making things pretty…

Well, I made the Kindergartner cry again…

Ok, I thought this was funny. Some of you will be appalled. If you read it, and are indeed appalled, just please go away quietly and delete any bookmarks to this site. Don’t send me any stupid e-mails about how horrid I am to my children because I will just laugh at you. And perhaps mail you a cat poop.

That said…

Yesterday, at dinner, I asked the 3-year-old if she wanted anything else to eat. She nodded. “What would you like?” And then came the answer: “Poop.” And a grin. And a daring look. And a big ol’ giggle.

Fine. I can play that game. “Ok,” I said, “I’ll go get you a cat poop from the basement.” Here’s a quick primer on our cat: Her name is Schmatt; she was neurotic before we had kids; she’s clinging to the edge of sanity now that there are three kids to harass her; she is loved, but not doted upon anymore like she used to be; this makes her very cranky; she poops all over our basement. Yep, it’s the best. @@ So 99.9% of the time, it’s gross and maddening that we have cat piles laying around in the basement. Today, that 0.1% of the time, it’s handy.

So I go downstairs, pick up a cat turd (in a NAPKIN, I’m not that gross!) and bring it back upstairs to show the girls. The 3-year-old giggles and looks at me like, “I wonder if I’m going to really have to eat that now.” The 5-year-old starts whining, and then yelling, “Noooooooo, don’t make her eat it. Anna, DON’T EAT IT!” I tell them that I’m going into the kitchen to warm it up, since it’s a little hardened.

In there, I scavenge for a Tootsie Roll but curse me! I’ve eaten them all. So I chop a little piece off a chocolate bar, nuke it and smooth it down so that it looks vaguely turd-like. Put it on a different napkin, and serve it up. The Kindergartner is still screaming. The Poop-Girl eyes it suspiciously, sniffs it a couple of times, and asks me if it’s really chocolate. I nod yes. The Screamer is oblivious to this exchange because she is still screaming. And then it gets eaten. The Screamer screams more. The Poop-Eater thinks it’s all the most hilarious thing ever. This makes The Screamer even more upset. So we talk her down off her ledge and explain. After I show her the wrapper, she finally believes us.

And then she laughs and laughs.

2 comments August 18th, 2006

Hello, Janeville? I hate you…

And when I say, “I hate you,” what I mean is, “I love your clothes. I think. But since you won’t take that little step to put your stuff online, and the nearest store is like 6 hours away, I guess I’ll never know, now will I?!” Sneer.

Instead, they taunt me by sending me occasional Janeville e-mails. There is always something I want pictured in these. Always. And yet too damned bad for me.

I don’t understand it. Gymboree owns them, so it’s not like they’re unfamiliar with the workings of an online store. And I would think with that experience, it would be more economical to put up a web site, than to keep building bricks-and-mortar stores. What’s the deal? Someone explain the reasoning to me.

Sure, I could just unsubscribe from the e-mails and save myself a lot of anxiety. But I still have that glimmer of hope that one day I’ll get a message that, lo and behold, I’ll actually be able to order something.

Plus I just like to bitch about random things.

Add comment August 18th, 2006

whew…

Made it through the first day of school. And I didn’t even cry. Well, ok, I didn’t even cry AT SCHOOL. I may have teared up a little this morning at the house before we left. I may have done it again, after we got back from dropping her off. I may have done it yet again after she got home. But damnit, I didn’t tear up at school!

But you know what the worst part of this hormonal failure of mine was? I made the Kindergartner cry. What a shit I am! I surprised her with a little bracelet this morning and told her that we were both going to wear them today. And if either of us got sad because we missed the other, we could just look at our bracelets and know that the other one was thinking about us. (ha, ha – I’m a dork!) Anyway, of course, I teared up telling her this. And then she did too. And I thought to myself, “You complete ass! Let this poor girl have her fantastic day.” Sometimes I want to kick myself.

Oddly, the whole first day of school thing has been hardest on my 3 year old. But then, many normal days are hard on a 3 year old. First off, she’s a bit of an attention hog, so she’s not loving that the focus has been on her older sister. And even with that jealousy going on, she seemed to desperately miss her sister today. We played, but it is just. not. the. same. A little while after the Kindergartner came home, I heard the 3 year old timidly ask her, “Helena… are you still my best friend?”

Say it now with me, “awwwwwww.”

1 comment August 18th, 2006