1. Anyone caught smoking pot in front of my daughter (or sneaking off to smoke it, then returning to her as the "adult in charge," inebriated) will be fined, sentenced to time in prison, or both. Or, less severely, as is the case in my current situation, I will be forced by conscience, as well as the female archetype of Big Ol' Bad Ass Mama Bear within, to limit the amount of time you are allowed to be in her company. I don't think there's a judge in Milwaukee - or anywhere - who will say, "You know, Steph, I really think you should be more lenient on this issue. It's okay for the Supervising Adult to be under the influence while caretaking. Where do you think Puff the Magic Dragon came from? Really, it's cool. Don't sweat it. Illegal, schmillegal. It's pot."
And he thinks I'm being too harsh.
Ooooooohhh......
"I KNOW YOU DI'INT."
The 16-year-old within me is saying, "Wow. You are, like, WAY uncool. You are SO much uncooler than I said you would be."
And 25-year-old, current me is responding, "Yeah, so? You are, like, SO 1994. Kurt Cobain is dead now, honey. Trent Reznor? Johnny Cash gets in to kick his ass just before dying. Henry Rollins? Does SPORTSCASTING for MTV in a few years, you'll see. The Cure, the Buzzcocks, the Dead Kennedys, AND The Cure all sell their music to television commercials. Your little bad ass leather jacket is hanging in the closet, collecting dust. Your friends are all junkies, half-dead already. And you know what else? In ten years, you're gonna have HAIR. Lots of it. Past your shoulders. AND IT'S NOT GOING TO BE PURPLE, EITHER. And you're gonna buy your clothes at Target, and drive a Volvo, and go to college like everyone you hate right now. Yup. You and Laura Gibbs, shopping side by side. For RECIPE BOXES. And FRAMED PICTURES OF CALLALILIES. And FLUSHABLE WIPES. So there. Besides, what're you gonna do? Kick my ass? I have to be at work in an hour. At a BAR. You can't even get INTO the bar."
(side note.....the funny thing is, I just wrote that whole little segment while listening to "Youth Against Fascism" by Sonic Youth, thereby disproving my own 16-year-old theory, which was that people who drive Volvos couldn't possibly listen to cool music.....oh! and now "Nic Fit" is on! and I don't smoke anymore!!!! this is so funny!!!)
2. My steam cleaner has yet to fail me. I woke up at five o'clock this morning to find Maddie barfing all over my bed. After her subsequent bath, I ventured to her bedroom to retrieve clean, non-vomitized clothing, at which time I was greeted with the scent of barf (barf - what a great word). I thought I had eliminated the source of the stench upon removing my bedsheets. However, as I presently discovered, Maddie had also puked all over her bed prior to coming into my room to share.
God, if you exist, please bless Jason Anderson, for lots of reasons, but specifically at this moment, for giving me what is perhaps the most useful birthday gift I have ever received, so that I may sleep on a mattress that does not stink with the smell of stomach acid and congealed milk.
If you're reading this, then you are invited to a small gathering at my house on Sunday, November 9th (unless, of course, you're some stranger in cyberspace who happened across this page by accident, in which case, you are not invited - no offense). I'm sure I will talk to all you before then, and I'll fill you in on more details when we talk. But for the time being, just mark your calendars!
Sunday the 9th, around 4 p.m. If you're coming from out of town, you are more than welcome to arrive any ol' time your heart desires (i.e., if you are coming from out of town, you are someone I consider family; thus, I do not care if you arrive before I have my make-up on, etc.). :) Just know that my friends from in town (there aren't many) will be showing up around 4 or 5.
There will be snacks, chili, and refreshments of the alcoholic as well as non-alcoholic variety (reminder: Tracey's knocked up again!!!! Whoo-hoo!!!! Only two months to go!!!!).
Talk to you all soon! I'm off to eat some taco dip. Mmmmm....
I GOT A B ON MY A&P LECTURE EXAM!!!!
Okay, I just had to share that with everyone. So excited am I. Thought I'd fail for sure.
Crazy week.
Paper due tomorrow.
Maddie bringing up penises and vaginas, life and death when I least expect it.... How does one quickly and concisely explain death to a 2-year-old?
"The ladybug is dead, honey."
"Why dead? What does dat mean?"
A) The ladybug could have died for any number of reasons, of which I will never be aware.
B) What does death MEAN? That's not an easy question to answer. People write books, philosophical essays and the like, spend their lives praying and standing on their heads and shoving spikes through their abdomens, sweating and taking mushrooms and holding seances, in an effort to find an answer to that question. And my 2-year-old wants an answer, right now.
I resort to that branch of philosophy I so love to hate, yet can't help but acknowledge: materialism.
"It means...it's kind of like sleeping, but he's not breathing. And he doesn't have a heartbeat. So he's dead."
But maybe the ladybug is thinking....maybe he's thinking on a level too complex for our fancy machines to pick up, in which case we resort to the friendlier Cartesian philosophy.....
okay, I'm putting way too much thought into this.
A dead ladybug on the sidewalk.
Let it go (let it not go?).
Let it go.
Quote of the week:
"I don't want to go to Paris. I want to die."
Audrey Hepburn, in "Sabrina"
:D
I have a whole new appreciation for this phrase.
Maddie is refusing, for the second week in a row, to go poop. Last week, I let her deal with it for three days before it finally got so bad that I gave her a suppository and a dose of Senakot. The strength of the human will is amazing. Truly. I'm coming at this shit from two directions, and she STILL is walking around like,....well, like she's got a rod up her ass. Which she does.
I sit her on the pot, she slaps me in the face. I leave her alone, she climbs down and continues the rod-walk. She finally went last Thursday at 7 p.m. I got a phone call at work, much to the amusement of my co-workers, who are not used to seeing me as Mom ("You went poop? GOOD GIRL! See? Doesn't that feel much better?"). Since then, she has again refused to go.
There is no reasoning with this girl.
She's just like her mother.
God dammit.
TWO WEEKS. TWO FULL WEEKS OF, "Mommy, my bottom hurts."
I am losing my sympathy.
Okay.
Venting complete.
Back to school.
I'm an aunt again! Kelsey Blaize Thorvalson was born on Thursday, October 2nd. She weighed 7 lbs. 10oz. at birth and I'm sure is cute as a button (she is a Thorvalson, after all). I have yet to talk to Mike and Kelly; I figure they're coming home from the hospital in the next few days, if not today. If you're reading this you probably already know, but if you're wondering where the name Blaize comes from, it comes from Mike's best friend, who died on 9-9-99. I'm sure he's honored. I'm guessing Kelsey is a variation of Kelly's name.
Congrats, you guys! I love you!
Also, a reminder...I've already told Tracey that I want to add some photos to the fam/friends page, so SEND ME PICTURES (Kirstin and Vaughan, Mike and Kelly, Dave and Aleka....Jenny....this means you)! I need pictures of Ayla, Aidan, Fletcher, and Paul. So send 'em to me! Only if you want your picture posted, of course. *I* want your picture posted, but hey. It's up to you.
Off to study....hope all's well with all of you! Until next time...