March 2012
61 posts
3 tags
The Hotel Kitchen Closes at 10:00
I arrived at 10:02.
My appeals did not sway them. I’m tempted to pull a George Michael Bluth face plant in the lobby.
February 2012
48 posts
3 tags
Pinterest is Really Kickstarting My Creative Side →
Pinterest makes me feel like I’m failing my kid, whose sandwich choices to date have been four squares or four triangles.
When I saw Mater here on my dash (does Pinterest have a dash? Is that a thing?) I thought, “poor Dictator. Plain sandwiches in basic shapes. I should really try something more fun.”
Then I clicked through and the first direction was:
The best way to...
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She Doesn't Appreciate My Grammar Lessons
Dictator: ...and Daddy go by herself.
Me: By himself. Daddy went by himself.
Dictator: Yeah. Daddy go by herself.
Me: Himself. Daddy is a boy, so he goes by himself.
Dictator: Mama, I can't want to talk to you.
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Today, I Officially Became a Grown-Up
I forgot to put milk in my coffee when I filled my travel mug for work this morning. I always put milk in my coffee. I’ll go so far as to forgo coffee entirely if there isn’t any milk in the house. And yet, this morning I didn’t notice until I was halfway through my cup.
Apparently I like my coffee black.
I know I’m a child-rearing, home-owning, serious job-holding woman...
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the--kel--smith asked: My Grandpa died when my mom was very young. My Grandma (swiftly) remarried who my mom would call "Dad". He never formally adopted her - but I think that's more because we're talking 50 years ago. My mom experienced several times of people commenting about how there was "no mistaking" they were family. My Grandpa would always just wink at my mom. There was no...
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JUST ANOTHER JOURNEY: Separated by Birth →
nickyhawkins:
I have found that people like to point out things that are similar between Dipper and I. Like “Oh she has blonde hair like you!” or “You both have hands.” And I know that they mean well but sometimes I get annoyed thinking that they are trying to reassure me that I am her mother or that we actually do belong together. Is this common for other adoptive parents? Am I the only grouch...
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I Thought It Was Pretty Obvious
Husband: Where are Dictator's snow pants?
Me: Hanging in the closet.
Husband: Where?
Me: Right there in front of you.
Husband: Yeah, but I don't know which ones are hers.
Me: How about the tiny pink ones that don't look like they'd fit either of us?
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Broken Telephone: Preschool Edition
The Husband keeps sending the Dictator into the kitchen to tell me something. It’s the worst/best game of Broken Telephone I’ve ever played.
But yes, I do believe we will ”switch to jousting”. Or something. Sounds like fun.
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What a Good Little Patriot
Dictator is in her room singing, “Canada, I love you! Canada, I love you!”
It’s a catchy little ditty.
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“Mama! It scary! You don’t like scary!”
– Dictator, while watching one of her least-favourite parts of Fantasia (i.e. everything except the Sorcerer’s Apprentice)
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This went on for five minutes before I started...
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Recharging
I killed my cell phone battery playing Draw Something with a half dozen Tumblr buddies while sending thefootlightclub reactionary texts full of all caps and exclamation points and declarations of heartbreak and tears regarding that goddamn Braverman family.
Priorities. I got ‘em.
(This is probably a sign from the universe that I should go to bed now. Bon nuit.)
ETA: Thirty-four texts...
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Shenanigansandbookshelves, you're going to want to...
Last night, I sauntered towards the bedroom door, gave the Husband a come hither look, and leaned backwards against the door frame in what the movies have told me is a surefire move to get sex (despite the fact that a surefire way to get sex from your husband is to say, “So. Sex?” Ah, romance).
I misjudged. And fell right through the doorway.
I am so sexy.
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He's Not Wrong.
Today, Dictator is wearing pink leggings, a blue chiffon-y layered skirt, and a t-shirt with purple, green and teal flowers on it.
She managed to put all of that on without any help, then brought me a bulky handknit mint green short-sleeved sweater.
Husband: Don’t put that on her! It doesn’t match!
Me: She’s wearing all of this, and you take issue with the sweater?
Husband:...
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igaveupjesusforwine-deactivated asked: How DARE you do whatever you want with YOUR house. UNFOLLOW.
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Anonymous asked: Dressing room? Seriously? I always knew you were a stuck up bitch.
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Prude
The Husband threw on gym pants but no shirt when he got out of bed this morning (as per usual). Dictator took one look at him, stamped a plastic princess-shod foot, pointed toward our dressing room and demanded, “Daddy, you too naked. You put on clothes. Right now!”
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Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, but... Sigh.
Sometimes I spritz my skinny jeans with water and toss them in the dryer for a few minutes to reduce Baggy Knee Syndrome because I am too lazy to do laundry a genius.
Dictator obviously thinks highly of my lazy genius trick, because the first thing out of her mouth when we arrived at the sitter’s this morning was a very loud, very proud: “Mama wetted her pants!”
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Disney Movie Soundtracks Have Come A Long Way
If I hear any of the songs from Lady and the Tramp again, my ears may very well bleed.
Also, Darling’s constant deferring to Jim Dear makes me nuts. Grow some balls, lady.
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Who Doesn't Want to Rock Out to Kim Carnes?
Stopped at a red light on the way to work this morning, and the car next to me was absolutely vibrating with bass. Nothing crazy music-wise - just a steady thud thud thud - but it was loud enough that I could feel it in my car.
The driver was really rocking out to the music, and when the lyrics kicked in, she started belting out the words.
You know how awesome it is when you see someone in...
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Anyone else ever put their kids to bed 90 minutes...
No? Just me, then?
All right.
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“This little piggy went à market…
This little piggy stay at his home....”
– Dictator
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Germs
I’m home today with the Dictator and her germs. There have been brief periods of crashing out with her snotty face buried in my neck, but mostly it’s croupy coughing and snotty nose-wiping while she bounces around the living room playing with all the things.
I don’t understand this manic energy. All I want to do when I’m sick is lay prone under a pile of blankets and watch...
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“Dooohn stop bahLEEEEEbin’!”
– Dictator on the ride home.
Apparently the sitter listens to a lot of Journey.
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Things That Have Made Me Rage-y in the Last Hour
Disclaimer: First World problems below.
I had a whole Cheerio in the cowl of my sweater until I went to the bathroom at lunch. This afternoon, I’m going to fire the manager who spent two hours conducting interviews with me this morning.
I went shoe shopping on my break. Everything was on sale. That means nothing was available in an eight and a half.
The deli where I bought lunch failed...
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New Deodorant Makes Me Smell Like a Bloody Froot...
Interestingly, it’s men’s deodorant.
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Accurate
mybrainexplode replied to your chat: Well. That Was Direct.
At least you always know where you stand with Dictator. Outside.
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Well. That Was Direct.
Me: Okay, that's the last song, bebe. Goodnight.
Dictator: No, you forgot the roundandroundandround part [of There's a Hippo in the Bathtub].
Me: We just sang that part! You helped.
Dictator: Oh, yeah. Goodnight, Mama. Get out.
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I'm Going To Bed Now. Alone.
The Husband got called into work before I even rolled out of bed this morning (at the crack of dawn, mind you).
He’s still there.
His shifts mean I have plenty of time to myself on a regular basis (child notwithstanding), and I really value our separate time. I just don’t appreciate it so much when it’s unscheduled.
Sigh.
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She's Very Firm in Her Convictions
A friend of mine popped by for a few minutes this afternoon. After he left, Dictator said, “Mama, that not your friend.” I told her that yes, he was my friend. “Nooooo… Not your friend! That Daddy’s friend!”
This went back and forth for a while. I figured she was drawing some gender lines and had decided that Padraic couldn’t be my friend because he was...
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The Dictator is in the bathroom with the door closed, repeatedly turning the knob and yelling, “Jake! Jake! Open the door!”
No one named Jake lives in this house.
I don’t know whether to open the door on his behalf.
ETA: She’s now calling Handy Manny for help. I’m just going to let him and Jake sort it out.
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Does That Mean I Get a Promotion?
On the phone with my General Manager:
Me: Okay, great. See you tomorrow.
GM: Yep. Love you, too.
Me: …
GM: Well. That was embarrassing.
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But... WHY?
I’m sorry… But you have to request an invitation to join Pinterest? And there’s a freaking waiting list?
I don’t understand. It’s the interweb. All I want is to have a place to save scrapbook layouts so I can stop making fuckyeahscrapbooking my biggest Tumblr crush. (Because as much as I like FYS and scrapbooking itself, the fact that it gets 9% of my love makes me...
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She Always Gets the Last Word
Husband: Excuse me... I need to use the bathroom.
Dictator: The bafroom? You haffa go pee?
Husband: Yep.
Dictator: Wif your 'gina?
Husband: No...
Dictator: Yes! You pee wif your 'gina!
Husband: I don't have a vagina. I pee with my penis.
Dictator: [Eyeroll] Nooooo. You not pee wif peen-wiss. You pee wif your 'gina, Daddy.
Husband: Girls have vaginas; boys have penises. I'm a boy.
Dictator: [Placatingly] Okay, Daddy, you go pee. ...Wif your 'gina.
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Yeah, Kid. Rub It In.
I had a couple of deliveries to make tonight, so the three of us piled into the car after telling the Dictator (who requires a full explanation of every. damn. thing.) that we were going to drop some things off at my friends’ houses.
We only had two stops, and when I got back into the car after the second one, I caught the tail end of this conversation:
Husband: …nope, that’s...
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And Parent of the Year goes to...
We inadvertently Jimmy Kimmeled the Dictator after dinner when I joked that I’d eaten all the cupcakes we made this afternoon.
Oh my, the tears.
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I Stand Corrected
Me: Hello, beautiful.
Dictator: Mama! You so silly! I not beautiful. I Dictator!
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Husband: I'm encourageable.
Me: Incorrigible?
Husband: Yeah, encourageable.
Me: Encourageable? Like, able to be encouraged?
Husband: Yeah.
Me: Not "incorrigible"?
Husband: What's the difference?
Me: Incorrigible means you don't respond to correction. Encourageable is... not actually a thing.
Husband: Then I'm definitely incorrigible. Because I'm also encourageable.
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Seriously, Self. What Even?
No, you just took the SD card out of your camera and blindly stuck it in the slot on the righthand side of the computer where the SD card usually goes.
On your other computer.
(On a scale of one to Mommy Dearest, how reprehensible is it that I’m considering blaming my kid for this mishap when I ask the Apple Geniuses to retrieve my SD card from the DVD drive tomorrow?)
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Please Check All Emotional Baggage Prior to...
We live a good 2,000km away from most of our family, so Dictator is very familiar with airports and planes and the fact that trips to the airport mean goodbye at least half of the time.
Today, after my mom and stepdad dropped us off at the departure gate in Montreal, Dictator had a bit of a meltdown. Lots of incoherent sobbing with the occasional, “Grandma and Grandpa come to my...
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Go Fish
Dictator: Daddy, you have a two?
Husband: I do have a two. Here you go. Go again.
Dictator: Grandma, you have a...? Wait. Let me see your cards.
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More Numbers
11: One of my original Tumblrs! I loved your dry wit and hilarious take on everything from day one, and I know that this is what’s going to help you keep your sanity once your own dictator arrives.
12: I love your sense of humour, and am in awe of the things you create and the way you nurture that gorgeous girl of yours. I’m building a teleporter just so you can visit.
13: You are...
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I'm about to strap two sticks to my feet and throw...
Oh.
God.
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Numbers
33: You are a model for the parenting community. You’re raising amazing kids and I so appreciate your no-bullshit attitude about just about everything. Also, you’re snide and sarcastic and I love that, too.
69: Oh, you. You’re my favourite, period. I’m glad you’re such a hermit, because that means I don’t really have to share you. And that lecherous look you...
Leave a number in my ask box and I’ll write a post...
Neat twist on the usual.
Hit me, and I’ll post your number and my comments later tonight or tomorrow.
