larger kids and teens kept pushing him around, nearly kicking and stomping on him, with me using my best teacher-voice to tell them to cut it out. C loitered at the edge, feeling a bit like the strange-single-man-hanging-out-inappropriately-at-a-playground. Eventually it was time to go, and the kids did NOT want to leave.
We had to drag them away as they thrashed and screamed. I was hungry and tired and now feeling very bad for doing this, and for J not having found anything to eat, (and C, too, for that matter) and just wanting to get the hell out of there. J was famished by this point, but trying his best not to show it. I could tell, though. It is really bad for him to get overly hungry, and I know this, and I felt like it was my fault, which made it worse. Suggesting stopping to get him something to eat, or asking why he didn't get himself pizza earlier didn't help. He just wanted to get the kids out of there, us into the car and himself back to Origins. I was getting desperate at this point, wanting to get him some food, something he'd like, to help make up for bungling this whole thing from the start.
We left C at Comfest, where he could wander off and enjoy its delights sans increasingly deranged parents and cranky kids. J and I headed back towards the Convention Center and the car. As we passed the last of the food stalls, I tried to figure out a way to insist that we stop and get some food but didn't manage it with the kids being absolutely "done" with everything and us wanting to get away from the crowds as quickly as possible. Both kids were throwing monumental tantrums. I was very close to being completely out of my mind.
Then I saw it. Food! Right there on the sidewalk! Right next to the Convention Center was a table, covered with barbecued ribs, chicken, macaroni salad, a few other side dishes and cake! Right there for the taking! A man noticed my interest and said it was leftover from an awards banquet they'd just had, and we could have as much as we wanted for $5. What a bargain! I turned to J in absolute excitement -- here was food for him and this would save the day. He could get a plate of this delicious sidewalk food of indeterminate quality and age from a complete stranger, eat it as we walked to the car and all would be well! I was already digging in my wallet when J's voice penetrated my haze of deranged happiness. He was saying that he really wanted to keep going, he only had twenties, he just wanted to get the kids to the car first.... I couldn't believe my ears. He didn't want this? He can get kind of unreasonable when he's hungry, was that it? I even started to get a little angry with him. Hmph.
As we walked away I expressed my total bafflement at this ungracious refusal of what was clearly a perfectly good meal. With what must have been an enormous expenditure of patience on his part, he explained to me like one would tell a small child or someone in a straitjacket that he didn't actually like barbecued anything, or macaroni salad and was most certainly not going to eat something sitting on a table outside the Convention Center that had been there for god only knows how long.
Oh. I, um, hadn't thought of that. I was monumentally embarrassed, but all I could think of to say was, "I didn't know you didn't like macaroni salad."
Once I got home, and everyone was cleaned up and in bed, it finally dawned on me how utterly ridiculous it all was. I called J and discovered that he'd gotten a Bratwurst from Schmidt's, which is what he'd wanted all along -- but never said. I guess I wasn't the only one not communicating well.
I'd love to be able to pin this on him in some fashion, but I really can't. It was all me, and a monumental fail on my part. It's okay though. If you're going to completely humiliate yourself, the best you can do is do it in front of someone you love.
We left C at Comfest, where he could wander off and enjoy its delights sans increasingly deranged parents and cranky kids. J and I headed back towards the Convention Center and the car. As we passed the last of the food stalls, I tried to figure out a way to insist that we stop and get some food but didn't manage it with the kids being absolutely "done" with everything and us wanting to get away from the crowds as quickly as possible. Both kids were throwing monumental tantrums. I was very close to being completely out of my mind.
Then I saw it. Food! Right there on the sidewalk! Right next to the Convention Center was a table, covered with barbecued ribs, chicken, macaroni salad, a few other side dishes and cake! Right there for the taking! A man noticed my interest and said it was leftover from an awards banquet they'd just had, and we could have as much as we wanted for $5. What a bargain! I turned to J in absolute excitement -- here was food for him and this would save the day. He could get a plate of this delicious sidewalk food of indeterminate quality and age from a complete stranger, eat it as we walked to the car and all would be well! I was already digging in my wallet when J's voice penetrated my haze of deranged happiness. He was saying that he really wanted to keep going, he only had twenties, he just wanted to get the kids to the car first.... I couldn't believe my ears. He didn't want this? He can get kind of unreasonable when he's hungry, was that it? I even started to get a little angry with him. Hmph.
As we walked away I expressed my total bafflement at this ungracious refusal of what was clearly a perfectly good meal. With what must have been an enormous expenditure of patience on his part, he explained to me like one would tell a small child or someone in a straitjacket that he didn't actually like barbecued anything, or macaroni salad and was most certainly not going to eat something sitting on a table outside the Convention Center that had been there for god only knows how long.
Oh. I, um, hadn't thought of that. I was monumentally embarrassed, but all I could think of to say was, "I didn't know you didn't like macaroni salad."
Once I got home, and everyone was cleaned up and in bed, it finally dawned on me how utterly ridiculous it all was. I called J and discovered that he'd gotten a Bratwurst from Schmidt's, which is what he'd wanted all along -- but never said. I guess I wasn't the only one not communicating well.
I'd love to be able to pin this on him in some fashion, but I really can't. It was all me, and a monumental fail on my part. It's okay though. If you're going to completely humiliate yourself, the best you can do is do it in front of someone you love.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Ribs On the Sidewalk Incident - -Part 2
We left our story with me realizing I couldn't find DS.....
I circled and circled the small playground, and started to panic as I couldn't find him anywhere. His SOP on playground equipment is usually to find one thing he really likes to do, like a slide, and do it over and over and over again. But he wasn't doing the slide. He was gone. Just. Gone. I panicked. C started looking. I desperately tried to call J but couldn't get through.
The one and possibly only non-brainless thing I had done that evening was put DS's name and my phone number on a sticker on her shirt. His sib had one, too. I knew, if he was found, that someone could try to call me. Except phones weren't working because there was just so much traffic. J finally returned and began looking with us. My baby was missing and I have never felt so afraid in my entire life.
When I am panicked, or even anxious, one thing that frequently happens is that I cannot see well. I mean, I do see things, but I can almost never find the thing I am looking for when I am upset or worried or in a hurry. Once I'm calm, the thing I need usually surfaces right where I'd been looking. I find this terribly annoying. One learning theorist has a book out about lateral dominance and how it can affect our ability to take in and process information. I love her work and what she says about how we function under stress fits me to a T.
So, I am at Comfest, surrounded by thousands of people and more stressed than I have ever been and I am trying to look for my child. Then my phone rang. It was a number I didn't know. I answered, shouting "DID YOU FIND HIM? DO YOU HAVE MY CHILD?" only to hear a woman's voice say "It's going right to voicemail." But I knew, then, that he was safe. A kind stranger had found him, was holding him, and trying to reach me. I calmed down immediately, turned around, and saw him. In a woman's arms, crying. He was, maybe, 10 feet from the playground area-- just across a sidewalk.
Relief. Ohthankyoujesusthereismybabysweetbabychild. I had him in my arms before the woman who had been holding him was able to finish asking if he was mine. I have never, once, made fun of people who have their children on little backpack-leashes, but I have been near people who scoff and insult those parents. In the future, should anyone make such a comment around me, I will slap them.
We rounded up DS and J and C and we were all hungry, and hot and DS was still hiccuping and anybody sane would have said: "Let's get the hell out of here and find someplace with A/C and food," but we didn't. J had found the right stage so we plowed on towards it and got there 20+ minutes early (see, I told you I'd planned for time to stop and eat. Maybe not time for playing on the playground and losing my kid, but you can't plan for everything.)
The kids were close to ravenous, even though I'd brought granola bars and drinks for them. J, who was hungry himself, and none to happy about it, decided to get them pizza. DS will eat nearly anything. Older child is much, much pickier, but will usually eat pizza. J returned nearly half an hour later, pizza in hand. We were sitting, watching the show. It was pretty good. I think C enjoyed seeing lots of womenflesh in sparkly outfits shimmying around. I did too, but probably for different reasons. The kids were intrigued for a little while, but were starting to fidget. DS was briefly entranced by another audience member -- a nearly nude woman in full black and white body paint. We got to watch another 20 minutes of the show while the kids ate, but when that was done, so were they.
....final part tomorrow, I promise.
Relief. Ohthankyoujesusthereismybabysweetbabychild. I had him in my arms before the woman who had been holding him was able to finish asking if he was mine. I have never, once, made fun of people who have their children on little backpack-leashes, but I have been near people who scoff and insult those parents. In the future, should anyone make such a comment around me, I will slap them.
We rounded up DS and J and C and we were all hungry, and hot and DS was still hiccuping and anybody sane would have said: "Let's get the hell out of here and find someplace with A/C and food," but we didn't. J had found the right stage so we plowed on towards it and got there 20+ minutes early (see, I told you I'd planned for time to stop and eat. Maybe not time for playing on the playground and losing my kid, but you can't plan for everything.)
The kids were close to ravenous, even though I'd brought granola bars and drinks for them. J, who was hungry himself, and none to happy about it, decided to get them pizza. DS will eat nearly anything. Older child is much, much pickier, but will usually eat pizza. J returned nearly half an hour later, pizza in hand. We were sitting, watching the show. It was pretty good. I think C enjoyed seeing lots of womenflesh in sparkly outfits shimmying around. I did too, but probably for different reasons. The kids were intrigued for a little while, but were starting to fidget. DS was briefly entranced by another audience member -- a nearly nude woman in full black and white body paint. We got to watch another 20 minutes of the show while the kids ate, but when that was done, so were they.
....final part tomorrow, I promise.
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