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Okay y'all, L and I did shape each other's personalities to the degree that that's inescapable when you're good friends with someone from the ages of 7 to 17, but come on. I was not a blank slate and she was not my second grade Svengali. I would not be the same person at the age of 36 that I was at the age of 6 whether or not I had ever met L. My parents have just always preferred to blame the bits of my personality that they don't like on my friends. And okay, there's some truth to that, but it's also a chicken and egg question: these are the friends I've had because I chose them, for reasons of my own, because these are the people that I have wanted to know and love and be like. I chose you all, and you chose me, and we shape each other but you are not the cause of me.
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We're home! Guys, I genuinely do miss my mom a little bit. I do, because living with her is like living with the world's most passive-aggressive house elf, so you never have to clean a single thing. In fact, you are not allowed to clean a single thing, because if you so much as spill something and try to wipe it up she winces "please stop cleaning, you are not good at it, go do something else." Nor do you carry anything, because the moment you move towards picking something up, she darts in and hisses "for the love of God, can you just let me help you" leaving you with the choice of either letting a tiny 70-year-old woman haul your giant luggage up the stairs or physically wrestling it from her resisting hands. Which obviously has its drawbacks, but - we did not have to clean a single thing while we were there! We didn't do laundry, we played with the kids instead of doing dishes, and let me tell you - that is the best Christmas present of all.

Not that it was the only Christmas present. The kids got so many presents that they literally could not open them all. They couldn't open them all in a week. We are having unopened presents shipped to us. Some of those are going to be quietly donated, I think. And we will remember in future that the "2 presents each" rule has to be restated EVERY year.

Good presents, though. Legos! A magnetic drawing board! Automoblox! Foam swords! We got to see my dad and my half-sibs, I like those kids more every year. Currently I'm just in jaw-dropping awe of their good phone etiquette. Like, we went out, and they HAD their phones, they checked in with them every once in a while, but they didn't stare at them! Teenagers who cheerfully socialized with adults and toddlers and no one of their own age! Amazing, how do you get them to DO that???

We spent one night at my best friend's house, too, and that was great; her kids are 7 and 3, and the 7-year-old is incredibly good with younger kids. The Junebug is a huge fan of his. Where we live, land prices are high and the childhood population is low. Where Z lives, it is the exact opposite, so there is a large supply of restaurants featuring sand pits or play lots or various facilities for kids to run around like hyperactive monkeys, while their parents can keep an eye on them while chilling out with a beer and 35 lbs of fried food each. It is Texas. We went out for dinner to a place that had a better playscape than some parks we go to around here, and I hope the kids remember it. I mean, we go to parks all the time, but we don't go there at night; and I remember nights when I was a kid, when my family would go out for dinner with people, and we were out late, and we'd be playing as the streetlights came on, and there would be kids to play with other than my brother, and an atmosphere of excitement and unfamiliar fun. Those were good times, I'm glad my kids are getting some.

Also - if I may brag for a second - my kids are awesome. We saw a lot of kids on this trip, and all of them were cute and most of them were great, but mine are the BEST. They really coped so well with the plane flights and the messed up schedules. There were just a couple of meltdowns and they were directly our fault for not Leaving When It Was Time and trying to squeeze out a few minutes longer. It's hard for me to be disciplined about that, but wow is it vital.

It is a little bit frustrating for the relatives because my kids are just not the type to leap into the laps of strangers. I remember going out with some friends and their daughter, same age as the Junebug, did literally that: we looked away for a second and she was sitting in the lap of some neighbor who came over all "If you ever need a babysitter!!1!" I was shocked. My kids could no more do that than they could flap their arms and fly. Genetics and great presents notwithstanding, if they see someone a couple of days a year at most, that person is a stranger; and if that stranger bears down on them with the intention of scooping them up, they will run to me all AAAAH STRANGER DANGER I NEED MY MAMA. And then people get their feelings hurt.

....and blame me, for not showing them a good example of affection. :/

It is bucketing down outside. Mom, Mr. E, the monkeys and I are waiting for takeout pizza. The adults are sitting and occasionally bellowing "INSIDE VOICE!" The kids are bouncing off the walls of an empty part of the restaurant.

Me, remembering that I always loved hearing about my parents' childhood, it was so different from mine; in an effort to get the kids to tamp down the Brownian motion and interact with their grandma: Hey guys, slow down for a second. Wanna hear about when I was a little kid? Your abuela is my mom, remember? Hey mom, what was I like when I was a little kid?

Mom: You were nice. You were such a nice little girl.

Mr. E (joking (predictably (but, seriously, JOKING))): Aww, what happened?

Mom, grimly: It was that friend you made. That L. That's where it all started.

Me, who has heard many times about how awful my friends have been for me, and does not need to hear it again: Mom, actually, the dude who married me thinks I am still nice. He was joking.

Mom - mercifully lets it go.

Kids - ignore the whole interaction.

But there you go. If you ever wondered when my personality started to go south, it was when I met L., at the age of 7. Man, if you'd have met me when I was 6, you would have really liked me! I was nice.
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Okay, here's a thing.

The conversation I wrote about yesterday? I know it's wrong. I mean, I have an ear for this, I know that it's funny. But I honestly don't 100% know exactly why.

I mean, it's ironic that my mom is bugging me to break a habit that she has absolutely no intention of breaking herself, right? But is that any worse than me telling my kid to relax and get some sleep when I know there's no chance I'll be doing it myself? And I know what would happen if I told my mom to lay off my coffee habit if she's not going to kick her own, because I've had this conversation before. She would say, with perfect sincerity, that my health and wellbeing are much more important to her than her own.

Which is true. I don't talk about it much, because it's not funny, or cute, or some traumatic shit that I have to work through, which are the main reasons why I talk about my family. It's just been a constant source of support in my life: I have always had parents who care deeply about my health and wellbeing, yea, even above their own. How lucky am I. And if they're sometimes spectacularly bad at figuring out how to support that goal; well, sometimes they're not. They did get a number of things right. And I wouldn't be doing nearly as well as I am without all the love and help they gave me throughout my life, for sure.

But, it's still kind of fucked up to not be able to drink tea for breakfast in your own house without being confronted with how disappointing it is that you haven't reached a goal that you weren't trying for and aren't interested in, right?

There's still something fucked up about caring so much about someone else's health and happiness that you push them to do shit in pursuit of it that is way too hard or tedious or unpleasant to do yourself, right?

I really want to know what exactly the problem is. What is the funny part? What is the fucked up part? Because I know something is wrong, but I don't know what it is, and if I don't know what it is, how am I going to avoid doing it myself?

arms race

Oct. 30th, 2015 08:09 am
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US: Please don't give the kids battery operated toys that make a lot of noise.

MR. E'S PARENTS: Here's a battery operated bus that makes loud engine and honking sounds and plays a jaunty little tune! Happy birthday, Rocket!

MR. E: Well, I was able to cut the battery lines, so that's fine, but maybe next time take the batteries out first? They never like the toy as much if it made noise at first and then stopped.

MOM: I got the Junebug one of those Audubon Society stuffed birds that play a tinny recording of an authentic bird call! It's a seagull. Also the batteries are internal and there's no way to access them. And I've already given it to him and he loves it. Your move, bitch.

ME: Hey, that was a real good try. But I think you forgot that your own mother taught me how to sew. I just opened a seam, took out the noisemaker, and sewed it back up as good as new. I even gave him the noisemaker for an outside toy only, how you like that?

MOM: I'm gonna buy them a piano.

ME: No.
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Back to work. Nine glorious, glorious societally sort of approved hours in which I won't be headbutted, clawed at, screamed at, bitten, elbowed in soft places, have my eyeballs poked at or my glasses ripped off, or need to wipe shit off anyone. If I had just remembered my Sudafed, I'd be a happy camper.

My mom's all "What a shame you have to go back for just the one day! How stupid!" I'm like, you have no idea.

Of course the daycare isn't open yet so all honor to Mr. E who gets more vacation than I do: so is home with the little monkeys. Every silver lining's got a cloud.
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Ah, parenting small children on this particular Thanksgiving morning. Lazing about in bed, cuddling, being a wrestling referee ("NO BITING!") explaining that people want to shut down the Thanksgiving parade because the police keep killing black guys, explaining that their parents are sad and what death means. Relaxing!

And Rocket is cutting FOUR molars, poor little thing. No wonder he's been so fussy and demanding. I keep trying to tell myself that there will come a day when no one wants any of my time, and I probably won't be happy about that either, so I should try to enjoy this while I got it. True, I don't really want two or three decades of that, but could I have like a weekend of it right now, though?

The Junebug verbally asked me for a hug the other night, for the first time ever, though. It was wonderful, although also pretty funny, because I think the cunning little bugger played me. We were out getting burgers for dinner, and he went to grab my arm with his greasy little hands, and I said "DON'T touch my sweater with your greasy hands, you know the rule!" And he said "Mama, can I have a hug?" And I knew this was manipulation and you know what, it didn't matter. When they offer you the bait you want just that much, you see the hook and you take it anyway. Because it's worth it. Didn't even hesitate; hugged the crap out of him and he hugged me right back and I'm pretty sure I got grease and ketchup all over my sweater and in my hair and I didn't even care.

To be fair, it's not that he doesn't ask for cuddles. It's that the way he does it is, he says "I'm the lobster and you are the shark that ate me." - or the lion that ate him, or whatever. This means he will curl up on my lap in a little ball and I will wrap my arms around him and tell him that he's in my tummy and he was delicious. This is because no matter how Freudian my life gets, parenting is one long streak of the universe telling me it's just not Freudian enough yet.

Got to see some friends last weekend that I don't get to see nearly often enough, which was wonderful. Why is distance? :(

Rocket got his first haircut and I held him on my lap and he did not even cry once. He's a hero!


Jun. 14th, 2014 11:13 pm
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Mr. E and the Junebug were out to the East Coast for family stuff for a couple of days, and here’s the thing. Once you’re used to two kids? Taking care of just one baby who isn’t even crawling yet is like:

Like, what the fuck was even my problem when the Junebug was this age and I thought my life was soooo haaaaaaaard. Whatever. Hung out with [personal profile] laurashapiro today, and basically had uninterrupted adult conversation except periodically I got to blow a raspberry on a baby to make him giggle. Glorious.

One of my mom’s friends has a gay kid, which my mom knows because he’s out on Facebook, which she thinks is “just wrong” and I think “literally what the fuck else is Facebook for,” and talking to her about this stuff is always such a trip because the basic assumptions are just so far apart. Like, she’s telling me that this couple with the gay son, sometimes they’ll be watching TV, you know Univision, and some cross-dressing comedian will come on and the dad will get furious because he hates it. And I’m trying to clear it up, and I literally cannot figure out whether the dad is angry because the comedian is making fun of trans people/gay people/men in women’s clothing, or whether he’s angry simply because a man in a dress is on his television reminding him that actual trans/gay/crossdressing people exist. No amount of questioning can elicit a straight (sorry!) answer. And by the way, yes that is all one thing in their world, you are just talking about dudes who act like ladies or vice versa. If you try to explain that transgender, gayness, and crossdressing are not the same thing, you get met with a sort of blank stare like “look, I’m sure sparrows can tell each other apart, but what the fuck is the difference to humans?” Ah, family.

Speaking of gayness, I am completely over Jane Austen adaptations, which makes me angry that I just realized that what would be completely awesome would be a lesbian Pride & Prejudice AU, where Darcy is a girl - named Darcy - who stands around Firthing and resisting Elizabeth’s charms not because Elizabeth is broke and her mom’s intolerable but because Darcy is desperately clinging to straightness and refuses to admit that she’s fallen in love with a girl. Best part: the title? PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. Come on, that title is a million times better for the lesbian AU than it is for the original!
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They always let me go.

My house, growing up, it was not a house of happiness. That's probably overstating the case? I guess? I know so many people now who grew up in abuse, and we were not abused, seriously we were cherished and taken care of in every way, so I don't want to complain too much. But the truth is: it was not a happy house. No one was happy living in it. And I was always looking for a way out. Oh, we had friends over sometimes, but mostly I was angling for an invitation. I was trying to get a ride, I was trying for a sleepover, I was trying to leave the state.

And my parents let me go.

They let me spend all day swimming at D's house, all summer, every summer. They let me go on a weird overnight campout thing that turned out to be at a Christian camp. They let me go on a hundred million sleepovers. They let me go to France for a month. They let me go to Six Flags Houston with my best friend when I was just little. They let me go to Washington D.C. on a school trip, they let me go to Georgia for six weeks with my cousin to stay with her cousins on the other side of the family that I'd never even met. They let me go to upstate New York. They let me go to Chicago for college. They let me go over to my friends' houses after school, on the weekends, every weekend, in high school, spending the night, theoretically I wasn't allowed to go out to Rocky Horror or whatever we did at 2 am but they must have known that when I wasn't home they really didn't have any idea where the hell I was.

They must have been so goddamn brave.

What are you afraid of, I would ask, exasperated. Because they didn't want to let me do any of these things. Where they come from, girls don't wander around the world by themselves. It's totally normal to live with your parents until you get married. They never wanted to let me do any of these things. WHAT?! What are you afraid of?! NOTHING, I would patiently explain at the age of eight or eighteen, nothing is going to happen to me! I'll be fine! And they were too scared to even tell me explicitly what they were afraid would happen to me.

I know now, of course. Rape. Murder. Child abuse. Molestation. Carjacking. Mugging. Brushfire. Drowning. Flash flood. Peer pressure. Alcohol poisoning. Meningitis. Tetanus. Drunk driving, car crash, drugs, teenage pregnancy, religious indoctrination, kidnapping, AIDS. Kidney theft. Bullying. Arrest. Falling in with the wrong crowd.

None of that ever happened to me, barring the bare minimum of inevitable sexual groping and harassment that you (female) cannot avoid collecting as you go through life no matter what you do. And, I guess, depending on your point of view, a certain amount of falling in with the wrong crowd. Some of them were actually the very right crowd. Some of them weren't and I learned some valuable lessons that way. What actually did happen to me were awesome things. I have so many good memories of the places I went, too many good stories to tell in one post. I love all of the places I went, even if I was always going away, not really knowing or caring where I was going to.

And if anything bad had happened to me, I know my parents would have taken the blame. They would have been blamed and they would have blamed themselves. So let me give them the credit for everything that went right. That's only fair. They always let me go. I'm very grateful.
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I complain about my folks a lot. I should note also that I think there were a lot of things they did right. I think in fact that they were much better at being parents to children than they are at being parents to adults, a fact that gives me pause as I think about the Junebug growing up. It turns out you have to keep being good at this stuff. :/

Anyway, I wanted to spend some time thinking about things I think they did right. Because I want to do those things myself, when the time comes.

In no particular order. For no particular reason, this is one that occurred to me today.

My mom and I got into many, many furious conflicts of "You WILL [wear this/clean this/go here/say this/do this]!" - "NO I WON'T!", as children or teenagers and their parents do. And she would get very angry. But often - I remember this clearly - as we reached our impasse, she would stare at me for a while, and eventually from looking angry her face would shift into a more ambiguous, possibly almost slightly pleased or satisfied expression. And she would say, "Well I just hope that you are as stubborn when other people try to pressure you into doing things, that's all!"

And, you know, I was. And really I think that it was partly due to her explicitly drawing that connection for me, that if I didn't let her talk me into things, why should I let anyone else talk me into things? I know I was less likely to be talked into things than other kids I knew. I remember a number of occasions when I stubbornly resisted doing things that I really didn't think I should, even though it inconvenienced or irritated my friends - including things like accepting a ride from someone who had been drinking - and somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought, yeah, this is what stubbornness is for.

aunty dote

Jan. 1st, 2013 08:29 pm
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The trip to see Bro & GF & Niece went great. Didn't have to drive in the snow, the Junebug napped part of the way there & all the way back, enjoyed the visit. Even had a Skype conversation with my mom and all of us together, and she got to see Niece & really enjoyed it. Bro & GF have a really nice house with a big backyard, cute little town, all of that was great. Niece is adorable. Omg. She is the most beautiful baby. She is so smiley and wiggly and fun.

My heart goes out to her though. She's going to have a long hard road. They're worried about how fat she is.

She's nine weeks old.

Mr. E and I tried to mention that it's GOOD for babies to be fat because they're so small and growing so fast that one bout of illness can burn right through their reserves. I hope they took it onboard but I have a strong sense that because I am fat they think I have a lot of pro-fat propaganda and I just want everyone to be fat.

Bro and GF gave the Junebug an awesome dragon hat for Christmas, which unfortunately thanks to his enormous melon head juuuuuust fits and will clearly be outgrown in two months. That's okay, we said! We love the hat and he will wear it this winter and when he outgrows it we will send it back to you and Niece can wear it because it is awesome.

Niece can't wear a dragon hat! GF said. She's a girl!

Long, hard road ahead of that little girl. And there's so little one can do to help. Even less in my family, because thanks to my mom all of our people-interfering-in-how-you-raise-your-kids needs are already FULLY met, thanks.

Sigh. I don't know. They may be worried about how fat she is, but they're sure not starving her. She's a happy little baby, they must be treating her right. Her room is all set up and it's gorgeous. She's going to grow up with a big yard and a cat and two dogs. There is plenty that the Junebug should envy her. I'm sure we're all just doing the best we can, no matter what kind of game we talk. Right?
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A friend of mine just wrote me for advice, citing that I am the expert regarding family members being disappointing letdowns.

I don't usually think of it that way, but…maybe I'm not just being a drama queen in that I am sad and/or stressed whenever I think of my family? Anyway, I suggested that she take a look through the Captain Awkward "families" tag. But she has two kids under four, so in case she didn't get half an hour to herself in front of the computer before Christmas, I summed up all of the good Captain's advice:

1) use your words to ask for what you want
2) but you can't change other people, so
3) if people insist on being jerks, you have to decide whether it's worth it to you to stick around.

And it's good advice. I've used it myself a lot. But it's very, very culturally specific advice. It's very America Right Now advice, where if you don't like the situation, fuck off somewhere else. There are a whole lot of situations you can be in where you cannot leave, where you have to deal with people. Sometimes people in those situations write in to the Captain, and she tells them to start organizing and planning so that they can leave as soon as possible.

And that's good advice. I've used it myself. There's a reason I live halfway around the country from my birth family. But…I can't help thinking that I'm at a stage in my life where I'd also like to hear advice about what you can do when you can't get away. Or if you don't want to get away: is there really nothing else you can do? I'm not saying that would be better advice; I'd just like to see more than one perspective on the matter.
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Before [personal profile] oursin pointed it out, it had not occurred to me to marvel at fictional characters who:
...have time to have affairs: their jobs and other commitments are sufficiently undemanding or flexible (while presumably being adequately remunerative to cover any costs incurred) to allow of assignations or indeed of long wandering walks full of exquisitely evoked existential angst about the situation.

Perhaps I feel this particularly acutely as I'm currently trying to find time in my crowded calendar to get my hair cut before it turns into my celebrated Yorkshire terrier/It from the Addams family impression.
I mean, like the people in that article that's been making the rounds about how adults don't have time to have friends, I recently made plans to get together for a coffee date with a friend I like, who lives in the same city, who is willing to hang out with the Junebug. Coffee. After work. Didn't have to get a babysitter. Know how long it took us to get together? Four weeks.

And so, looking back on my childhood, I boggle at my dad. Who, in addition to having a much more demanding job than mine, also, I discovered later, was well-known for fucking all and sundry. That's in addition to the three (consecutive, not concurrent) girlfriends he got serious enough with that he considered leaving my mother for them, before the one he actually did leave her for. How in the hell did he have time to date that much? No wonder we never saw him.


Dec. 30th, 2011 09:22 pm
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I'm home!

I think I'm just done going back to Texas for Christmas. Traveling during the winter holidays is shit. It would be nice to go during a different time of year. Spring, when the wildflowers are in season. Summer, when we could meet up with my friend and take all the kids to the water park or the beach or something. There are options. And the thing about the holidays is, not only is the traveling shit, but everyone is busy and hopped up on holiday madness. It would be nice to visit some time when we'd be the only game in town.

As I mentioned before, it's something else how seamlessly things have slid from "you don't understand because you're not a parent" to "you don't understand because you're not a grandparent." And the thing is, I do understand. It must be extremely frustrating to be introduced to this adorable new baby whom you love madly and yet you have no control over how he's raised or how anything is done for him. And yet, tough. We had a bit of a conversation about that that ended sort of like this:

MOM: It's just that you're so very young -
ME: Uh, Mom, no. I am thirty-seven. That is not young. That is, in fact, just about as old as it is possible to even have a kid.
MOM: Well, you're very young to me.
ME: Mom. I am almost middle-aged.
MOM: Middle-aged! Then what am I?
ME: You are old.

Way to not make any peace there, me!

Still, Mom had a fantastic time with the Junebug, and he had a fantastic time with her. I know he doesn't really know people at this point, much less be able to miss them as people, but there are times here at home when Mr. E and I are busy or tired or doing things and he is sitting or lying on his own, and at those times, my mom was overjoyed to be playing with him, and he was happy. I don't think he's old enough to miss that exactly but I know he was happier because she was there. And that makes me a little sad now that we're home.

I got to learn some goofy baby games - oh, you know, things like This Little Piggy - from the old country! Ones that my parents played with me only I don't remember because I was a baby! They helped on the plane, too. Ooh, also I found this book of kids' stories and poems that I grew up with and I don't know why my mom kept but she did and I'm so happy because I loved it and now I get to read it to the Junebug!

I feel mildly sorry for my bro's gf, only mildly because she's a huge bitch, but unless I am projecting like an IMAX I recognize the position she's in. She and my brother were there the afternoon we showed up with the Junebug and she did NOT want to hold him - straight up said, "I don't like holding babies" - and I tried to say that she didn't have to but Mom and Bro made her. If I am reading the situation right she has absolutely no idea whether or not she likes babies because she is terrified that if she ever expresses any emotion other than loathing towards babies she will never hear anything else for the rest of her born days other than that she needs to have babies or, eventually, what a shame it is that she didn't have babies. I do not blame her at all for having the Baby Repulsor Force Field up at full strength. However, at the point that she gets cranky because she has to watch my brother play with his new nephew, that is when my sympathy begins to wane. Also it was really funny how when I started nursing the kid and my mom took a picture of us she freaked out and they had to leave.

We went out to dinner with bro and her family and my god that could be a whole saga in itself but I will confine myself to saying that the Junebug was awesomeness itself throughout the entire surprisingly long, exhausting evening, remaining cute and fun, barely crying; and even though we truthfully said that it was none of our doing and he was just born with this chill temperament, I know, and I took a great deal of petty pleasure in the fact that, he made us look good. Especially compared to the previous baby in their family who was a tiny freakshow.

My god, the nursing thing. Bro's gf freaking out. My mom and everyone telling me that I'm feeding him too much. My mom trying to convince me to go feed him in the bathroom while we were out at dinner. My mom and all her friends also telling me that I'm such a devoted, self-sacrificing mother to still be nursing him at six months. Various of mom's friends justifying to me why they weren't able to nurse their kids for more than a month (dude, I believe you! I am not judging! I don't even care! Also, your kids are forty, at this point NO ONE cares!)

Did get to see a bunch of my friends, which was completely lovely, including an evening with a friend of mine and her wife who is currently pregnant with twins and it was just a complete orgy of talking about babies and soooo fun and satisfying. I am very jealous of their baby room. It's so lovely. However, I have realized why we don't have a lovely decorated painted baby room. It's because we don't have a lovely decorated house or lifestyle. We put our time into other things. That's a choice and that's fine. Or rather it's been fine but it's been starting to bug me, the mess in our house. I don't need to have a Decorated house but I do need to make the condition of my living space more of a priority. It's not exactly a resolution but that's my New Goal of 2012, to find a compromise between tidiness and attractive house and time spent that both Mr. E and I can be happy with.
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There is probably a long German word that means "shame-of-parents-who-bring-a-crying-child-on-the-train".

The Junebug was remarkably chill about the nine-hour time difference. He napped when he felt like it and slept more or less when we wanted to, with the exception that he wanted to be up from about 12 to 2 am every night. That was the good news. The bad news was that he dealt with his jetlag via massive, unceasing, explosive pooping. He also outgrew his diapers on this trip. He pooped on everything he owned for the first half of the trip or so until we accidentally bought bigger diapers and discovered that they did not leak.

He also outgrew swaddling on the trip. It's very frustrating because once he is asleep swaddling still keeps him asleep longer but if he is not yet asleep and we swaddle him it drives him nuts with frustration now.

His big thing now is practicing his raspberry. Although it's less a raspberry and more a spraying everything around him with spit. As Mr. E said on the plane, "I didn't hear him sneeze and yet suddenly it was raining on me."

He loves being sung to. So thank god his Granny B was there, because both Mr. E and I had bad sore throats and could not sing at all for a few days there. I probably still shouldn't be singing, it's probably terrible for my throat. But this is life triage.

Oh, the grandparents. So they watched him while we were at the wedding, and this meant I think that he got a solid eight hours of television in their hotel room. Which I find hilarious and appropriate, because we don't let him watch TV. Clearly he will be spoiled by his grandparents and that is correct and as it should be.

Granny B pushed the Junebug and his stroller around Harrods and I think it was the highlight of her year. She showed him all the shiny things - they were decorated for Christmas, there were quite a lot of shiny things - and apparently they both enjoyed the hell out of themselves. Mr. E and I and [profile] jumpeekittee and her Z hung out in Harrods' tea shop and drank very good tea and champagne and ate crumpets and fancy salmon sandwiches and tiny delicious trifle with a teeny little eyedropper of booze stuck in it to soak the cake part with.

I think maybe that if I hadn't been sick and if Mr. E hadn't gotten sick, I would count this trip a success. Of course, the next time we're both not sick will probably be in two years or so. I'm really rethinking this idea we had of going to my mom's house for Christmas, unfortunately. I know my mom will visit me instead. But if I don't go, then I won't get to see J., or my brother, or my dad & co. And that would suck.

Still, you know, we did make it to the wedding. And it is worth something to be there on the happiest day of your friend's life. (He said it was.) Especially since I think England has him for good at this point, that sort of thing matters.

And it was a lovely, lovely wedding. I like going to weddings now that I myself am married. You get to spend 40 minutes or so during the service thinking about the nature of marriage. Part of the nature of marriage of course is that there are a lot of things to get done every day and so you don't necessarily take a lot of time out to sit down and ponder the nature of this crazy thing you're doing. It's nice to be reminded. Also it always makes me want to get serious makeouts going with my guy, because I didn't want to get married for so long that actually being ~married~ to him has something of a taboo feel when I take the time to think about it, and that's pretty hot. So that's fun too.

It was a combination Church of England/Jewish wedding. I think basically everybody but the groom and his immediate family were kind of confused, but hey, we were game. The officiant especially did a fabulous job. And it was lovely to see A & A so happy.

Was reminded that there's no way to be pretty enough to escape from the girl insecurities when this lovely tall blonde at our table told a story - twice - there was a lot of wine going around - about how her sister was the pretty one in the family. They try to tell you that you would feel better if you were prettier, but it's a lie, that is not the way out.

Still, if you want me to be at my smiliest for the rest of the day, maybe don't loom a foot and a half over me, look down, and boom "Hey! Did you know you're going grey?"(I did already, yes.)

We went on the London Eye. I have no fear of heights and it was so tall that even I went whoa.

The wedding was at one of those big old English houses built 500 years ago that the Queen stayed in one time. The wedding itself took place in the chapel, and the party wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous. We had to leave earlyish because of the exploding boobs problem, but we got to stay through the delicious food and the first dance.

Must remember never to eat in pubs in London. The food is gross.

On the way out we took a red-eye and that was perfect. The Junebug slept for most of it. On the way back unfortunately we didn't, and he...didn't.

Today I am actually dizzy with jetlag. Today has sucked so bad. Today is so fired. Tonight will be worse. I love the little guy but today I don't want to be a mom. Just for one day.
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Ohhh, my mom. So helpful when I am sick! Because of course the Junebug gave everybody else his cold. Weirdly. He had a terribly runny nose and no fever. I got no runny nose but a fever that knocked me off my feet for half a day. Mr. E got general lassitude and a sore throat. And the kid was sick yesterday and then mildly snotty today and I expect he will be fine tomorrow. Me, I am not quite at 100%, but I felt about 90% most of the day and will go to bed soon.

So my mom, while I was sick and completely not coping with the baby: infinitely helpful, kind, thoughtful, etc. The moment I am back on my feet? Back to telling me, when the baby was crying, "Don't pick him up. Let him get used to lying there. They'll just let him lie there, you know."

But that is not the big news. Here is the big fucking red letter day news: today the Junebug deliberately imitated me.

I was, um, I don't know what the word is: like blowing a raspberry, but instead of sticking your tongue out you just vibrate your lips? Like a zerbert but with no substrate? Anyway, I was doing that at him, saying, "Go like this! Go BBBBBBB!" but just teasing him, as I am wont to do; when I noticed that he really did have his lips pressed together and looked like he was trying to blow bubbles with his spit only he didn't know how.

So I did a raspberry at him. "Go like this! Go THBLBTHP!"

And he stuck his tongue out.


He loves the YMCA song. He loves the Itsy Bitsy Spider song. He is the sweetest kid! When he was sick and miserable on Saturday I did the YMCA song with him and he tried to smile at me even through his snorfly misery. Oh, my Junebug.
metaphortunate: (today sucked)
Now the Junebug has a cold, which is the worst thing that has happened to anybody ever. Listening to him snort and get frustrated trying to nurse because his nose is too stuffed up to breathe has me all weepy and HOW COULD WE BRING AN INNOCENT SOUL INTO THIS VALE OF TEARS WHEN WE KNEW MANKIND IS BORN TO SUFFER.

...I am a little short on sleep.

Incidentally yes I know this was an inevitable consequence of starting him at daycare. And if I had somehow missed that bit of cause and effect my mother has helpfully brought it up several times. Basically I wish we were all dead.
metaphortunate: (Default)
My mom's here for a visit for a week! And I've been looking forward to it for ages! And I finally figured out why:

Normally I try to show some human decency towards other people and not just grab their collar in my two fists and demand that they appreciate the awesomeness of my baby. I have some restraint. But with my mom, I know that she enters into my feelings entirely! I know she understands how this is the best baby ever! At last, someone who can gloat with me and Mr. E as we deserve! \o/


metaphortunate: (Default)
metaphortunate son

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