Opening up a ventilation shaft (yes, I’m venting…)
1. I am an embarrassment, and a figure of shame, to all those women out there who give birth, put on their sneakers, get to the gym, lose most of that baby fat, fit back into those 1990’s jeans, pretend stretch marks don’t exist, brush their hair, find and put on their discarded bra left somewhere from the last baby feeding, and leave the house without a trace of baby barf on their shoulder. Even as I type, I momentarily reach up to my damp shoulder and try to wipe a little bit more of the white residue off. Time to wash this shirt, and thank goodness Chris unclogged the drain in the washing machine. Who knew 2 quarters, 6 pennies, 3 dimes, 2 Canadian coins with pictures of Queen Elizabeth II on them, a rubber band, a “breathe-right” strip, a screw, 1/8 cup of elementary school playground sand, a field trip permission slip, a battleship, and many more objects, still to be identified, could clog a washing machine with such success? Well, they did and I now have some serious stains to get out of some clothing that sat too long with dark colored items, a pool of dirty water, and washing machine cud.
2. By the way, anyone know how to get mashed carrots, peas, or squash out of baby cloths? I’d just mastered baby diaper blowouts but this orange ring around the collar thing…Yes, I know, bib, bib, bib!!!
3. I have an associate (associate: a person who could be a friend, relation, or enemy), whom I don’t want to identify, who thinks I should call every other week. I received a call from this associate last weekend and was told that it had been 6 weeks since last I’d spoken with this associate. I sure hope my other associates don’t keep track of such things. If anyone out there is reading this who is wondering when I’m going to call, it will most likely be when my youngest twins start kindergarten. By then, I hope you still want to be friends. I might not remember your name but I never forget a face, so please just tell me what you looked like back then and we can pick up where we left off before I had another set of twins.
4. When should I start feigning insult when my kids complain about my cooking? I know I should probably pretend to be offended when my kids say the food I’m giving them is making them feel nauseated. One of my kids seriously looked like he was going to puke this evening after eating one small bite of sweet potatoes. He even had tears in his eyes and for a moment I thought he would hurl and so I quickly told him to wash it (the healthy food) down with his milk. I’ve even told them that in some households they’d be sent to their rooms, and without dinner, for such bad manners. I went so far as to tell them that they would have been one of the starving pioneers that had to be left behind because he refused to eat his sweet potatoes. Just like Ralphie’s mom, I should tell him that “staving people would be happy to have that.” Instead I think I said something about North Korea. I guess some nights a child has to survive on 3 glasses of milk, a few string beans, and some bread. After several requests for other options, I was feeling ornery, and told them that I was not a short order cook!
5. Shouldn’t babies be happily asleep by 11:35 pm? I wish I was.
Just like this.