Archive for the ‘As the stomach turns’ Category

Look at my handsome younger brother on his first day of middle school!

wRitErsbLock

Post a Comment

Moments ago, The Friend’s mother called my cell phone. By the time I found it in the bottom of my purse, I had missed the call. No voice mail. Do I call back?

wRitErsbLock

Comments (2)

My head is frequently ready to explode.

I was talking with Bossman G this morning. In a former life, he was a psychologist, and one of his duties was related to family counseling and removing children from homes for the sake of the kids. He has scared the crap out of me this morning. I was sharing with him some of my perpetual stress over the bizarre family life I have at home. I talked to him about the RTY friend fiasco. He told me we are swimming in very dangerous legal waters and urged me to meet the parent of the friend and do it quickly. He told me nightmare scenarios. Scary stuff. Scary stuff I have always kinda known about.

Anyway, the crap we have no choice but to tolerate frequently has me checking life insurance rates, you know, so that if I go postal something mysterious happens, I can collect! I kid, I kid!

But Good Lord did Bossman G freak me out even more.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (1)

There has been Guitar Hero, and fuzzy animal affection, and a race around the pond (dude, I was still gasping for breath five minutes later, and the child was completely unaffected by the run around the pond), and then, several hours of karaoke. Oh yes. Karaoke. RTY was disinclined, but I overruled, and The Friend was totally into the karaoke, which meant RTY was no longer disinclined. I let them dominate, and I only did two songs. They were thrilled with the Hannah Montana and Lizzy McGuire discs. And did a bunch of other fun stuff. Karaoke is da bomb!

They’re cuddled up on the comfy chair watching a DVD right now. And… I managed to talk to The Friend’s Mother on the phone. But that’s fodder for a completely different blog.

Pictures maybe this weekend, as you know I’ve had my camera attached to my eye.

wRitErsbLock

Post a Comment

It seems RTY is having one of her friends from school spend the night at our house tonight. I’m shocked. Egg Donor has established rules that this is not to happen. She must not know. (Allah forbid RTY’s friends discover RTY has a father.)

This is, I think, one of the two girls I frequently see on my webcam but have not met. Nor have we (sherlock or I) met the parental units of either girl.

Frankly, the not knowing makes me incredibly uneasy.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (3)

A small box arrived in the mail today, addressed to my husband and me, from someone I have not communicated with in some time. It was on the table when I got here. Sherlock said, “you got a box.” Shortly thereafter, RTY proclaimed, “You got a box. Daddy won’t let me open it.” I took the box and threw it away. Unopened.

Sherlock removed it from the trash and suggested I open it. I was disinclined. I told him he could open it, as it was also addressed to him. He was disinclined. RTY bounced, “can I open it? Since neither one of you want to?” I didn’t care. She continued, “I get to keep whatever’s inside since you don’t want to open it.” Sherlock disagreed.

First, two observations about the package. I recognize it’s a nice gesture, especially since the last communication was a FOAD email from me. The box was mailed. Normally, this person utilizes a mutual acquaintance’s UPS account so that shipping is not this person’s financial responsibility. So, mutual acquaintance likely doesn’t know what’s in the box (so I didn’t bother calling to ask what was inside).

It included four items and a note. Three similar items, one for sherlock, one for RTY, and one for me. I’m impressed that the items were appropriate (frog, monkey for the appropriate person). They’re the little creatures you put into water that suck up the water and grow. And a fourth item for me.

I’m going to make RTY write a thank you note. But I’ll be refraining from writing a thank you note of my own, or calling in a thank you call. If you’re reading, and I know you are occasionally reading, thank you for including my child. I am grateful for that. It is indeed curious that you have not responded to the email I sent to you in June. I continue to be hurt and continue to be disinclined to communicate with you.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (1)

Walking the bridge from the parking garage into the Science Center on Saturday.

wRitErsbLock

Post a Comment

Can you remember the first time you slipped up and uttered profanity in front of your parents? I can’t recall when I first swore (and knew it) in front of them. I know I was swearing with my friends in fifth grade, and have had a filthy mouth since then. But as far as intentionally swearing, I cannot recall.

I do, however, recall the first time I swore and didn’t realize I was saying something forbidden, but got punished for it anyway. We were living on Lima Street in Aurora, Colorado, so I would have been in third or fourth grade, and therefore eight or nine years old. I remember seeing our cat, Snowball, sprawled under the dining room table with her head set on the foot of the leg of the table. I loudly proclaimed, “Jesus Christ, Snowball, you’ll rest your head on anything!”

Mom, Dad, and Jason froze.

The problem with the punishment I received was that I did not know what I had said that was so wrong. But I remember the punishment. Years later, as this event apparently scarred me, I realized that taking the Lord’s name in vain was my crime.

It does no good to punish your kid if your kid does not know what they did wrong.

Fast forward to last night. Driving home with RTY in the back seat, sherlock and RTY were telling me all about their day, including the results of Guitar Hero.

Sherlock: I beat her butt! I’m amazed she can sit at all with the beating she received.
RTY: No, I kicked your ass.
Me: Excuse me?
RTY: Butt. I mean butt. Sorry.

Later, as RTY apparently dozed off in the back seat…
Sherlock: One time this morning I said I’d kick her ass, and I caught myself, and knew it would come back to bite me.
Me: You just didn’t know it would come back so quickly.
Sherlock: nope.
Me: Did you hear how naturally that rolled off her tongue? That’s not her first time saying that. Which is about right, in the time line of life. I think I was swearing heavily in fifth grade.

It doesn’t make it okay, and she is certainly not allowed to swear in front of us. But, it’s about right in the time line, isn’t it? When do you recall swearing with your friends? I remember it as early as third grade, since my older brother was my best friend, and I had to keep up with what the older kids were doing. But it’s not until sixth grade that I really remember it — playing four-square at recess (why did we have recess in middle school?) and swearing with the other kids.

RTY was four or five when she slipped the F word into conversation. And she immediately caught herself and started crying. But, that time, she was telling a story, and part of the story was, “then she said…” and repeated what her older relative had said to her that included the F word.

Also, kids now hear more profanity than I did. It’s in so many songs, television shows, movies, and ::ahem:: conversations at home. I’m guilty: Dumbass is one of my standard proclamations shouted at other drivers with my kid in the car. And, more recently, we have been less careful about when we utter the F word.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (6)

Here’s hoping she has a natural talent and becomes a rock star, since the pool ace thing isn’t working out… yet.

I need to purchase some “how to” books this weekend.

wRitErsbLock

Post a Comment

I honestly tried to make polite conversation. But I was shut down cold. And then that person walked outside.

At least one of us can say we’re making an effort. Even though neither of us want to.

wRitErsbLock

Post a Comment

The telephone rang earlier. It was “unknown name” with an unfamiliar number. I answered it, on the off chance it was someone calling from Colombia for Ma.

(transcription based on my lousy knowledge of spanish, and is probably not correct)

me: Hello?
Mystery Man: **garbled**
me: Hello?
**much back ground noise as the phone was passed around the room, apparently**
C: ¿Hello?
Me: Hello.
C: ¿WB?
me: Si.
C: Es C.
me: Hola, C, ¿como está? **hand over mouthpiece, hollered to Ma to come to the phone**
C: Bien. **beyond my comprehension of spanish** feliz cumpleaños.
me: ¿A mi?
C: Si. ¿Eres tu cumpleaños?
Me: Si, mañana. Gracias.
C: ¿Y sherlock? ¿Como está?
Me: Bien. ¿Quiere hablar con sherlock?
C: No. ¿Y Ma, como está?
Me: Bien tambien. Ella está aqui, momentita.

And I passed the phone off to my MIL and literally ran to my room to start laundry to avoid having to take the phone back.

I hate hate hate answering the phone when it’s someone from Colombia because then I have to muddle through with my insufficient Spanish until MIL comes to the phone. And, since MIL finds it entertaining to listen to me speak Spanish, she always wants me to talk more to C.

That being said, I was shocked that C knew it was my birthday. And, I’m honored she, who I have never met and will likely never meet, spent money to call me from Colombia. That was very sweet, in an “oh crap, I have to speak Spanish” sort of way.

After…

Ma: She was calling to wish you a happy birthday.
Me: I know. I thanked her.
Ma: I know, she told me.

I think Ma appreciates that I make a half-hearted effort to communicate with her family. It just stresses me out terribly. My Spanish is not what it could be, or what it was when I was taking classes in high school.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (3)

I mentioned I caught a fish for Ethan on Saturday evening. I’m so glad Geta retrieved her camera; I was lamenting not being in any pictures with my nephew. Sometimes I hate that I’m always the person holding the camera. Anyway, Geta just emailed a bunch of pictures to me. My blog, time for pictures with me in them.

Helping me reel in the fake bait.

Trying not to catch his fingers while reeling.

I heart this picture:

Casting:

What a good boy!

He sat in the only area of our back yard that actually has grass instead of weeds, making it appear our yard looks better than it does!

wRitErsbLock

Comments (2)

a self portrait taken on Wednesday when sherlock went to RTY’s school for a daddy-daughter hour.

I love this picture.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (3)

I went into my MIL’s room this evening. She was lying on her bed watching (**shudders in horror**) Dr. Phil.

Me: Ma, do you want me to do your taxes?
MIL: Yes.
Me: Do you have all your paperwork?
MIL: Yes.
Me: Well, do you want to give it to me so I can do your taxes?
MIL: **suddenly irritated** I told sherlock that I wanted him to do my taxes!
Me: And now I’m standing here telling you I’m going to do your taxes.
MIL: Okay.
Me: **Bou Blink** So, do you want to give me the paper work?
MIL: I can’t just leave it out, you guys will lose it!
Me: Well, I can’t pull numbers out of the thin air. If you want me to do your taxes, you have to give me the papers!
MIL: Okay.
Me: **Bou Blink** Um…
MIL: When do you want them?
Me: Now.
MIL: Oh, okay.

Her taxes are done. Our taxes are, I think, also done. It’s only February 7th!

wRitErsbLock

Comments (2)

while blow drying her hair straight after her shower a little while ago.

Me: I love you, RTY.
RTY: What? (because there was ambient noise that muffled my original statement)
Me: I love you.
RTY: I love you, too.
Me: I wish you were my daughter. I hate that we don’t have you more.
RTY: I wish you were my mom.
Me: No, you don’t. And you don’t have to say that, that’s not the point. Your mom is your mom, and that’s that. I just want you to know that I love you and I think I am so lucky to have you in my life. Because you might not know that.
RTY: Okay.

wRitErsbLock

Comments (3)