Bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, your friend, although not quite as lovable at the moment, thanks for asking: When the county tells you that you need to select a new primary care pediatrician for your foster child, even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with the other one, he was really awesome in fact and we liked him very much, make sure to ask if "Ghettoville Regional Medical Center" is PR code for "disgusting public clinic."
Additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, your buddy, who is growing increasingly pissed with every passing moment, now that you mention it: When your case worker tells you that the county forwarded her a letter stating that the original pediatrician -- whom you painstakingly selected from all of the maybe five available physicians covered under the Ghetto Health Plan -- no longer accepts the insurance, maybe it is time to start freebasing the Valium.
Extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, who is not going to continue this conceit any more because it's just getting retarded at this point: When you arrive at the clinic that is supposed to be a regular, normal-old doctor's office for your foster child's 15-month well-child visit and all the forms they give you to sign are written in another fucking language, just give the hell up and run the fuck away and maybe sit in your car for a while, weeping and drinking white zinfandel straight from the bottle.
Mondo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: When the receptionist at the clinic tells you that they are handling emergencies in the morning and that the doctor is running a little behind schedule, and that they don't know how far behind the doctor actually is, per se, but it shouldn't be long before you are seen, make sure to ask the receptionist to define "a little behind schedule" and "shouldn't be long," and when you get a vague noncommittal answer, try very hard not to punch her in the mouth, even though you really really want to, partly because she is lying out her ass, but also because she did that thing with her lip liner that makes you completely batshit crazy nuts.
Super mondo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: WHO THE HELL ACTUALLY THINKS THAT THING WITH THE LIP LINER LOOKS GOOD ON ANYONE? WHO? I DEMAND ANSWERS!
Crazy super modo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: When you have to take your poor 15-month-old to Ghettoville Regional Medical Center because Ghetto Health Plan says you have to, expect to spend FOUR FUCKING HOURS waiting to see a doctor because nobody bothered to tell her that there was AN ACTUAL PATIENT WITH AN ACTUAL GODDAMNED APPOINTMENT WAITING TO ACTUALLY BE SEEN BY AN ACTUAL BOARD-CERTIFIED PHYSICIAN IN EXAM ROOM FIVE. Since two o'clock. After they waited in reception since quarter to eleven, and ran out of food, and ran out of juice, and ran out of diapers, and ran out of patience, and OH MY GOD I AM TOTALLY GOING TO STAB THAT RECEPTIONIST IN THE TEMPLE WITH THAT LIP LINER PENCIL BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS JUST OUT OF CONTROL, WHO LIVES LIKE THIS, I AM ASKING YOU PEOPLE?!?
Also: at your 15-month well-child exam? Your poor kid, who has not had a proper lunch or a proper nap, and who is wearing a two-hour old diaper at this point, is going to get shots, and that is NOT GOING TO BE FUN. You may want to plan something special for dinner, like milkshakes or banana splits topped with lots of whipped cream, cherries, and Xanax.
When we were at the graduation party this weekend, we had a bit of a hard time keeping the Cupcake under control. For one thing, there was a big playground within sight of the pavilion, and as soon as she saw it, she hit the ground running. There were also: dogs; helicopters; juice boxes; little camp-type faucets that dripped and splashes; bugs; trees; people; and bridges over the creek that made a terribly satisfying noise when you stomped over them, Godzilla-style.
Yeah, kids are great.
While we were at my cousin's graduation party yesterday at a park in the Lehigh Valley, a MedEVAC helicopter landed on the baseball field. The accident was about 200 yards from where we were. All of us ran down to watch the EMT's and the flight crew. It was ... weird. And morbid. And louder and smaller than I expected.
(Can't find any details on the accident or if everyone was OK. I can confirm that when we left the party yesterday, nobody in my family was unaccounted for.)
I mean, there are things I need to do today, and some of them are already getting done. Took Cupcake to school because they are making grass skirts out of sheets, and they were supposed to have a magician, although when I left they said that there was actually going to be a clown instead. Good luck with that, guys! Clowns creep me right the fuck out, and I couldn't get out of the building fast enough.
Already ran the dishwasher, and as soon as it's done drying I'll empty it and fill it back up again. Load #1 of approximately 838 is in the washer now. The first 75 loads or so are going to be sheets, blankets, and towels, because one or more of the cats is being bitchy lately, and they've peed on the bed like three times in the last two weeks. We are literally out of clean sheets -- the ones on the bed now are it. Last night we used this Garfield (!!!) comforter that I believe was G's when he was like 9 years old.
There are about eleventy metric tons of clean laundry upstairs to be folded and put away, and I'll get some of that done, but we are pretty much out of closet space as it is, so not everything is going to find a home. Not sure exactly what I'm going to do about that. I have to go through Cupcake's clothes, too, and start boxing up stuff that I know doesn't fit her any more. We'll hold on to the good stuff for my sister, in case Boba turns out to be Bobette, and the rest of the stuff will get donated.
But ... then what? It's only 9:30 and already I am bored. The house is so quiet it's bizarre. It's a cool day so I turned off the air conditioner and opened the window, and there is no rattle and hum of major appliances. Since Cupcake's at school there is no giggling or screaming of shrieking of Muppets. Even the cats are quiet. I'll spend at least a few hours blowing some shit up, but I can't imagine doing that until 4:00 when G and the baby get home.
I ... miss my reality television.
We're trying to teach Cupcake the "touchdown" signal, but so far this is the best we've been able to do. It's only training camp, though -- we've got time.
PS -- One of the Top Five Baby Gifts EVAH. Another is the "Terrible Toddler Towel" that came with this. Thanks, Tina & Sam & Brendan!
PPS -- We have an Eagles cheerleader outfit, too. Don't worry, you'll see that one later.
Well, it isn't a leg lamp, but it's still pretty awesome. I read and comment and drool over at We Covet -- which, by the way, check it out right now, because it's filled with things that you will suddenly find that you can't live without. Anyway, they were running a giveaway contest the other week, and I entered and actually WON. My prize was this faboo skirt from Uglyfish Organics, and Cupcake hasn't taken it off since I opened the package. Yay Mom for being cheap and wanting things for free!
(Next time I'm totally winning the lamp, though.)
I was looking through some old pictures, and found this one from last summer. Use to be, all I needed to pack for an afternoon at the pool was sunglasses, a book and a fresh pack of smokes, all of which could fit in a very small handbag. On a good day, I could throw everything in my pockets and be out the door in under two minutes.
Yesterday we went to my grandparents' for the day, and we packed: a diaper bag; a lunch box; a backpack with all our swimsuits, sunscreen, sunhats, sunglasses, etc.; assorted toys for the car ride; extra onesies and shoes in case of a wardrobe malfunction; plus my purse, which is still on the small side but which has so much stuff that I still can't find my keys.
What has happened to my life? And why am I mostly unbothered by all of it?
It's getting harder to get "good" pictures of the Cupcake because she's on to us. She, like, runs away when she sees us getting the camera out. Can't say I blame her -- we have red-eye reduction, so there is always lots of flashing going on, and sometimes we keep asking her to "perform" for the camera so we can get the shot we really want instead of the shot she wants to give us. We're working on it, seriously, but anyone who's done time with a small child knows that it's a constant battle of wills. Who's going to win this battle? The world may never know. But probably not me.
Punk rock girl
Please look at me
Punk rock girl
What do you see?
Let's travel round the world
Just you and me punk rock girl
Except ... 102°F. No, that wasn't how hot it was outside -- that was Cupcake's temperature. Poor thing. We shlepped our bathing suits and eleven metric tons of diapers and spare shoes and juice and crackers and a sunhat and everything except a baby thermometer and infant's Tylenol. And those are the things we actually needed.
So no new pictures, not from Hersheypark anyway. We're going to try to regroup and get ourselves together and get this fever under control, and we'll get back to you.
Bedtime is one of my favorite times of day. And I hate that I am always the one taking pictures instead of snoozing on the couch.
I have ZERO CLUE why climbing around under my mother-in-law's coffee table was entertaining enough to get this big smile, but whatever. It's a great shot so ... good job, G.
(BTW: This is one of my favorite onesies ever, because there is NOTHING it doesn't match, and it's by Garanimals. $2.96, Wal-Mart, you're welcome.)
(Oh, and also: so glad that we're going to Hersheypark this weekend, even though I hate rides and people and teeming around in the hot, because Christ on a cracker ... 90% of the pictures we have of Cupcake are her in the pool. Sheesh-a-roo, does she like the water, I wonder?)
Every time we pass a milestone like this I want to write this big long missive about all the tiny little ways you've changed this month, but at your age right now I just can't do it, because every day you learn something new and it's like you're a different, better, new and improved little person. Each new word is like a whole new world -- let me tell you, kid, I am old, I been around for quite a while, and I have never seen anything like it. You never cease to amaze. I just can't keep up with you, but I keep on trying.
But this is a Very Big Deal, an event that needs to be celebrated and commemorated somehow, so I have decided to list the four things about you that haven't changed about you, and why I love them. I mean, you know we love every single thing about you, from the curl in your eyelashes to the freckle on your foot and everything in between -- these things are just my favorites right now:
(1) I love the way you eat everything in front of you. You are a fearless kid, and I admire that about you. All the gross things that Mommy and Daddy won't eat? If it's on a plate, you'll give it a try. The olives off a slice of pizza, avocado, mushrooms, cantaloupe, spinach, shrimp -- half of those foods, we won't even touch, but you'll nosh that stuff right down. (Bonus points for the way you shove chunks of banana and cheese and grapes in your mouth, chipmunk-style. Until you have kids of your own, you will not appreciate how endlessly adorable that is.) I hope you aspire to something better in life than a career in competitive eating, but then again, nobody ever won Survivor or The Amazing Race by refusing to eat baluts or squid shooters. The point is: life is an adventure, and you are not afraid to face it head on, gastronomically speaking. Brava, signora!
(2) I love the way you imitate the things that other people do. While this might be a bad thing down the line (almost certainly), for now it is awesome, because we are teaching you new things without you even knowing you're learning anything. All kids are mimics, but you seem to be cognizant of the things we want you to learn, and so you soak up the knowledge like a sponge. Everyone is impressed by how you say "more" in sign language (that's why you'll always be the girl with the most cake). People are stunned to see you walking backwards perfectly without falling or hesitating. And when they see you in the pool ... well, let's just say that Operation Ariel was a great success, and now sometimes I would like to figure out how to turn you back into a landlubber without the interference of some goober prince.
(3) I love the way you talk talk talk all the time, even though I never have the foggiest idea what you are saying. Listening to you try to repeat after us is never going to be tiresome, even if it means that I have to come up with creative new "curse" words now, because I don't want you kicked out of kindergarten. I mean, there are appropriate times, places, and parts of speech for the F-word, and since I'm a word nerd you will of course learn to use it correctly in a sentence at some point, but I think we can wait until you're 10 or so. That's about when I learned it, anyhow. (And since I'm being completely honest here, let me cut right to the chase and tell you that when I call you a "little booger"? I really mean you are being a shit. Someday you'll thank me for this, although it will probably be when you call me a "belligerent old hag," by which you will really mean I am being a bitch. But you will be nice to me anyway, or else you will get no inheritance, because I am kind of a bitch like that.)
(4) I love the way you dance, freely and openly and indiscriminately and with complete abandon. You will dance to anything, and I love it. Dunkin Donuts commercials scored by They Might Be Giants? Check. Pussycat Dolls on the radio? Check. That obnoxious music that the ice cream truck plays? Check. It doesn't even have to be music -- I am pretty sure I caught you be-bopping the other day to nothing, some tune in your head that only you could hear. Let me tell you, though, that you are actually a good dancer, not like Mommy (who dances like an aging decrepit sorostitute in a dive college bar) or Daddy (who is not bad but still sometimes does the White Man Overbite and refuses to do the Macarena). Also: double bonus points for humoring me and stomping around and just rocking the hell out to "Godzilla."
So, that's it for today. Everyday I love you more -- these are just the things that I love the most, right this very second. We are very proud of you, and so happy, because you have made us proud of ourselves, because when we see you in action, we can see that you are smart and happy and friendly and wonderful and awesome, and maybe that's just the way you are, but hopefully some of that comes from us.
Love you, kiddo. More than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow. Never as much as tomorrow. XOXO, Mommy.
Not sure what you're up to today, but we are enjoying a rare day off. Haven't have much of a chance to skip work lately, since I used up a lot of vacay when we first got the Cupcake. ("Maternity" leave that only applies when you actually give birth FTL!) We sent her to school for the morning because they are making tie-dye shirts and playing outside in a splash pool, and then we're going to my grandparents' to swim some more. I stayed home and washed some dishes and then played WoW, because I have no life. But whatever, what level is your Priest, eh?
Whatever you're doing this weekend, enjoy it! And have some cake. Everything is better with cake.
Pictures of somebody else's kid for a damn change. Hi, Adrian! Hey there, Monique & Derrick & Paulette & Uncle Billy and all G's relatives in California! Miss you! We'll get there as soon as we can.
Seriously, though -- as she gets older and taller and tanner and even more awesome every day, it will be like a mini blast from the past.
Oh, and if you ever actually do go into my photostream? Feel free to leave notes or comments on the pics. But be nice -- you can snark on me until the cows come home, but Cupcake and G are people with feelings. Don't make me hunt you down like a dog and cut you where you stand, OK? Mean people suck, and besides, that shit is disrespectful.