Sep
11
That was the goose
Filed Under Uncategorized | 37 Comments
September 11, 2006
Today was one of my days at home with Riley, and although I should have taken him to a park or something to enjoy this gorgeous weather before it all turns to crap and I’m stuck inside for months and months on end with a lively toddler, man is that ever going to blow, I packed him up and drove to the Retail Mothership, the Bellevue Square Mall.
I took Riley there a couple times back when he was a dozing, helpless little blob – no more troublesome than a purse, albeit a purse that emits the occasional loud, grunting bowel movement – but lately I’ve been kind of intimidated by the thought of bringing him into any environment that doesn’t have an emergency exit within several yards at all times. The further you venture into a mall, the longer it’s going to take to get out. Unlike space, in the mall everyone can hear your baby scream.
I had to quit being a wuss and head in that direction, though, because I have been out of Body Shop Coconut Body Butter for, like, months, and my skin is no longer supple and smelling of stripper. Also, I wanted some Stinky Candles from the Stinky Candle Store. And so to the mall we went, me sniffing the air every two seconds and inquiring worriedly towards the back seat: “Did you poop? You didn’t poop, did you? Oh please don’t poop.” (I know there are actual changing stations in the restrooms, but I feel like most of his diaper changes could be filmed and broadcast on the Discovery Channel alongside footage of lions engaged in fierce wrestling matches with gazelles and snakes wriggling violently away from mongooses, on a show called “Escaping Predators: Wily Mammal Strategies!”. I’m just saying, I’d rather not have an audience if I can help it.)
I have a stroller that is specifically touted for its ability to fold up nicely, and pop back open like a clever piece of origami, but for whatever reason I’m unable to deal with it with any sense of grace if I’m in public. At home I can whip that thing around like I’m Jackie Chan, kicking it into position and snapping on the seat in one fluid movement, but get me in a mall parking lot and I’ve got seventeen thumbs and a total lack of spatial relations. I spent probably five minutes struggling to unlock the goddamned frame on the stroller, wrinkling my shirt and breaking out in the sort of sweat you would never, ever describe as “dewy”. As I was practically gnawing it apart with my teeth, the boy sat peering at me from the carseat and occasionally chortling. Until of course a couple of people walked nearby, and then he started crying pathetically and turning all red and tear-stained, so that it appeared I had left him to rot inside the car for the last several hours while I leisurely tried on shoes at Nine West.
So he was kind of sniffly and pitiful when I brought him in the mall, but he did pretty well. He did his newly-learned scrunch-nose smile at the Stinky Candle Lady who asked if he was in the “loves strangers, or hates strangers” stage. I eyeballed him and said he was usually pretty happy about meeting people, then I offered up a silent prayer to the Stinky Candle Gods he wouldn’t start gasping and shrieking when she trilled her fingers in his direction. He didn’t, though; he just scrunched his nose at her. Or maybe he was just reacting to the overwhelming stench of a thousand clashing scented candles. Either way.
The only thing that was marginally embarrassing was when he started chewing one of his socks, while it was still attached to his foot. While I admired his flexibility, I thought he might start gagging on it (his favorite party trick lately is to thrust something–a finger, a measuring cup handle, whatever–deep within his throat and then gag mightily on it, which, DUH, right? But then he does it about fifteen more times in a row), so I gently removed it, resulting in a Howl of Righteous Indignation that trembled the nearby glass walls of a Tully’s. Luckily, it was a brief skirmish, as he was soon distracted by my wallet, which was the first acceptable thing I managed to unearth in my purse (runners-up items: Afrin inhaler, “Gentle Glide” tampon, leaky ballpoint pen).
After that mostly successful outing, I was feeling brave and so I bundled him into his backpack (no small feat by myself without a couch to balance it on, mind you) and motored into a Bed Bath & Beyond, which I regretted almost instantly.
I have not actually experienced what it’s like to ferry a live squid through a household goods store, its limbs thrashing wildly and seeking purchase on any object within a fifteen-foot radius, but I’m pretty sure I have a good idea now. While the stroller allows me to monitor Riley’s grabby little paws, the backpack gives him total access to anything at head level. He can lean way out and snag something I had no idea was even nearby, such as a wicker trash basket, which he can then smack me over the head with and entangle in my hair. Plus, while the backpack works great for hiking or walking in our neighborhood, it’s extremely awkward when maneuvering through small aisles. It’s like you’re some massive, goony turtle, whose shell keeps whapping things onto the floor. Oh and also you have a squid strapped to you. You’re a turtle with a squid who has to do a wide-legged, preparing-to-poop-type squat to pick something up off the floor. There is no dignity. None.
Anyway, that was my day. I also dragged Riley through the grocery store, god help me, so by the time JB got home I was limp with exhaustion. “What did you do all day,” he asked.
“Oh, not much,” I replied.
:::
A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO AMERICA’S CLASSIEST HOUSEHOLD:
Scene: Riley’s bedroom, earlier this evening. JB is reading to him from the “Baby Animals” picture book.
JB: “And that’s a dog. The dog says, ‘aroooo’. That’s a duck. The duck says, ‘quack quack’. And that’s a goose! The goose says…”
Mysterious sound erupting from JB’s rear, slightly muffled by the chair cushion: “Prooooooooooooot.”
JB: “Ah, yes. That was the goose.”
Sep
10
Brouhaha; today’s activities
Filed Under Uncategorized | 58 Comments
September 10, 2006
In the years I’ve been keeping an online journal, I’ve only had a few angry comments. I’ve chalked this up to the fact that I’m too uninformed to be very opinionated, and therefore incapable of much shit-stirring. If only I were smarter, so as to have a longer, more useful stick with which to stir the shit! But alas.
As it turns out, being kind of stupid can be controversial too. I don’t think posting my horrible idea of a Steve Irwin Halloween costume was quite on par with, say, fooling hundreds of people into replying to a Craigslist sex ad and then publishing all of the responses, including their email addresses (which, oh my god), but I admit it was pretty obnoxious. I actually didn’t feel remorseful about it at all, though, until Jem–who I like very much–mentioned that the joke hit too close to home for her, as one of her close friends is related to Steve and is in mourning right now. Then I thought about Terri Irwin reading my retarded blog post, as improbable as that would be, and…yeah. Sometimes there are things you should probably just keep to yourself, or only share with your equally-awful husband.
However, if it shook loose a few readers whose immediate reaction to the entry was to tell me I had no morals or heart, and that they certainly hoped no harm would ever befall Riley (insert Ominous Tones of Deserved Retribution), well, I don’t mind that one bit. Begone, froth-mouthed crazies, to a land where no one ever does anything to offend you. I recommend one of the outer rings of Saturn.
Something kind of interesting: my daily traffic on that website has nearly doubled in the last couple days. One of the Irwin Post comments asked, “Are you not getting paid for this site?”. I’m not positive what the relevance of the question is – I guess the implication is that I should avoid any subject that has the potential to upset the readers I am being paid to write for. My guess is that ClubMom doesn’t have a real big problem with the boost in viewers. Presumably whoever is currently paying for that big-ass ad tower on there (at the moment, Home Depot, I think) doesn’t mind it either.
I get paid by the month, not by number of viewers, so from that perspective I don’t care if people go away, and in the words of one reader, “tell all of their friends about my pathetic lack of taste and decency” (wait, so you’re going to send around a link to my blog with the instructions to avoid it because it contains a lack of both taste and decency? Jeez, warn me ahead of time, why don’t you, so I can ask for more bandwidth) and never come back.
But I do actually care about a bunch of people having such vitriolic anger towards me; if every entry I posted – here or elsewhere – had comments like that (setting aside the question of what objectionable content, exactly, I’d be consistently producing to generate that sort of feedback) then it wouldn’t be rewarding at all. It wouldn’t be worth the check, and it certainly wouldn’t be worth the time I invest in it.
So my sappy, lame-ass point here is, I’m awfully grateful for the lack of hateful comments you leave me. You have helped me feel confident enough to write about things I never could share with strangers (you don’t feel like strangers). Thank you for being the most supportive, sane, non-butt-kissing, non-burn-her-she’s-a-witching, stupendously cool group of readers a person could hope to have.
Finally, to Jem: I’m sorry about that post.
:::
Today is Sunday, and it was a fine, fine day. The temperature was, in my Northwesterner’s opinion, completely perfect: 71°; the skies were clear and bright and you could just barely smell the onset of fall in the air, that crisp cool delicious odor of firewood and apples and leaves.
Lately we’ve been noticing an odd number of people who seem to be poking around in the tiny section of woods that skirts a park near our house, and JB finally asked someone, “Hey, are you looking for a geocache?” (They had that guilty look about them, a contrived sort of nonchalance, and of course the GPS is a dead giveaway.) They allowed as how they might be, yes, and so we looked it up – sure enough, there was a tiny cache hidden there, which we found this morning.
We hadn’t been geocaching in a long time, and I had forgotten just how fun it is. We packed up Riley and searched out two more in the neighborhood, discovering a park we’d never seen before in the process. That’s my favorite thing about geocaching, you find all kinds of cool trails and parks and places to come back to.
We also visited Old Navy, where JB updated his jeans wardrobe and I picked out some ridiculously cute shirts for Riley, and later we found a new cheap rug to replace the cheap white shag. I like this one much better, so now we have an extra rug. Clearly, we need a dead body to roll in its dog-fur-coated innards.
Rug, 2.0.
Old Navy shirts. I love the one with the fox: WHAT!
In case you were wondering, the boy continues to be cute. It’s getting harder and harder to take pictures of him; man oh man, he’s always on the move, rarely staying still long enough to stay in frame.
He looks like he’s dancing here, but I think he’s just in mid-wild-step. Rug 1.0 blinds us all with its shaggy whiteness.
He digs the straw action, but every other sip comes with a near-death experiences as he hacks on the inhaled liquid contents. Babies! They’re, like, soooo clueless.
As for the dwindling remainder of this day, JB and I are going to continue on our marathon of watching the first season of Rescue Me, which despite some overall cheesiness, I’m really enjoying. Did you know you can say “shit” on FX, but not “fuck”? Just a little wisdom-nugget for you. You’re welcome, and good night.
-
My product review site:
[