An interesting conversation I had with the boys today...
Owen: When I eat, it goes in my tummy. But I can't see it, cuz it's in there.
Me: That's true. That's why-
Owen: There's chicken in there.
Me: Yep. That's why it's so important to eat healthy foods-
Owen: There's ranch dressing there.
Me: Uh-huh, and the food is the fuel for your body which is why-
Owen: Let's see, what else is in there? Candy? Cake?
Me: Yep, that too, but what other healthy things might be in there?
Owen: I don't know. I can't see. Maybe if I can cut it open I can see.
Me: That would hurt and you'd bleed. Only doctors can cut people open.
Owen: Maybe I can cut you open. Hey mom, baby was in your tummy.
Me: Yes, but the doctor cut me open and took the baby out. You can't cut me open.
Stewart: (about 5 times louder than Owen and I) Hey Mom! When the doctor cuts me up, I will be a baby!
Me: (laughter)
Owen: Hey mom, can I see your boobies?
Me: No, that's not appropriate.
Owen: I wanna see 'em.
Me: No, boobies are private, like butts and pee-pees. We only get them out when there's a baby to feed.
Owen: Well, you need to feed him now, I wanna see those boobies!
Me: (doubled over with laughter, but trying to hide it and unable to respond at this point)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Transformation
It's amazing how anything seems possible to little kids.
They know nothing of natural limits; they think that they might be able to do anything and become anything in that mythical future "someday."
Someday, when Owen is bigger, he wants to have "some rings and earrings like Mommy's." When Stewart "turns into a woman," he plans on using the woman's restroom- he also believes that someday he will have boobies.
It's interesting to me that even though they know they are boys, they still believe it's possible, someday, to experience being a woman.
They also talk a lot about what will happen when they "turn into babies." I keep trying to explain that people only get to be babies for a little while, and then never again, but they still go on and on about it. Sometimes when I talk about what they were like as babies, they confuse the past and future.
For example, I told Owen that he used to kick me when he was in my tummy, just like Baby Wilbur. He looked horrified. "No, no Mom. I don't want to go in your tummy!" he exclaimed.
They boys talk about growing up and being "big like daddy," too- Owen has pointed out that when he is a dad, he won't need a stepstool. But this very plausible view of his future seems just as likely to him as turning into a mommy or a baby.
It must be so simultaneously exhilarating and frightening to have such a limitless view of life. To believe that you might wake up tomorrow and be a man? A woman? A baby? Anything?
It makes me a little sad that in only a few short years, they will understand all too well what their future can hold and what it can't. They will understand with perfect clarity that they will never be women, babies, doggies or monkies.
Of course, this may be a good thing. I remember there was one girl in my sister's kindergarten class who said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up and we all laughed and mocked her for years.
They know nothing of natural limits; they think that they might be able to do anything and become anything in that mythical future "someday."
Someday, when Owen is bigger, he wants to have "some rings and earrings like Mommy's." When Stewart "turns into a woman," he plans on using the woman's restroom- he also believes that someday he will have boobies.
It's interesting to me that even though they know they are boys, they still believe it's possible, someday, to experience being a woman.
They also talk a lot about what will happen when they "turn into babies." I keep trying to explain that people only get to be babies for a little while, and then never again, but they still go on and on about it. Sometimes when I talk about what they were like as babies, they confuse the past and future.
For example, I told Owen that he used to kick me when he was in my tummy, just like Baby Wilbur. He looked horrified. "No, no Mom. I don't want to go in your tummy!" he exclaimed.
They boys talk about growing up and being "big like daddy," too- Owen has pointed out that when he is a dad, he won't need a stepstool. But this very plausible view of his future seems just as likely to him as turning into a mommy or a baby.
It must be so simultaneously exhilarating and frightening to have such a limitless view of life. To believe that you might wake up tomorrow and be a man? A woman? A baby? Anything?
It makes me a little sad that in only a few short years, they will understand all too well what their future can hold and what it can't. They will understand with perfect clarity that they will never be women, babies, doggies or monkies.
Of course, this may be a good thing. I remember there was one girl in my sister's kindergarten class who said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up and we all laughed and mocked her for years.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
That sounds about right...
Good test. Thanks to Neil for the link.
| You are a Social Liberal (73% permissive) and an... Economic Conservative (68% permissive) You are best described as a:
Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test |
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Don't Get It
I just don't get it.
This article in the Daily News talks about the schedule changes that occured when The WB merged with UPN to create the CW, and how it caused "confusion" for viewers, leading to lower ratings.
A paragraph from the article reads as follows:
"It's confusing for viewers such as 31-year-old Manjula Patel...'I was like, What is this? I wasn't sure what channel had changed and where `America's Next Top Model' was so I just kept changing the channel until I found it,' Patel said last week during a lunch break from her job at HealthNet in Woodland Hills."
What the hell? First of all, Manjula, it's called TiVo. Get it. Without it, you're just watching REGULAR TV and you might as well read a book written on papyrus or write with a quill pen.
Second, you live in Woodland Hills, which is basically L.A., which is the entertainment capital of the world. A glance at any of the region's publications could have told you every detail you ever wanted to know about the merger between UPN and the WB and its consequent schedule changes. How could you be taken so completely aback by the migration of Top Model?
And third, even if I was willing to let you off the hook for not having TiVo and never picking up a newspaper or an EW, I cannot bring myself to believe that you have no access to the internet. Even if you don't have a computer at home, I'm sure you've got one where you work (Healthnet, according to the article- and every time I call Healthnet, my entire conversation with folks like you is peppered with the brisk click of a computer keyboard). So go online, and google Top Model. You'll find out everything you want to know. How hard is that?
Really, Manjula, hang your head in shame, you passive TV watcher. You need to get active about your entertainment. In this day in age, when you've got SO MANY ENTERTAINMENT CHOICES, you need to schedule and plan to get the most out of your entertainment hour! You don't just TURN ON THE TV AND CHANGE THE CHANNEL UNTIL YOU FIND SOMETHING!
It results in wasted time like watching One Tree Hill, for example, as you acknowledged that you watched because it was on after Top Model. Disgusting!
I just don't GET IT. Aren't your favorite shows important enough for you to find out what time they're on? I would NEVER be in the dark about Veronica Mars for instance. I wouldn't risk missing the pre-credits teaser because I was clicking around, still clueless as to what CHANNEL IT WAS GOING TO BE ON.
I take my TV too seriously for that. I can't imagine watching TV as passively as I watch people in the park- staring open-mouthed at whatever drifts in front of my vision. To quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, "I SAY WHEN! I SAY WHO!" (that one's for you, Mike). I may be a couch potato, but at least I make decisions about what I watch, and they certainly wouldn't include One Tree Hill.
This article in the Daily News talks about the schedule changes that occured when The WB merged with UPN to create the CW, and how it caused "confusion" for viewers, leading to lower ratings.
A paragraph from the article reads as follows:
"It's confusing for viewers such as 31-year-old Manjula Patel...'I was like, What is this? I wasn't sure what channel had changed and where `America's Next Top Model' was so I just kept changing the channel until I found it,' Patel said last week during a lunch break from her job at HealthNet in Woodland Hills."
What the hell? First of all, Manjula, it's called TiVo. Get it. Without it, you're just watching REGULAR TV and you might as well read a book written on papyrus or write with a quill pen.
Second, you live in Woodland Hills, which is basically L.A., which is the entertainment capital of the world. A glance at any of the region's publications could have told you every detail you ever wanted to know about the merger between UPN and the WB and its consequent schedule changes. How could you be taken so completely aback by the migration of Top Model?
And third, even if I was willing to let you off the hook for not having TiVo and never picking up a newspaper or an EW, I cannot bring myself to believe that you have no access to the internet. Even if you don't have a computer at home, I'm sure you've got one where you work (Healthnet, according to the article- and every time I call Healthnet, my entire conversation with folks like you is peppered with the brisk click of a computer keyboard). So go online, and google Top Model. You'll find out everything you want to know. How hard is that?
Really, Manjula, hang your head in shame, you passive TV watcher. You need to get active about your entertainment. In this day in age, when you've got SO MANY ENTERTAINMENT CHOICES, you need to schedule and plan to get the most out of your entertainment hour! You don't just TURN ON THE TV AND CHANGE THE CHANNEL UNTIL YOU FIND SOMETHING!
It results in wasted time like watching One Tree Hill, for example, as you acknowledged that you watched because it was on after Top Model. Disgusting!
I just don't GET IT. Aren't your favorite shows important enough for you to find out what time they're on? I would NEVER be in the dark about Veronica Mars for instance. I wouldn't risk missing the pre-credits teaser because I was clicking around, still clueless as to what CHANNEL IT WAS GOING TO BE ON.
I take my TV too seriously for that. I can't imagine watching TV as passively as I watch people in the park- staring open-mouthed at whatever drifts in front of my vision. To quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, "I SAY WHEN! I SAY WHO!" (that one's for you, Mike). I may be a couch potato, but at least I make decisions about what I watch, and they certainly wouldn't include One Tree Hill.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Top 10 Best Things About Our Move to Valencia
1. Attached garage. Ah, the things I used to take for granted when I lived in the Midwest. It may seem like a little thing, but the attached garage improves the quality of life so much, especially when you have kids. I love that they can run out and get in the car and I can run back in to grab the baby or a diaper bag or the kid's lunches without running at the speed of light because I'm so worried that someone is either going to A: take off with my car and kids or B: see my kids unattended in the car and call DCFS. I can't tell you how many times I've endagered the baby by carrying him AND a diaper bag AND a stroller AND a pile of library books that need to be returned, all to avoid leaving him by himself in the car. Another bonus is that when Stewart falls asleep in the car, I can let him nap in there because it's not too hot or cold and he's right there where I can check on him. It's a beautiful thing.
2. Dishwasher. Enough said there.
3. Upstairs. Can I just tell you how much I love that the kids sleep upstairs and we sleep downstairs? I also love that when I tell Stew to go to his room when he's throwing a fit, I actually CAN'T HEAR the fit. That was always the idea of putting him in his room, however, when his room was only ten feet away, it didn't exactly work.
4. Washer & Dryer. Again, enough said.
5. Traffic. Or lack thereof. It's such a wonderful feeling of freedom, knowing that wherever I need to go, I can get there in five minutes.
6. Wal-Mart (and other big box retailers). I know, I'm supposed to love all those unique, over-priced boutiques and eateries that were available to me in Santa Monica and L.A. But I couldn't afford them anyway. And all I really need, I can get at Wally World. Or Target. Or KMart. Or Old Navy (and I don't have to deal with the frickin' Third Street Promenade to get to it).
7. Chain Restaurants. As I missed Wal-Mart, so I longed for Chili's, Applebee's, Outback Steakhouse, and The Claim Jumper. No, I do not have sophisticated, urban taste. I LIKE my baby back ribs, okay?
8. Parking. All hail parking lots. Big, suburban parking lots with plenty of room for all. No more having to PAY to park at the hospital, the doctor's office, the post office. No more twisting through parking garages and waiting for elevators just to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond. No more digging for change to feed meters which will probably turn out to be broken. No more enduring the mixed smells of urine and citrus air freshener in the Third Street Promenade elevators. No more getting lost in the labrynthine Westside Pavilion parking structure at Christmastime.
9. Paseos. Valencia is criss-crossed with pedestrian walkways for biking, running or walking. There are miles and miles of trails to enjoy and I am totally loving exercising without worrying about traffic. On Mondays I run, on Thursdays I've been taking Stew out on my bike, and on Saturdays while Stew naps, I take Owen. They both love going over and under the major streets (big tunnels and big, big bridges). I love that it's SO EASY to exercise.
10. It's a Family Town. Everyone here is SO much nicer to me and my
kids. It's most likely because everyone here has a family, too. In
Santa Monica, people treated me like a leper for having three kids and
being in the way. I dreaded going shopping because people were always
brushing past me with annoyed looks and dramatic sighs. I hated walking
through parking lots because I was certain to be honked at by some
asshole in a Boxter. I've even had OLD PEOPLE give me 'tude, and
they're supposed to oooh and awwww over babies, not tell me that my
stroller is in their way, or that I should get in the elevator "on the
double," or to "push the button for Chrissakes!"
My first trip to Ralph's here was so amazing I almost cried for joy.
Every single person in the store, every customer, every worker- stopped
to say hello and coo over Wilbur. No one gave me a dirty look or pushed
their cart impatiently up against me. They treated me as if I had every
right to be out shopping for groceries with my three kids- and guess
what? I DO. I couldn't believe that I had even forgotten that. I had
actually been treated so badly for so long that I actually kind of
thought I deserved it, and was constantly apologetic in public. "Oh
excuse me, I'm so sorry I'm in your way!" "I know, I'm slow, sorry,
it's hard to push the stroller"- on and on and on, when I really had no
need to apologize. If anything, they should have been apologizing to me
for being complete DICKS.
2. Dishwasher. Enough said there.
3. Upstairs. Can I just tell you how much I love that the kids sleep upstairs and we sleep downstairs? I also love that when I tell Stew to go to his room when he's throwing a fit, I actually CAN'T HEAR the fit. That was always the idea of putting him in his room, however, when his room was only ten feet away, it didn't exactly work.
4. Washer & Dryer. Again, enough said.
5. Traffic. Or lack thereof. It's such a wonderful feeling of freedom, knowing that wherever I need to go, I can get there in five minutes.
6. Wal-Mart (and other big box retailers). I know, I'm supposed to love all those unique, over-priced boutiques and eateries that were available to me in Santa Monica and L.A. But I couldn't afford them anyway. And all I really need, I can get at Wally World. Or Target. Or KMart. Or Old Navy (and I don't have to deal with the frickin' Third Street Promenade to get to it).
7. Chain Restaurants. As I missed Wal-Mart, so I longed for Chili's, Applebee's, Outback Steakhouse, and The Claim Jumper. No, I do not have sophisticated, urban taste. I LIKE my baby back ribs, okay?
8. Parking. All hail parking lots. Big, suburban parking lots with plenty of room for all. No more having to PAY to park at the hospital, the doctor's office, the post office. No more twisting through parking garages and waiting for elevators just to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond. No more digging for change to feed meters which will probably turn out to be broken. No more enduring the mixed smells of urine and citrus air freshener in the Third Street Promenade elevators. No more getting lost in the labrynthine Westside Pavilion parking structure at Christmastime.
9. Paseos. Valencia is criss-crossed with pedestrian walkways for biking, running or walking. There are miles and miles of trails to enjoy and I am totally loving exercising without worrying about traffic. On Mondays I run, on Thursdays I've been taking Stew out on my bike, and on Saturdays while Stew naps, I take Owen. They both love going over and under the major streets (big tunnels and big, big bridges). I love that it's SO EASY to exercise.
10. It's a Family Town. Everyone here is SO much nicer to me and my
kids. It's most likely because everyone here has a family, too. In
Santa Monica, people treated me like a leper for having three kids and
being in the way. I dreaded going shopping because people were always
brushing past me with annoyed looks and dramatic sighs. I hated walking
through parking lots because I was certain to be honked at by some
asshole in a Boxter. I've even had OLD PEOPLE give me 'tude, and
they're supposed to oooh and awwww over babies, not tell me that my
stroller is in their way, or that I should get in the elevator "on the
double," or to "push the button for Chrissakes!"
My first trip to Ralph's here was so amazing I almost cried for joy.
Every single person in the store, every customer, every worker- stopped
to say hello and coo over Wilbur. No one gave me a dirty look or pushed
their cart impatiently up against me. They treated me as if I had every
right to be out shopping for groceries with my three kids- and guess
what? I DO. I couldn't believe that I had even forgotten that. I had
actually been treated so badly for so long that I actually kind of
thought I deserved it, and was constantly apologetic in public. "Oh
excuse me, I'm so sorry I'm in your way!" "I know, I'm slow, sorry,
it's hard to push the stroller"- on and on and on, when I really had no
need to apologize. If anything, they should have been apologizing to me
for being complete DICKS.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
A Word About Housework
Housework is important, we can all agree on that. Laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning, shopping, scrubbing, sweeping. These chores are all as indispensable to our lives as breathing and yet as a society, we have the least respect for the people who perform them.
Maids, janitors, cleaning-women- whatever term you use, these are among the least paid professions in the country, averaging minimum wage or less.
Or, in the case of moms, much, much less. Our services are free.
Housework is undoubtedly women’s work, and I don’t say that because I believe it SHOULD be women’s work or because I don’t think women are capable of more. I say it because it’s a statistical truth.
Whether they work outside the home or inside, mothers STILL do more housework than fathers- even when they work as many hours or more than their spouses.
It’s important work and it’s hard. So why do we feel the need to shrug it off as it it’s no big deal?
The other day, I overheard two moms at the park who were both trying to prove that they did less housework than the other. “I don’t cook,” one said, somewhat boastfully. “We just order out, save time.”
“Oh, me too!” chimed in the other quickly, “I only cooked tonight cuz my husband’s parents are coming over and they all expect me to be a little Susie Homemaker type.”
“Oh GOD. As if.”
And I thought to myself- if we don’t value and respect the housework that NEEDS to be done- if we are constantly cutting it down and making it sound silly and worthless- then what kind of impression are our children going to have of the people who do such work?
Not only of our maids, cleaning-folk and janitors, but of US? The moms who perform an overwhelming majority of it?
I know the comments were innocent, and I’ve certainly made such comments myself from time to time.
What respectable person hasn’t scoffed at Martha Stewart’s suggestions for a “quick and easy" craft that requires more supplies than a trip to the moon, or gaped at the “simple” recipe in Parents Magazine for cupcakes that look like miniature maps of the UK (or some ridiculous thing)?
But now that I’ve given it some thought, I’m going to try to refrain from making comments that undermine housework and homemaking.
Certainly, I’m not going to turn into Bree (Marcia Cross) from Desperate Housewives. I’m not going to iron napkins or fret about streaks on my glassware.
But I don’t think housework is anything to be ashamed about either.
After all, isn’t it making life livable for everyone in the household?
And if I don’t treat that with importance and respect, why should anyone else? So from now on, I will.
Same goes for you dads that do pitch in and do a large portion of housework. You aren't "just" doing dishes or taking out the trash or mowing the lawn. You are making your home a wonderful place for your kids to grow up. Be proud.
Maids, janitors, cleaning-women- whatever term you use, these are among the least paid professions in the country, averaging minimum wage or less.
Or, in the case of moms, much, much less. Our services are free.
Housework is undoubtedly women’s work, and I don’t say that because I believe it SHOULD be women’s work or because I don’t think women are capable of more. I say it because it’s a statistical truth.
Whether they work outside the home or inside, mothers STILL do more housework than fathers- even when they work as many hours or more than their spouses.
It’s important work and it’s hard. So why do we feel the need to shrug it off as it it’s no big deal?
The other day, I overheard two moms at the park who were both trying to prove that they did less housework than the other. “I don’t cook,” one said, somewhat boastfully. “We just order out, save time.”
“Oh, me too!” chimed in the other quickly, “I only cooked tonight cuz my husband’s parents are coming over and they all expect me to be a little Susie Homemaker type.”
“Oh GOD. As if.”
And I thought to myself- if we don’t value and respect the housework that NEEDS to be done- if we are constantly cutting it down and making it sound silly and worthless- then what kind of impression are our children going to have of the people who do such work?
Not only of our maids, cleaning-folk and janitors, but of US? The moms who perform an overwhelming majority of it?
I know the comments were innocent, and I’ve certainly made such comments myself from time to time.
What respectable person hasn’t scoffed at Martha Stewart’s suggestions for a “quick and easy" craft that requires more supplies than a trip to the moon, or gaped at the “simple” recipe in Parents Magazine for cupcakes that look like miniature maps of the UK (or some ridiculous thing)?
But now that I’ve given it some thought, I’m going to try to refrain from making comments that undermine housework and homemaking.
Certainly, I’m not going to turn into Bree (Marcia Cross) from Desperate Housewives. I’m not going to iron napkins or fret about streaks on my glassware.
But I don’t think housework is anything to be ashamed about either.
After all, isn’t it making life livable for everyone in the household?
And if I don’t treat that with importance and respect, why should anyone else? So from now on, I will.
Same goes for you dads that do pitch in and do a large portion of housework. You aren't "just" doing dishes or taking out the trash or mowing the lawn. You are making your home a wonderful place for your kids to grow up. Be proud.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
THIS IS DYSFUNCTIONAL!!!!
I've realized that Owen and Stewart are in an abusive, dysfunctional, but completely codependent relationship.
All they do is find ways to hurt one another, whether it's Stewart hitting Owen's precious doggies (which he calls his "babies") or Owen running away with one of Stewart's favorite Thomas the Tank Engines.
They are currently locked in a life and death struggle to be the first one to wash their hands after a meal. They spend the entirety of dinner eying one another across the table like a couple of desperadoes. Then as soon as the first one finished swallows his final mouthful and tentatively slides a buttcheek halfway off his chair, the other will drop his fork like he's suddenly discovered it has herpes and push his plate away half uneaten in a mad dash to the sink.
The victor then gets to take an extra long time scrubbing each knuckle and cuticle while the loser is either crumpled on the ground, howling in absolute defeat about how they wanted to be "first" (Stewart) or standing grumpily with their arms crossed over their chest and their lower lip pursed into a pout, exclaiming that they are "gonna be mad at you ALL day, Stewie!" (Owen).
And then there are the toy-induced fights. We have hundreds of toys in this house, from junky little Happy Meal toys to elaborate systems like K'nex or GeoTrax. And yet, the only one either is ever interested in is the one that's in their brother's hand.
The majority of our toys sit dusty and unused, until the moment when one of them touches it and then suddenly it's like Leonardo DiCaprio after Titanic- worshiped, adored and followed around desperately.
They know everything there is to know about one another, and use it against each other in a pointless, bitter, War of the Roses style struggle that NEVER, EVER ENDS. Owen likes to anticipate what toy Stewart wants and snatch it before his chubby little legs can carry him there. Stewart waits until Owen is upstairs alone going pee-pee and lets out a long, ghostly "HOOOOOOOO!" which scares the crap out of Owen.
And the worst part is, they cannot just LEAVE EACH OTHER ALONE. Like adults trapped in a bad relationship with good sex, they cannot stop seeking each other out. They will not just step away from one another and take a break from all the tension and tragedy.
Until, of course, the moment the light goes out in their room and they're supposed to be sleeping. Then all of the sudden they are best friends, giggling and hatching plots.
Ah, this dysfunctional relationship does have its moments. I've heard Owen tucking Stewart in at night, giving him his blankie and his special elephant. I've seen Stewart give Owen the Sugar Addict the rest of his cookies, because he knows how much Owen likes them. I've seen them taking care of each other, loving each other.
But I have to wonder at the end of the day if it's all worthwhile.
All of the fights- are they worth that handful of giggles?
I won't attempt to answer that question, but I will venture to say that I would NEVER again consider having two kids as close in age as Owen and Stewart.
All they do is find ways to hurt one another, whether it's Stewart hitting Owen's precious doggies (which he calls his "babies") or Owen running away with one of Stewart's favorite Thomas the Tank Engines.
They are currently locked in a life and death struggle to be the first one to wash their hands after a meal. They spend the entirety of dinner eying one another across the table like a couple of desperadoes. Then as soon as the first one finished swallows his final mouthful and tentatively slides a buttcheek halfway off his chair, the other will drop his fork like he's suddenly discovered it has herpes and push his plate away half uneaten in a mad dash to the sink.
The victor then gets to take an extra long time scrubbing each knuckle and cuticle while the loser is either crumpled on the ground, howling in absolute defeat about how they wanted to be "first" (Stewart) or standing grumpily with their arms crossed over their chest and their lower lip pursed into a pout, exclaiming that they are "gonna be mad at you ALL day, Stewie!" (Owen).
And then there are the toy-induced fights. We have hundreds of toys in this house, from junky little Happy Meal toys to elaborate systems like K'nex or GeoTrax. And yet, the only one either is ever interested in is the one that's in their brother's hand.
The majority of our toys sit dusty and unused, until the moment when one of them touches it and then suddenly it's like Leonardo DiCaprio after Titanic- worshiped, adored and followed around desperately.
They know everything there is to know about one another, and use it against each other in a pointless, bitter, War of the Roses style struggle that NEVER, EVER ENDS. Owen likes to anticipate what toy Stewart wants and snatch it before his chubby little legs can carry him there. Stewart waits until Owen is upstairs alone going pee-pee and lets out a long, ghostly "HOOOOOOOO!" which scares the crap out of Owen.
And the worst part is, they cannot just LEAVE EACH OTHER ALONE. Like adults trapped in a bad relationship with good sex, they cannot stop seeking each other out. They will not just step away from one another and take a break from all the tension and tragedy.
Until, of course, the moment the light goes out in their room and they're supposed to be sleeping. Then all of the sudden they are best friends, giggling and hatching plots.
Ah, this dysfunctional relationship does have its moments. I've heard Owen tucking Stewart in at night, giving him his blankie and his special elephant. I've seen Stewart give Owen the Sugar Addict the rest of his cookies, because he knows how much Owen likes them. I've seen them taking care of each other, loving each other.
But I have to wonder at the end of the day if it's all worthwhile.
All of the fights- are they worth that handful of giggles?
I won't attempt to answer that question, but I will venture to say that I would NEVER again consider having two kids as close in age as Owen and Stewart.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Awkward...
So I feel a bit awkward posting again because it's been so long.
As Marylou mentioned way back in August, Kyle and I bought a townhome in Valencia and have spent the last several months house hunting, doing paperwork, looking at new preschools, and finally moving.
It's been a long, crazy three month journey from that first day in July when we decided to "just check out" some open houses, which quickly turned into- "hey, the timing is good, the boys haven't started school yet, let's just do it now."
For me, the stress of moving isn't quite as exciting and fun as it is... well, stressful. I know some people like the thrill of starting over in a new home and having all kinds of projects to do, but that person is not me. I don't mind slapping some paint on the walls, but that's about the limit for me in terms of fixing up a home.
I feel like for the last three months my stomach has been in knots as I filled out change of address forms, transferred the kids to new doctors, dentists, and preschools, and tried to figure out all this homeowner's crap, like insurance and property taxes, impound accounts and escrow accounts and blah blah blah.
To compound all this stress, the mortgage broker who was doing our loan kept calling us and asking for more financial documents, even as soon as three days before we closed, which nearly gave both Kyle and I a heart attack.
Every time we talked to her, she'd soothe us with a "Everything's on track, everything's fine- we'll sign the paperwork as soon as it prints!" Then the next day, her assistant would call and say, "Um... do you think you could make a copy of the check you wrote for your good faith payment, just to make sure it went through?"
And I would freak out and call her back, peppering her with annoying questions and ejaculations like "I just don't understand why they need that! Why would I write a bad check for my good faith payment?!"
And she would go back into soothing mode... "Everything's on track, everything's fine..." and I'd calm down again. I think she might be a hypnotist... I wonder if she said "Constantinople" if I'd go all nutty and think I was in love with her, like in that Woody Allen movie.
But anyhow, the point is that the last three months or so, the rest of my life has been completely on hold and my Sippycup time has paid the price.
Consequently, I feel kind of like I can't just jump back into posting- I feel like I was in a relationship that was just picking up steam when I bowed out- and now I'm awkwardly calling again- "Um...hey...so- are you still single?"
I also feel like I've been silent for so long that I oughtn't post until I have something amazing to say.
But I don't. And the silence must be broken somehow, because while I have nothing AMAZING to say, I do have stories to tell- about preschool, feminism, my new city, and my being inspired by Adrienne and Marylou to attempt my first half-marathon this spring.
So while this has been a bit awkward... ahem... let's just pretend I never left, okay?
As Marylou mentioned way back in August, Kyle and I bought a townhome in Valencia and have spent the last several months house hunting, doing paperwork, looking at new preschools, and finally moving.
It's been a long, crazy three month journey from that first day in July when we decided to "just check out" some open houses, which quickly turned into- "hey, the timing is good, the boys haven't started school yet, let's just do it now."
For me, the stress of moving isn't quite as exciting and fun as it is... well, stressful. I know some people like the thrill of starting over in a new home and having all kinds of projects to do, but that person is not me. I don't mind slapping some paint on the walls, but that's about the limit for me in terms of fixing up a home.
I feel like for the last three months my stomach has been in knots as I filled out change of address forms, transferred the kids to new doctors, dentists, and preschools, and tried to figure out all this homeowner's crap, like insurance and property taxes, impound accounts and escrow accounts and blah blah blah.
To compound all this stress, the mortgage broker who was doing our loan kept calling us and asking for more financial documents, even as soon as three days before we closed, which nearly gave both Kyle and I a heart attack.
Every time we talked to her, she'd soothe us with a "Everything's on track, everything's fine- we'll sign the paperwork as soon as it prints!" Then the next day, her assistant would call and say, "Um... do you think you could make a copy of the check you wrote for your good faith payment, just to make sure it went through?"
And I would freak out and call her back, peppering her with annoying questions and ejaculations like "I just don't understand why they need that! Why would I write a bad check for my good faith payment?!"
And she would go back into soothing mode... "Everything's on track, everything's fine..." and I'd calm down again. I think she might be a hypnotist... I wonder if she said "Constantinople" if I'd go all nutty and think I was in love with her, like in that Woody Allen movie.
But anyhow, the point is that the last three months or so, the rest of my life has been completely on hold and my Sippycup time has paid the price.
Consequently, I feel kind of like I can't just jump back into posting- I feel like I was in a relationship that was just picking up steam when I bowed out- and now I'm awkwardly calling again- "Um...hey...so- are you still single?"
I also feel like I've been silent for so long that I oughtn't post until I have something amazing to say.
But I don't. And the silence must be broken somehow, because while I have nothing AMAZING to say, I do have stories to tell- about preschool, feminism, my new city, and my being inspired by Adrienne and Marylou to attempt my first half-marathon this spring.
So while this has been a bit awkward... ahem... let's just pretend I never left, okay?
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