that awful voice

You know how sometimes you’re in the grocery store, and you see that harried-looking mom with her couple of kids.

And you hear her talk to her kids in this really nasty voice. Saying all those things that the mean moms say: “if you don’t stop that right now…if I have to say it ONE MORE TIME…” The voice grates on your nerves. Holy shit, you think. They’re just kids.

You sort of pretend not to notice as you walk by, looking intently at the box of cereal in your cart, hoping they’ll move out of the way so you can reach a loaf of your regular bread.

And then one day you’re going about your business, and you hear that shrill, grating, voice. Snapping, or just oozing nastiness. You recognize that voice. It’s that awful mother again. And this time the voice is directed at this adorable-looking toddler with giant eyes and chubby cheeks. And far worse, that voice is coming from your own mouth.

This morning was a bit of a rough morning.

Phoebe is an amazing little girl. I am totally, utterly crazy about her. She is brilliant. She brings me joy. But sometimes, she drives me freakin’ batty.

Sometimes she’s contrary. Sometimes she whines. And, man, does she ever dawdle.

Phoebe goes to daycare 3 days a week. It’s a family daycare about 3 miles down the road. She’s been going even while I’ve been home with Theo, with the idea that I still need to be getting some work done. We need to get Phoebe there by 8:00 in order for her to have breakfast before the whole troop heads out to wait for the school bus to pick up the older kids. If we miss the 8:00 time frame, Phoebe needs to have breakfast at home, and arrive after the bus. This ends up meaning a good hour later. An hour missed of daycare that we pay for anyhow, an hour missed when I could be getting something productive done. Or getting a bit more sleep.

John takes Phoebe most days, but I try to take her at least once a week, and sometimes John (who tends to do most of his working in the middle of the night) needs to be able to sleep before a meeting. This morning was my turn. I have to wake up, feed Theo, change Theo’s diaper, get dressed, and then get Phoebe up and ready. It’s remarkably hard to fit it all together some mornings, when I can barely pry my eyes open. I usually set the alarm for 6:30.

This morning, Phoebe was in a good mood. And playful. But she didn’t want me to take off her pajamas. Then didn’t want to wear the clothes I’d offered. Objected to the underwear I put on her. Finally picked a shirt, but wouldn’t let me put it on her. Picked a sweater, but insisted on buttoning it herself. Wanted a snack for the car.

It was all going so very slowly.

I bundled Phoebe into her jacket and Theo into his carseat and headed out to the car. There was frost. I hadn’t counted on scraping. Phoebe’s slowness about getting into the car was agonizing. Her barrage of whys and I wants tormented. I heard myself starting to use that voice, but I bit it back. I got into the car and headed out the driveway, without scraping the frost of the windshield, revving the engine too hard in my anger, and my need to feel like, to sound like, we were rushing.

I came to my senses and pulled over to scrape the windshield, smelling the nasty smell of over-revved engine and berating myself for risking damage to the car with the revving, and worse, for endangering our lives trying to drive with an obstructed view.

I found the scraper. I scraped. We got to the daycare home safely, if a few minutes late. I was calm and careful on the drive. But when we parked, I still felt the need to rush. I parked in the driveway next to the car of another parent, and unbuckled Phoebe. I was going to have her start up to the house while I got Theo out of the car. She was half way around the car when the car next to us started to back out. I grabbed her hand and caught my heart in my throat. I hadn’t even noticed the other parent return to his car, and there he was backing out, a little too quickly for that driveway. He must have been rushing too, in his hurry to get to work.

And I find myself being grateful that Phoebe dawdles. That she was moving a bit more slowly than I wanted. Because if she’d been running, like I wanted her to in my head, she would have run right behind that SUV. And that other parent, in his rush, probably wouldn’t have seen her.

So it goes that I remind myself that it’s really okay to be a little bit late. Maybe Phoebe will have to rush for breakfast. Maybe we’ll lose an hour of daycare. Or a day. We can afford the lost time.

But I can’t afford to let my temper cloud my judgment.

The Evil Spell Check: A Cautionary Tail

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of a Giant Bookstore, an events Calendar would grace the cash registers and bulletin boards of the store each month, listing book signings and readings and happy occasions.

One day, a hapless customer stumbled across something startling in the upcoming events: a signing scheduled with one of the authors who contributed to an anthology of Inspirational Writings for the Children of the Kingdom. The book was lauded in the Calendar Scroll as a “copulation of stories for children…”

For it so happened that the writer of this Events Calendar had been caught unawares by the perils of the Spell Check. Under this evil Spell, an innocent Typo was turned into something much more sinister and inappropriate. Having likely typed copilation in place of compilation, the Spell was recast, transforming the innocent word into copulation.

This caused great embarrassment in the land, and caused many a tree to be felled for the Improprer Calendars to be re-scribed.

—-

The difference of a character or two in the title of story can mightily change the character of the story. In that spirit, I offer you this copulation of children’s stories and rhymes. Many of which may not be suitable for children.

A Copulation of Children’s Stories and Rhymes

Table of Contents

    I. Poplar Stories:

  1. Goodnight Moron
  2. The Very Hung Caterpillar
  3. Bicurious George
  4. The Runway Bunny
  5. Frog and Toad are Fiends
  6. Charlotte’s Weed
  7. Hairy, the Dirty Dong
  8. Mike Mulligan and his Steamy Shover
  9. The Cat in the Heat
  10. Mary’s Poppin’
  11. Clifford the Big Rude Dog
  12. The Wine in the Willows
  13. Lite Women
  14. Where the Reefer Grows
  15. Harpy Pooter
  16. The Wonderful Wizard of Ooze

    17. II. Nunnery Rhymes:

  17. Marty Had a Little Lamp
  18. Hickory Dickory Dick
  19. Humpy Dumpy
  20. Little Ho Peep
  21. Little Miss Muff
  22. Poop Goes the Weasel
  23. The Farmer in the Deli
  24. Do You Know the Muff Man?
  25. Wee Willy’s Winkie
  26. Little Jack Horny
  27. Peter Peter Pumpin’ Beater

    28. III. Classic Fairy Tails:

  28. Snot White and Roe Red
  29. The Little Math Girl
  30. Goldilocks on the Three Bears
  31. The Princess and the Pee
  32. Jack and the Beatstalk
  33. Puss in Boobs
  34. The Twelve Panting Princesses
  35. Little Red Riding Ho
  36. Snow White and the Shaven Dwarfs
  37. Beauty and the Breast
  38. The Three Little Prigs

——

This week’s Monday Mission was to write a post in the form of a children’s story or poem. (Yes, I realize it’s Tuesday today. This is hardly the only thing I’m running late for.)

This typo really did happen back when I worked in the bookstore, and it still makes me giggle these many years later. (I can do that, because I wasn’t among those who wrote or proofread the calendar in question.) I’d been wanting to share this list and story for a while, so this seemed a good occasion to do so.

NaBloPoMoPoMo

A certified spoon-free post! (Well, except for that use of the word spoon. Oh, and that last one, too. Ah, to hell with it. Spoon, spoon, spooooooooons!)

I made it through my second NaBloPoMo, having posted 30 times in the month of November. This here is my National Blog Posting Month Post Mortem. You know, the NaBloPoMoPoMo.

Last year vs. this year:
I have to say that it wasn’t a very satisfying experience this time around.

Last year, I followed Magpie over, and dove in enthusiastically. I really took advantage of the social networking aspects of the NaBloPoMo Ning website. I joined several groups, and created a few of my own. I’m most proud of the Ministry of Silly Blogs, for which I even started a new blog. There are a good dozen or so bloggers who I met last year through NaBloPoMo, and whose blogs I still read regularly, many of whom I now consider friends (see appendix).

This year, I didn’t manage to engage in the social networking. I had meant to revive the Ministry of Silly Blogs (I still hope to at some point), and to start a couple other groups. But alas, I didn’t have the time.

Really, my time is not my own at this point in my life. With a new baby, a toddler, as well as my job/school commitments, any time I find for blogging is actually borrowed time.

Last night I ended up posting a super-lame placeholder (or a placemat?) of a post, after a long day with my hands otherwise occupied. It seems quite fitting to end with a sputter, considering how things went this month. (I confess that I even had one other uber-lame post where I backdated the time by about 3 seconds. It was still before midnight on my laptop when I hit “publish,” but, well…)

I did at least accomplish the goal of 30 posts in those 30 days. At least some of which were worth posting.

What I posted:
I did 4 ThThTh lists, including a couple that had been rattling around in my head for ages. (Oddly enough, I had the utensils list in mind back when I started my themed lists.)

I enjoyed running away with themes and having more thematic connections between posts. (I had 3 posts relating to cans, 3 with dragons and an another on a Monster, 2 with reflections, and then a staggering 4 posts filled with utensils. Would you believe that I even have a 5th utensil one drafted? Yeah, I guess you’d believe that. But don’t worry, spoons won’t replace pants in my heart.)

I had grandiose plans to offer up a word each day, inspired by my appreciation of the word omphaloskepsis. I kept that up for maybe 5 posts.

I posted quite a few photo posts, some of which I’d been wanting to share but hadn’t gotten around to, and some of which I shared on a whim.

I managed to keep most of my posts brief, which is something I’ve tried to work on. (I’m always amused when people apologize for short posts. I like to read short posts! I need to apologize for this one, which is waaaaay too long…)

The highlights:
I’m going to take up an invitation from Heather of finding atman to list 5 posts I was glad I wrote during this past chaotic month.

  1. 80s pants party! pants-themed 80s songs complete with album cover art with my own pants font. (A Monday Mission.)
  2. Making history: in which I express my excitement on the eve of the US presidential election.
  3. You may have already won! A politically-oriented post in the style of a “congratulations” letter. (Also for a Monday Mission.)
  4. Feeding the Monster: about camping trips and can-collecting with my grandmother.
  5. anatomy lessons: in which I introduce the word penis to my 2-year-old daughter

I also wrote a post called The bittersweetness of pants, in which I talk about my dear friend who died last year. I’m not actually happy with the post, as I can’t really read it, but I needed to write it.

Appendix: NaBloBloggers

Blog(ger)s I met through last year’s NaBloPoMo, and still read regularly:

  1. a daily dose of zen sarcasm
  2. adventures in randomness
  3. Arbitrary Ruminations
  4. Art of Darkness
  5. ashley awesome
  6. BipolarLawyerCook
  7. blogapotamus rex
  8. Citizen of the Month
  9. country girl / city girl
  10. eye heart internet
  11. Fairstar the Funship
  12. Fretting the Small Stuff
  13. greeblemonkey
  14. laboratory tested
  15. riddlebiddle
  16. The Gav Menagerie
  17. wreke havoc

Blog(ger)s I met this NaBloPoMo season:

  1. On the Curb
  2. Donna Likes Orange
  3. Organize to Revitalize

And just to round things out, here are my blogger friends who have been partaking of this year’s NaBloMadness (some of whom also did it last year):

  1. Cold Spaghetti
  2. Mimi on the Breach
  3. finding atman
  4. If you want kin, you must plant kin
  5. The Journey
  6. Life as I Live It
  7. laboratory tested
  8. ashley awesome
  9. wreke havoc
  10. country girl / city girl
  11. a daily dose of zen sarcasm

(If I left you off my list, let me know, and I’ll add you.)

runs with spoons

Yes, this post is a place-holder. There are 2 minutes left in November, and I’m still working on the post I wanted to post tonight. So I’ll run on a bit further with my spoon themed frenzy, and bring you a video from the band Spoon. This is “Underdog,” from their album Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. (There’s an album title which also ties in with another theme going on in my own life…)

And so that makes 30 posts in November for NaBloPoMo. Ugh.

metal

This week’s PhotoHunt theme is “metal.” And as you know, I can take a theme and run with it. Sometimes running with it to such lengths that I cross state boundaries.

So, I’ve run on with my spoon theme. (Be grateful that I wasn’t running with scissors. Because, those are typically metal, too.) I also offer a flashback to last week’s reflection theme.

img_7161

img_7152

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photohunters2mo1

Fork, spoon, or other?

As so often happens after I post a list, I was struck by an omission. I left a spoon off yesterday’s utensil list. A big spoon:

spoonbridge_and_cherry
Claes Oldenburg‘s Spoonbridge with Cherry sculpture, in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

It occured to me that where there is a spoon, there is likely also a fork. And sure enough, there exists at least one giant fork:
giant_fork
A giant fork sculpture by Jean-Pierre Zaugg and Georges Favre, stuck into Lake Leman in front of the Alimentarium (the Food Museum) in Vevey, Switzerland.

In case you would like a few more utensil-related tidbits to stick your fork into, I offer up a quiz. (First seen at raincoaster.)


You Are Chopsticks


People see you as exotic, unusual, and even a bit intimidating.
You are a difficult person to figure out.

In truth, you try to live a very simple life.
But most people are too frenzied to recognize the beauty of your simplicity.

(It would appear that I am actually two utensils, as chopsticks are generally not a single item. I suppose if I came up as a single chopstick it would mean that I am a rather dull instrument, largely useless except for clumsy poking and stabbing.)

photo credits: fork by µµ, and spoon by Mulad.

setting the table

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States, a holiday marked by primarily by sitting around a table and eating. In honor of the day, I’ll set the table for you.

This ThThTh list features utensils. Actually, just forks and spoons. I’ll keep the knives stored safely away for another day. Likewise, I will avoid the hazards of the spork.
spoon_psf

A collection of spoons (and forks)

  1. Spoon!: The battlecry of The Tick.
  2. spooning: a position for cuddling.
  3. born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth: an expression said of one who is born into a wealthy family.
  4. Silver Spoons (1982-1987) A TV show about a rich kid and his father. (Did anyone else remember that the show had regular appearances from Jason Bateman as a kid?)
  5. Can you hang a spoon from the tip of your nose?
  6. gag me with a spoon: an 80s Valspeak exclamation used to express contempt and/or disgust.
  7. A Spoonful of Sugar: a song from the movie Mary Poppins.
  8. Hey Diddle Diddle: A nursery rhyme in which a dish rus away with a spoon:

    Hey diddle diddle,
    The cat and the fiddle,
    The cow jumped over the moon.
    The little dog laughed to see such fun,
    And the dish ran away with the spoon.

  9. And the Dish Ran Away With the Spoon: a picture book by Janet Stevens.

    10. 696px-heydiddle and_the_dish

  10. “There is no spoon”: a line from The Matrix, and a reference to this spoon-bending scene:
  11. fork in the road: a type of intersection.
  12. The Dirty Fork Sketch, from Monty Python:
  • The Blue Rajah: a character played by Hank Azaria in Mystery Men (1999). A superhero who throws forks (and fork-filled dialog):

    • An effete British superhero, to be precise. I am pilfering your tableware because I hurl it. I hurl it with a deadly accuracy. The Blue Raja is my name. And yes, I know I don’t wear much blue and I speak in a British accent, but if you know your history it really does make perfect sense…The point is: Your boy’s a Limey fork-flinger, Mother.
    • I say, what the fork! Let’s do it!
    • May the forks be with us.

    • So there’s my list. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.
    800px-fork6233

    If you’re looking for more tasty bits to gobble up once your t(of)urkey is gone, go stick your fork into the 107th Carnival of Satire over at The Skwib. A spoonful of satire makes the holiday angst go down! (Especially when taken with a Wild Turkey chaser.)

    The Castle of the Pink Dragon

    We’ve headed down to the in-laws for Thanksgiving. We drove down last night, after a crazy-busy hectic day. We arrived around midnight, and Phoebe was up well past 1:00. She was so excited to be down at the grandparents, though, that she woke up around 7:00. And with her new crib-free status, she was up and out of bed and in our room by 7:30. I was completely wiped out. Phoebe, on the other hand, was ready to play.

    One of the perks of visiting Grammy and Grandpa’s house is that she gets to play with the castle. The castle is a Fisher Price Little People toy set that John played with when he was little. Some of the pieces are a little worse for wear (the poor horses have each lost a hoof or two), but it still makes for some great playing.

    And because by it’s now after 11:00, and I have a list to prepare for tomorrow, I’ll leave you with these pictures.

    castle_a

    castle_b

    castle_c

    castle_d

    castle_e

    castle_f

    castle_g

    castle_h1

    castle_i

    pink_dragon

    pink applesauce

    My grandmother wasn’t a big fan of cooking. She wasn’t a bad cook, but just didn’t like to spend a lot of time in the kitchen. She made food that was, for the most part, pretty uncomplicated. When possible, she would use shortcuts.

    For example, when making apple sauce, she wouldn’t peel the apples first. She would just steam them right in their skins, and then mash them in some sort of a ricer. I remember her using some tart apples that grew in her back yard, with skin that ranged from green to light red. The resulting apple sauce would have a bit of a pink tinge to it.

    I made apple sauce a few weeks ago with some of the apples that we picked the weekend before. And like my grandmother, I didn’t bother to peel them first. I just quartered up about a dozen of them, and cut the cores out. Then I steamed them in a big pot. When the apples were soft, their flesh just separated right from the skins. I pulled off the skins, and plopped the apples into a food processor. The deep red skins of the Empire apples tinted the resulting sauce to a rich rose color. There was also quite a lot of juice that pooled in the pan, and since I’d used only a bit of water to steam, the juice was not only pink, but really tasty.

    Pink apple sauce (and juice) and an Empire apple.
    Pink apple sauce (and juice) and an Empire apple.
    The rosy apple juice byproduct of steaming unpeeled apples for apple sauce.
    The rosy apple juice byproduct of steaming unpeeled apples for apple sauce. (This photo shows the color a bit better, though the light's not as pretty.)