Status updates I have considered putting on Facebook today

Elise has really had it.

Elise swears to god, if she hits one more red light she is going to hurt someone.

Elise is reaching the end of her tether.

Elise would sell her ovaries for a kid who sleeps and/or does not scream at pitches just below what only a dog can hear.

Elise is about to pull a Nora.

Elise would just like to be able to DRIVE somewhere ONCE without needing EARPLUGS to block the SCREAMING.

Elise is DONE. DONE, I tell you.

Elise would like to know just who she pissed off, so she can tell them she’s sorry already!

Elise is getting her ass handed to her on a plate by two girls who can’t read or use a toilet.

Elise wishes she was handling things better. Or at all.

Love this.

via Shakesville.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus, this is awesome

Someday, when my children are teenagers and start wondering aloud why I’m so weird all the time, I will show them this video. Because, frankly, once you’ve seen a musical version of Star Wars starring Donnie and Marie with cameos by Redd Foxx as Obi-Wan, Kris Kristofferson as Han Solo, Paul Lynde(!) as Grand Moff Tarkin, the actual Chewie, C-3PO and R2-D2, and a chorus line of Storm-Troopers and their Fem-Bot counter parts, you understand a helluva lot more about growing up in the late 70s. Srsly. So grab a Fanta, plop down in your beanbag chair, and enjoy ten minutes of jaw-dropping vintage weirdness. Because when *I* was a kid, *this* was prime-time television. (thanks to cwethern for the link!)

Christ, how did it get to be Friday already?

The house is a mess, they’re doing road work so the water is turned off all day, the kids are extra cranky, it’s like a sauna outside, and all I really wanna do is take a long nap in my air-conditioned bedroom.

Oh, plus I wanna move to France. Via Kevin Drum:

Matt Yglesias translates some questions from Le Bac, France’s college admission test/high school leaving exam. These are from the philosophy test:

— Does objectivity in history presuppose the impartiality of the historian?

— Does language betray thought?

— Explicate an excerpt from Schopenhauer’s The World as Will and Representation

— Are there questions that are un-answerable by science?

I mean, I know I’m an elitist liberal pinko commie treehugger, and I know comparisons are odious and all, but honestly: can you IMAGINE such questions on any kind of high school test in the US? ‘Cause I sure can’t.

Apparently my life is currently incompatible with blogging

It’s not like things haven’t been happening. The Sprout turned 3 months old, the Hatchling is coming up with new catchphrases and other awesomeness all the time, Mr. Squab and I celebrated our 7th anniversary, I finished rereading the entire Harry Potter series – I mean, the days are filled. Just not so much with the blogging. However, I know I need to post a 3 month letter for the Sprout, and we also have some lovely videos in the hopper, so, um … stay tuned!! Look! Cute pictures!

Crazy-eyed Ellie

Smiling for Mama

Sweet Sisters

Daily Inventory

So far today, the Hatchling has:

1. Pushed one of her friends at playgroup;

2. Thrown sand in the face of another friend;

3. Pitched fits about various trivial things;

4. Peed through her pull-up and all over Mr. Squab’s recliner (the fourth such incident in two days).

I think the age of three is trying to kill me, y’all.

Recap of our trip to the grocery store with the baby, aka the first time the Hatchling has been out of the cart the whole time

Me: OK, now, remember, the Sprout has to ride in the cart so you get to walk and help Mama with the groceries. You have to stay with Mama, OK? NO running away, right?

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I helpa get gwocewies.

Me: Right. You help.

Sprout: A-bah.

Me: OK, let’s see what we need for fruit … do you want some bananas? (She’s only been asking for them 10 times a day since we ran out.)

Hatchling: Ummmm … no fanks. Oh, WOOK! Tomayoes!

Me: (grabbing bananas, distracted) Uh-huh, that’s right – ok, put it back, Boo. Put it back on the pile.

The Hatchling puts the tomato back on the top of the heap, and it rolls down and falls on the floor.

Hatchling: Uh-oh.

Me: That’s ok … (surreptitiously places it back on the pile) … Now don’t touch anything, OK? Just look. No touch.

Hatchling: Wookit, Mama! Apple! (She holds out a pomegranate.)

Me: No, that’s a … never mind. Put it back. No touching, right? Just LOOK.

Sprout: MAH!

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I get-a bwoccoli. I be riiiiight back.

Me: Honey, don’t – you really want broccoli, huh? Well, I guess that’s a good thing to want. OK. Look, don’t touch all of the – just bring me that one. THAT ONE. (The Hatchling walks towards me with a clump of dripping wet broccoli.) Good, good job. Here, I’ll take it.

Hatchling: NO! I PUTTA INDA CART!!

Me: Honey, we have to put a bag on it first.

Hatchling: INDA CART!!!!!!

Me: Yes, we’ll PUT it in the cart, but FIRST we have to put a bag on it. See? It’s all wet.

Hatchling: All wet!

Me: Thank you. OK, now we need to go down this way for some cereal …

Hatchling: I WUV ceweal!

Me: I know you –

Hatchling: Oh, WOOK! BAWOONS!

Me: Boo, stay here! We’ll look at the balloons later! Honey … (grabs cereal, parks cart and Sprout in corner) Come on, Boo. You have to stay with me, remember? (Hatchling darts through flag display, I knock it over trying to reach her) Ack! (grabs Hatchling with one hand, picks up flags with the other) Now come on. We’ll look at the balloons when we’re all done. Let’s find the milk, OK?

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: That’s crackers.

Hatchling: Get some?

Me: Uh, yeah, I guess we do need some crackers.

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: That’s gouda. It’s a kind of cheese.

Hatchling: I WUV-A CHEESE! Get some?

Me: No, you don’t like that kind. Come on, here’s the milk. (grabs milk, tries to head back to registers)

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: Those are lightbulbs, honey. Come on, it’s time to go pay for our stuff.

Hatchling: What’s dat? What’s dat WIGHT DERE, Mama?

Me: (increasingly beleagured) I don’t … those are cookies, honey.

Hatchling: COOOOOKIES. (She says this exactly like Cookie Monster) Getta some coooooookies, Mama? Get some wight DERE? I WUV-A coooooookies.

Sprout: Ga gooo. Ggggoo.

Me: Fine. (grabs cookies, dumps in cart) Now let’s GO. Come on! (enticingly) Let’s go look at the balloons!!

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (runs off in the direction of the balloons)

Bag Boy: Wow, she’s a real cutie. How old?

Me: (smiling, fatally turning attention away from the Hatchling) She’s three, and the little one is two months. (notices Hatchling completely entangled in various balloon strings) Honey … argh … (leaves cart and Sprout at register) come here, let’s get you untangled …

Hatchling: I stuck, Mama.

Me: No kidding. OK, now let’s go get our groc-

Hatchling: I NEEDA BAWOON!! MY BAWOON, MAMA!! (Grabs four graduation themed balloons tightly in fist.)

Me: Christ. Look, how about we get this one? Just ONE, ok? And put the rest back.

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (Marches back to cart with her rainbow happy birthday balloon in hand.)

Grocery Clerk: (smirking) One balloon, then?

Me: (sheepishly) Yeah. Thanks.

Hatchling: OK, Mama! Time to go to car. Say bye-bye!

Sprout: geh-GA.
**********************

Final Score: Hatchling = Eleventy Billion, Me = Zero. Once the Sprout can play I am truly doomed.

Happiness is …

1.) Taking the kids on a nice walk to a fun family event in the beautiful morning weather.

2.) Getting to see a great movie, on opening weekend, in 3D, with your favorite date.

3.) Having friends who are big enough suckers to agree to watch both your 3 year old and your 2 month old while you attend said movie. And who are awesome enough to cope with an infant freak out and live to tell the tale. (It is soooooooo nice having friends with kids the same age as yours.)

4.) Enjoying an impromptu pizza on the patio in the backyard of said friends’ house, watching the kids run around wearing each other out while you enjoy a beer.

THAT is a good Saturday.

I write letters

Dear Teacher at the School Where Our Weekly Toddler Class Is Held,

If you see a harried-looking mother trying unsuccessfully to calm an infant who is screaming like her eyes are being stabbed out with red-hot pokers, it is perhaps not the ideal time to strike up a conversation with said mother about how cute the baby’s outfit is and you assume it’s a girl and what a lovely name! etc., because I DO NOT HAVE THE BRAIN SPACE to engage in social niceties while my baby girl is having a complete and total conniption fit. You absolute moron.

Warmest regards,

The Squab

I have no idea where she gets it

The Hatchling has been especially dramatic lately, because, well, she’s three and all, and everything is a big deal, for better or worse. A lot of the dramatics are real, by which I mean that she’s really feeling INCREDIBLY HAPPY or INCREDIBLY ANGRY or INCREDIBLY SAD about something, but she’s also started to do faux emotions as a kind of game or to get attention. Mostly, her father and I find this annoying and/or tiring, but sometimes it gives me the giggles.

This afternoon, for example, after we’d had a semi-exhausting trip to Target (“Want to get down, Mama? Get outta cart? Get DOWN, Mama? DOWN??? Want treat? I NEEDA treat! I NEEDAWANTA TREAT!!!!!!! etc.) she had finished lunch and it was getting close to naptime.

“Are you ready for naps, Boo?” her father asked.

“Nooooooooo, no, no, no, no.” the Hatchling explained.

“Ok, well, pretty soon it’s time to go upstairs for naps.”

The Hatchling starts spiraling around the living room, faux crying/whimpering. Because she’s so tired. And sad. And forlorn. And also tired and sad. Mr. Squab decided to cut his losses and play along.

“Awwwwww, are you so sad? Ready to go night-night?”

The Hatchling looks even more pitiful. “Okay, Daddy.”

“Then go give Mama hugs and kisses.”

The Hatchling approaches me with a faraway look on her face, embraces me, kisses me, and backs away slowly, sorrowfully. “Good-bye, Mama,” she intones, waving her hand as if it takes the last bit of strength she has, finally turning to drift up the staircase. It was like fucking Camille in the final throes of galluping consumption. Christ.

We can only hope that she channels this ability to lucrative ends at some future point. God knows it hasn’t worked for me yet.