29 October 2010
Internet Ass-Hat
I accidentally hurt a very dear friend a couple of weeks ago with a post and I just wanted to publicly say that I'm sorry. And also, that I win the Internet Ass-Hat award for the week. And to celebrate my idiocy, here is a picture of me, with the ass-hat award:
27 October 2010
And Also
Dear Breeches,
I hate how bizarre you make my body proportions look. I looked good in you when I was sixteen-can't we just agree that that was enough? I know that I'm overweight and I'm working on it but when I put you on to go riding and I catch a glimpse of my gigantic leather-clad butt in the mirror it makes me want to cry. Please work on fitting a bit more kindly.
Sincerely,
Jill
I hate how bizarre you make my body proportions look. I looked good in you when I was sixteen-can't we just agree that that was enough? I know that I'm overweight and I'm working on it but when I put you on to go riding and I catch a glimpse of my gigantic leather-clad butt in the mirror it makes me want to cry. Please work on fitting a bit more kindly.
Sincerely,
Jill
25 October 2010
To The BatCave!
Dear lord, where to start?
Last week was an adventure that began the weekend of the previous week. I ended my brief escapde as a single parent (and boy howdy did *that* suck-the single parent thing, not the ending it) and we spent a week doing laundry and packing and preparing for.....
wait for it......
OUR FIRST PLANE RIDE
Jon, Edward and I packed up our lives (yes it took two suitcases for me and the baby. yes I took every single bib and burp rag I could find. yes I did two loads of laundry at my parents house anyway. and yes, I could have left half of the clothes and pjs at home had I known that we wouldn't experience any complete clothing failures) and headed to Illinois for Monmouth College's homecoming. It was my 10 year reunion too and the first time I'd been on campus since I got married nine years ago. I barely recognized the school.
And may I just say to you current students at MC, you are spoiled rotten infants who live in palaces and climb stairs (STAIRS!) up the hill to Wallace Hall and have decent drinking water piped in from Peoria and a black box theatre space and a follow-spot booth that means no more dangling legs off the catwalk and fearing for your life and new light boards and a fancy store in the union that does not require walking five blocks in the snow to get milk!
I just needed to get that off my chest. Moving on.
I got to see two of my very best friends which was awesome. They both got to see me which I'm sure was equally awesome. And everyone got to see Edward who also got to see everyone. I know, it's hard to believe the level of sheer awesome-ness contained in one weekend! It was really, really, REALLY lovely to get to spend some one-on-one time with both of them. And it was fabulous of my husband to come along and corral the child. He was a great sport who made sure the small one ate and slept and played while I ran around town and went to a bar to hear a professor's wife sing and play mandolin in a band. I haven't spent any real quality time with D in over ten years and M has been at least 18 months, if not longer. They both looked and sounded and are wonderful.
While we were in Monmouth, Edward decided it was time to attempt mobilization. He began getting up onto all fours a few days before we left, and, having mostly mastered that (he gets up and then cries because he can't figure out how to get back down again, except when he cries because he fell and can't figure out how to get back up), he decided to experiment! His first big idea was to get up on all fours, thrust his head forward and plant his forehead onto the floor while dropping his arms. He then contracted his abs and pulled his knees forward, lifted his head and planted it as far from his body as possible and repeated the whole process. Then he cried because his head hurt. I gently explained that yes, foreheads are not, in general, a large component in mobilization; and, as far as I can tell, are only there to ensure a nice large and socially-awkward place to get acne.
Then Jon headed back to WA and my parents came to get their grandbaby (and oh yes, me too) and took us to Decatur for the week.
My folks haven't seen Edward since he was two or three weeks old so there were plenty of changes. Look, he has different hair and his eyes are different colors and he can mostly remain in a seated position! If you have kids, then you know how exciting this was. If you don't, then you probably won't.
More on the week in Decatur in part two. Now, time for a nap.
Last week was an adventure that began the weekend of the previous week. I ended my brief escapde as a single parent (and boy howdy did *that* suck-the single parent thing, not the ending it) and we spent a week doing laundry and packing and preparing for.....
wait for it......
OUR FIRST PLANE RIDE
Jon, Edward and I packed up our lives (yes it took two suitcases for me and the baby. yes I took every single bib and burp rag I could find. yes I did two loads of laundry at my parents house anyway. and yes, I could have left half of the clothes and pjs at home had I known that we wouldn't experience any complete clothing failures) and headed to Illinois for Monmouth College's homecoming. It was my 10 year reunion too and the first time I'd been on campus since I got married nine years ago. I barely recognized the school.
And may I just say to you current students at MC, you are spoiled rotten infants who live in palaces and climb stairs (STAIRS!) up the hill to Wallace Hall and have decent drinking water piped in from Peoria and a black box theatre space and a follow-spot booth that means no more dangling legs off the catwalk and fearing for your life and new light boards and a fancy store in the union that does not require walking five blocks in the snow to get milk!
I just needed to get that off my chest. Moving on.
I got to see two of my very best friends which was awesome. They both got to see me which I'm sure was equally awesome. And everyone got to see Edward who also got to see everyone. I know, it's hard to believe the level of sheer awesome-ness contained in one weekend! It was really, really, REALLY lovely to get to spend some one-on-one time with both of them. And it was fabulous of my husband to come along and corral the child. He was a great sport who made sure the small one ate and slept and played while I ran around town and went to a bar to hear a professor's wife sing and play mandolin in a band. I haven't spent any real quality time with D in over ten years and M has been at least 18 months, if not longer. They both looked and sounded and are wonderful.
While we were in Monmouth, Edward decided it was time to attempt mobilization. He began getting up onto all fours a few days before we left, and, having mostly mastered that (he gets up and then cries because he can't figure out how to get back down again, except when he cries because he fell and can't figure out how to get back up), he decided to experiment! His first big idea was to get up on all fours, thrust his head forward and plant his forehead onto the floor while dropping his arms. He then contracted his abs and pulled his knees forward, lifted his head and planted it as far from his body as possible and repeated the whole process. Then he cried because his head hurt. I gently explained that yes, foreheads are not, in general, a large component in mobilization; and, as far as I can tell, are only there to ensure a nice large and socially-awkward place to get acne.
Then Jon headed back to WA and my parents came to get their grandbaby (and oh yes, me too) and took us to Decatur for the week.
My folks haven't seen Edward since he was two or three weeks old so there were plenty of changes. Look, he has different hair and his eyes are different colors and he can mostly remain in a seated position! If you have kids, then you know how exciting this was. If you don't, then you probably won't.
More on the week in Decatur in part two. Now, time for a nap.
12 October 2010
Life Would Be Better With An Editor
NPR has been running their sweeps week this week which means a lot of talking about how they don't usually talk a lot. And also a bunch of stuff about biographies and autobiographies and collections of memoirs.
That's one of the things about NPR - it always makes me feel guilty that I'm not reading more of those kinds of books. It also frequently makes me feel like an uninformed citizen, but that's more ok because I am.
But anyway, that got me thinking about how life is so much cooler with editing.
For example, in real life, this is how this thought happened:
ME: doo dee doo, hmm..when I get done with my facial I should probably go to the bookstore and get something to read...
[Oh, red light-put on brake, I wonder why that car is stopped so far from the car in front of it. Are they going to pull forward? There's quite a line forming behind me. Maybe if I just sneak up a little they'll get the hint and pull forward too. Nope. Now I'm awkwardly close to the car in front of me. I sure hope no one hits me from behind cause I'll end up rear-ending the...Oh, green light-push accelerator]
Hey, NPR is talking about books, wonder if it's anything I'd like to read...Nope. But huh, why are pepople's lives so much more interesting in print? I mean really, you can take anyone's life and publish it in a book and someone will read it. Why is that? It must be good editing. Because if we had to read about a real life it would be too big for a book and involve a lot of things nobody cares about like the time you were crying in the college cafeteria because you were too tired to decide which kind of juice to have with breakfast [actually, that's kind of a funny story and I should post about it sometime].
Oh crap, was that light green or red? No cop car is pulling me over and no one is honking so it must have been green.
What would life be like if it were just the edited version? Could you choose your editor? And what if it turned out your editor was just trying to create one of those books on Oprah's book list? The kind that focuses on all of the bad crap that ever happened to you and that's all? That would suck. I wonder what an editor would make of my life. Would the things on my highlight list make the editor's list? What if they didn't? That would also suck. Does that mean I would lose those experiences?
Oh, hey, I should park.
Life with an editor:
I was driving to the spa when it occurred to me that if life had editors then we could skip a lot of unneccessary stuff.
That's one of the things about NPR - it always makes me feel guilty that I'm not reading more of those kinds of books. It also frequently makes me feel like an uninformed citizen, but that's more ok because I am.
But anyway, that got me thinking about how life is so much cooler with editing.
For example, in real life, this is how this thought happened:
ME: doo dee doo, hmm..when I get done with my facial I should probably go to the bookstore and get something to read...
[Oh, red light-put on brake, I wonder why that car is stopped so far from the car in front of it. Are they going to pull forward? There's quite a line forming behind me. Maybe if I just sneak up a little they'll get the hint and pull forward too. Nope. Now I'm awkwardly close to the car in front of me. I sure hope no one hits me from behind cause I'll end up rear-ending the...Oh, green light-push accelerator]
Hey, NPR is talking about books, wonder if it's anything I'd like to read...Nope. But huh, why are pepople's lives so much more interesting in print? I mean really, you can take anyone's life and publish it in a book and someone will read it. Why is that? It must be good editing. Because if we had to read about a real life it would be too big for a book and involve a lot of things nobody cares about like the time you were crying in the college cafeteria because you were too tired to decide which kind of juice to have with breakfast [actually, that's kind of a funny story and I should post about it sometime].
Oh crap, was that light green or red? No cop car is pulling me over and no one is honking so it must have been green.
What would life be like if it were just the edited version? Could you choose your editor? And what if it turned out your editor was just trying to create one of those books on Oprah's book list? The kind that focuses on all of the bad crap that ever happened to you and that's all? That would suck. I wonder what an editor would make of my life. Would the things on my highlight list make the editor's list? What if they didn't? That would also suck. Does that mean I would lose those experiences?
Oh, hey, I should park.
Life with an editor:
I was driving to the spa when it occurred to me that if life had editors then we could skip a lot of unneccessary stuff.
Say No More
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html
All I have to say is "yup" and "ditto".
All I have to say is "yup" and "ditto".
10 October 2010
My Life is a Series of One-Liners
I have a friend who thinks I'm funny. This is one of the main reasons we're friends. Because I like people who think I'm funny. This particular friend is always saying I should do stand up or write a book. While I find this flattering, I have several problems with this idea-namely that I'm never going to do stand-up as I can't face the rejection and that I'm only funny in one-liners. Also, I'm not disciplined enough to write a book. I have a hard time keeping up with this blog and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who reads it. Also, I have a journal that I'm writing monthly notes to my son in and the latest entry is three weeks late. But, having said all of this here are the some of the queerer things from my life lately...
On the subject of houseguests
Jon: What's the difference between people staying with us and going downstairs in the evenings and them staying in a hotel and going there in the evenings?
Me: When they leave, they're gone.
Recently I went to change my son's diaper but he wasn't done pooping yet. I was halfway through when it suddenly came squirting out and reminded me of nothing so much as when you try to get an ice cream cone from the soft-serve machine but it comes gushing out faster than you expected and you can't get it to shut off so you end up with a lop-sided cone twelve inches tall. You know that panicky feeling while it's happening? Yeah, it was a lot like that. Only more disgusting.
The baby finds the cats hilarious this week. It doesn't matter what we're doing, if a cat wanders by it means all-out gut-wrenching laughter. The cats have responded the way all cats react to laughter directed at them-they get haughty. Which the baby finds funny. Rinse. Repeat.
In case you've ever wondered, leave the neck support thingy in the car seat. It's there for a reason.
My son has a mole on his thigh and I find myself hoping he'll be at least eighteen before some girl or boy sees it.
Thanks to a friend I now know what hobo spiders are and freak out every time I kill one-which is approximately every three to five days since it's fall and they're moving in.
I still want to know if vegans swallow but I don't know any strict vegans to ask.
I was printing a few pictures to take home to my folks next week and I burned through an entire set of color ink cartridges. I blame the baby.
I think my kid is freakishly adorable-just like all of you other snowflakes.
I don't believe anyone when they tell me they think my kid is beautiful/adorable/cute because I lie all the time about babies.
"I am a delicate flower" is not a statement to be delivered in a roar if you want to be taken seriously.
Why must I have time to think "Oh shit" before my worst mistakes? Couldn't I just make the mistake and then have the insight?
I think if you can't say something nice about other people's pets then you should shut the hell up.
You know those people who think life was so much better when they were kids? They've forgotten that you had to ask permission to use the bathroom.
I like my sock drawer organized but my lingerie jumbled.
Flummoxed is just a damn funny word. So is squirrel.
My neighbor has taught a squirrel to hold a fist against his chest like he's flashing a gang sign for peanuts. This is the same neighbor who objected to his wife feeding the raccoons.
I had never seen an opossum up close until I moved out here. They're ugly. And that's coming from someone who thinks naked mole rats are kind of cute.
"Dude, it's not a trumpet." -my response to my son's attempt at a new breatfeeding technique.
I've been single-parenting it for the last three days while my husband was in St. Louis for his 15th high school reunion. I have always had the deepest respect for single parents and now I think it's a miracle that the suicide rate isn't higher. Last night I put my son to bed half an hour early because I was so tired and he can't tell time yet. Today I threw myself upon the mercy of a friend and stayed at her house for five hours. FIVE HOURS ya'll. Now, that's an awesome friend. After only three days on our own, our house looks like a disaster area. Or at least something that should have a quarrantine sign on it. But I did manage to get the baby into clean clothes all three days. And I even showered twice!
On the subject of houseguests
Jon: What's the difference between people staying with us and going downstairs in the evenings and them staying in a hotel and going there in the evenings?
Me: When they leave, they're gone.
Recently I went to change my son's diaper but he wasn't done pooping yet. I was halfway through when it suddenly came squirting out and reminded me of nothing so much as when you try to get an ice cream cone from the soft-serve machine but it comes gushing out faster than you expected and you can't get it to shut off so you end up with a lop-sided cone twelve inches tall. You know that panicky feeling while it's happening? Yeah, it was a lot like that. Only more disgusting.
The baby finds the cats hilarious this week. It doesn't matter what we're doing, if a cat wanders by it means all-out gut-wrenching laughter. The cats have responded the way all cats react to laughter directed at them-they get haughty. Which the baby finds funny. Rinse. Repeat.
In case you've ever wondered, leave the neck support thingy in the car seat. It's there for a reason.
My son has a mole on his thigh and I find myself hoping he'll be at least eighteen before some girl or boy sees it.
Thanks to a friend I now know what hobo spiders are and freak out every time I kill one-which is approximately every three to five days since it's fall and they're moving in.
I still want to know if vegans swallow but I don't know any strict vegans to ask.
I was printing a few pictures to take home to my folks next week and I burned through an entire set of color ink cartridges. I blame the baby.
I think my kid is freakishly adorable-just like all of you other snowflakes.
I don't believe anyone when they tell me they think my kid is beautiful/adorable/cute because I lie all the time about babies.
"I am a delicate flower" is not a statement to be delivered in a roar if you want to be taken seriously.
Why must I have time to think "Oh shit" before my worst mistakes? Couldn't I just make the mistake and then have the insight?
I think if you can't say something nice about other people's pets then you should shut the hell up.
You know those people who think life was so much better when they were kids? They've forgotten that you had to ask permission to use the bathroom.
I like my sock drawer organized but my lingerie jumbled.
Flummoxed is just a damn funny word. So is squirrel.
My neighbor has taught a squirrel to hold a fist against his chest like he's flashing a gang sign for peanuts. This is the same neighbor who objected to his wife feeding the raccoons.
I had never seen an opossum up close until I moved out here. They're ugly. And that's coming from someone who thinks naked mole rats are kind of cute.
"Dude, it's not a trumpet." -my response to my son's attempt at a new breatfeeding technique.
I've been single-parenting it for the last three days while my husband was in St. Louis for his 15th high school reunion. I have always had the deepest respect for single parents and now I think it's a miracle that the suicide rate isn't higher. Last night I put my son to bed half an hour early because I was so tired and he can't tell time yet. Today I threw myself upon the mercy of a friend and stayed at her house for five hours. FIVE HOURS ya'll. Now, that's an awesome friend. After only three days on our own, our house looks like a disaster area. Or at least something that should have a quarrantine sign on it. But I did manage to get the baby into clean clothes all three days. And I even showered twice!
01 October 2010
watching the WEG dressage coverage
You know what's reassuring? Seeing these amazing international riders getting off of their horses and loosening the girth and running up the stirrups-just like everyone else.
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