Things I Know

Axiom #1: Trader Joe's Hawaiian Style Salted Potato Chips are like crunchy, salty, manna from heaven at 10:30 on a weeknight.

Axiom #2: I should really, truly, not eat Trader Joe's Hawaiian Style Salted Potato Chips at 10:30 on a weeknight. Or really any night.

But. OMG.

*crunchy salty crispness on my tongue*

Dangit, these things are amazing.

Ahem.

Lately I have contemplated the beauty of my children a lot. I see so many horrible, awful things happening to peoples' children in the news these days, and I think, "how would I feel if that were my kid? How much would my world end?" And I look at my beautiful, healthy, and safe kids. And I just...I treasure them. I am so blessed to have them. I bear the frightening responsibility of getting them to adulthood without serious injury, physical or emotional or otherwise. Once they get there, they should be grounded, sane adults capable of relationships and work.

That is totally overwhelming.

Whenever I complain about these early years, inevitably some well-meaning yet pithy-commenter will always say something to me, like, "oh, just you wait! This time is so short, and you will miss it when they're teenagers!"

*pause to gag*

My internal reaction tends to go something like this:

A) Hey, thanks! This is so much easier now! Hey, do you want to spend a night or two in my bed with my kids?? Like to wake up constantly to shuffle your child or pat a sobbing child? Enjoy a day of breaking up fights on a foggy, coffee-fueled brain?? (Day after day after day!) No? HMM.

Or even...

B) Fine. That's how it is for you. Probably your kids slept for you at a decent age. Or you were a "kid person" who likes playing with little kids, which I'm not. Perhaps you weren't an introvert who needs copious time to yourself in order to recharge and resents the lack of privacy, like me. Surely you didn't raise a couple of stubborn cranky mules, like I am doing? Hah! I plan to look back when my kids are older and say, "thank God!" BTW, suck it non-empathetic, pat answer person!!

Well.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut.

I think I might be sorta, half-way starting to get this whole idea. Like, my kids are er...kinda freakin' awesome at their respective ages.

Wright says hilarious things to me every day in his silly, leave-out-most-of-the-consonants way. He has the most endorphiny belly laugh. And he is so cuddly. I confess I love to squeeze up next to him at night, as long as he's sleepy. I know he is a boy, and I will forever lose that physical closeness with him someday. I will be sad when this stage is over, because even though he's a crazy two year-old that doesn't heel, he comes with all this GOOD to make up for it.

Then there's Violet. Once I get the thumbsucking and nose-picking out from between us (and we have made muchose progressos!), I can look in her bee-u-ti-ful face and marvel that this increasingly gangly, freckle-faced and blue-eyed child is mine. Like, really? And the ladies in the nursery that I scoffed at all those years ago were right...she truly has a sweet spirit. Lord knows where it comes from, but she is this friendly, kind little girl who loves to make new friends and paint pictures and bake cakes with Meemah. I am blessed. One day she will be a surly, moody tween who thinks I suck. I will surely miss this time then.

All those surfacey beetches were right. Grr.

Nose Burrowing

Violet has this really disgusting habit where instead of just sucking her thumb like a typical fidgety child, she goes the extra mile shoves any and all available fingers up her nose. Pinkies are preferable. She does this basically anytime that she is watching tv, riding in the car, or otherwise not actively using her hands for anything productive--hello 11 hours of sleep. So, like, 75% of the day she has 1 thumb in her mouth, 1-2 fingers on the outside of her nose, and 2 pinkies either just in or digging in her nostrils. HOLY CRAP. This bugs me probably far more than it should. It kind of hits me right where nails on a chalkboard would be.

I know, I know, I need to just help her quit. But so far I have had no luck. Usually I say, "hand!" and she stops. Then 30 seconds later, "hand!!" And so on and so forth. She is a 4 year-old who doesn't have the self-control to stop an activity like this. By the fifth time I start to get testy and become the mean mom who yells at her kids for pathetically tiny wrongs like thumb sucking/nose picking.

But, like, I am really, really OCD about germs and nasty things, so this is almost one of my worst nightmares about having children. That and warts. I hope my kids never have wart issues. *shudder*

I actually have big plans for a sticker chart and Disney Princess reward system and a Baby Lulu floofy dress ultimate reward and Thum, this bitter, minty stuff that you paint on your kids' fingers. I have purchased all these things, and they are sitting in my (parents') garage. I just...need...to...get...going on it. Sigh. Lazy fatalism is holding me back.

**Side Note: While typing this blog the past 10 minutes, Violet is watching Speical Agent Oso, and I have said, "hand!!!!!!!!" about 13x. Thirteen. Grr.**

***Extra Side Note: I just changed to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and this upset Wright so much that he walked up to the tv and hit Mickey's image on the screen. Brilliant.***

On a slightly happier note, I just came across this website last night, Overhead in New York, and I die. I stayed up way too late scrolling through the entries. It all quotes that various New Yorkers have overheard and then submit to the website. I like to imagine New York accents as I read some of them. Beware though, they are not for virgin ears (as is New York itself, no?). This one was one of my favorites:

(**Disclaimer: I did not write this entry and swear words, I am just click-quoting another site!!**)

I Hear He Does Quartets All the Time
14-year-old boy #1: You ever play any Chopin?

14-year-old boy #2: Yeah, I played one of his last year.

14-year-old boy #1: Can you play Fantasie-Impromptu? That one's mad hard.

14-year-old boy #2: No, I did an Etude. That's where you play scales and shit.

14-year-old boy #1: I read that he, like, bridged the gap between the classical and romantic eras.

14-year-old boy #2: No way, dude. You ever hear his Nocturnes? That shit is mad romantic. You're thinking of Beethoven.

14-year-old boy #1: Oh, right. Beethoven. He was a pimp.

--2 Train

Overheard by: Blerg
via Overheard in New York, Apr 6, 2010

Happy almost-weekend, people!

In the Bleak Midwinter

I know, I know. I live in Southern California, so this technically doesn't apply. Our Winter is nae near so bleak as, say, way up near a frozen Minnesota lake where no mountains hover and a few bare-bone trees stand aboot. Bear with me here.

It's, er, more figurative. I live in a house where I spend all day avoiding my parents, suppressing my children lest I offend said parents, and overall just living a half-life. Not to mention, it has been rather rainy and dreary these past months. Yes? Okay, then. So in light of that only mildly depressing outlook...

My muse has gone missing.

I think perhaps it got trampled underneath my dad's offensive, shuffling feet? Maybe it rode away with Sam as he took our CR-V to work so many times this Winter?

My best theory: I can't feel it because in order to exist here each day, I have emotionally numbed myself up but good.

Wah, wah, woe is me. My life is SO hard. Gag.

I realize no one is threatening my life or children, no one is on drugs, my kids aren't mortally sick, and so this is all psychiatrist-couch meandering, OKAY??! I'm not trying to be epic here, just digging and 'splaining.

Enerate (that's hillbilly speak from my dad), there it is. I can't feel my feelings, or I only feel the dark and icky ones, so I don't want to bring them out into the light and expose their slimy yuck. Reaching way down, I can't find anything even blackly funny that I can poke at, no sarcastic comment to amuse you. Not just now.

So, sorry. You know you feel yourself reaching back over to your Google Reader page...clicking on some blog with inspiring pictures that'll cheer you up (and possibly make you feel a bit jealous?? Just sayin'...). I know. I read those ones to, and God bless those people. We need them. I love looking at beautiful pictures and eloquent waxing about how "amazing!" and "awesome!" life is as much as anyone. I know I'll never be that girl, though. So I feel free to hang out over here with my black fingernails and my coffee and my complaint rock. To each her own.