I’m at the computer checking email and Ellis is in the corner playing at his train table with a new rubber armadillo when I hear him say this in his little high pitched sing songy toddler voice:
Ellis (as Ellis): Hi mister.
Ellis (as Armadillo): Hi.
Ellis (as Ellis): Hello wanna play?
Ellis (as Armadillo): OK sure.
Then the armadillo walked along the train tracks for a while.
He’s been doing this more and more and it is blowing my mind. He’s developing such an imagination. It’s amazing to hear the things that come out of his brain. I love having those small peeks into the person he is. I’ve always been a bit worried that what little tv we allow him to watch would be detrimental to his imagination. But thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case so far.
The party was fun! For me at least. I hope everyone else had fun too. I had been expecting last minute cancelations, and instead got last minute RSVPs yay! Our house was full of people and laughter and food and drink. It was great.
I ate so much crap that I shouldn’t have. I’ll post pictures and video when I have a minute. Not any of me though. I saw one of myself and the small piece of self confidance I’d recently taped back together was torn into even smaller pieces.
I’ve been responding so well to my treatments that my doctor cut me back to visiting only twice a month. That’s great for my wallet, but it’s been shit on my willpower. When I was going once a week I didn’t even crave foods that were bad for me and hardly ever overate. Now, when that second week hits it’s like instantly I’m wanting to go back to my old habits.
Why is this such a difficult thing for me to overcome?
I was in the middle of a post about how this morning I wore a pair of jeans that I haven’t been able to wear since before I got pregnant, when the doorbell rang. During nap time. Behind the door was a man with a pink slip of paper who was obviously annoyed that I wouldn’t open the door to talk to him (am I stupid dude? and hello we’re communicating just fine through the very large window in the door anyway). He came to tell me that the city is shutting the water off between now and 6pm. Below are a list of things that I was planning to do between now and 6 for the “Party of Anxiety and Possibly Doom” which is exactly 24 hours from now.
1. Make the most delicious soup ever.
2. Make chili.
3. Make cornbread.
4. Mop the kitchen and balcony.
5. Clean the bathrooms.
6. Bathe my child.
7. Bake 2 pumpkin pies.
8. Vacuum the house.
9. Decorate the house.
Six out of nine of those necessitate water. All week I’ve been cleaning, picking up, organizing and hiding clutter in an attempt to make Sunday as stress free as possible. I’m going to have a hard enough time without running around like a mad woman making sure things get done at the last minute. And now it’s not looking so good. Plus Kent is working a 10 hour day today to make up for the time he took off to go to Moab last weekend. So it’s just me and the wee little “helper” getting ready for this shindig. Oh well, fuck it. I’m gonna go bake some water free pies.
The thermostat on our balcony says 31.
When I was in Jr. High the crowd I ran around with had boy/girl birthday parties every time someone had a birthday, and for any other reason you can think of. Their parents generally rented out this or that clubhouse and we had a DJ and low lights and of course chaperones. (Jesus it all sounds so extravagant now). I have never been very comfortable around large crowds of people. Well, let me rephrase that. I’m fine say, in a store where there are a lot of people (as long as no one is bumping into me and they get out of my way when I need them to). But a largish social gathering at which I am supposed to talk to people I don’t know well (or at all) is waaaaaayyyyyy out of my comfort zone. In Jr. High, I dealt with this by sitting in the corner pouting, which gave me a glowing reputation and full social life let me tell ya. In my early 20’s I dealt with this by drinking one too many cocktails which allowed me to drop my inhibitions. Now though, when most gatherings involve parents AND their kids I don’t feel comfortable using either of those stellar methods to deal with it. I mostly just try to plaster a smile on my face and not think about how everyone in the room is judging me. (shut up)
I haven’t met a great many people here. I’m feeling the need to expand my social circle. Meeting people is difficult for me because I’m constantly afraid that people won’t like me. But! I’m putting myself out there anyway. (I hate that phrase.)
We’re having a Halloween party on Sunday, and I’ve invited pretty much everyone I know. There will be costumes and food and drinks and crafts for the kids if I can pull it all together in time. I’m really excited (costumes!) and really terrified (people!). God I hope I don’t end up sitting in the corner pouting.
p.s. this entry brought to you by parentheses.
It’s just after breakfast and I’m checking email while Ellis putters around the kitchen behind me with a running dialogue of what he’s doing falling from his mouth. Suddenly I hear this.
E: I checking drawers.
Me: (slightly alarmed) did you say checking the drawers? Why?
E: I check for forks.
Um, yeah, so the kid has figured out that if he pushes his hand washing stool up against the counters he can look (and reach) into the drawers. Thankfully I think I’ve talked him out of taking anything out of them, at least for now. Any ideas for child proofing drawers with no handles?
We’re getting out of the car when we see our neighbors walking up the driveway. Upon seeing them Ellis says;
E: What’s up Jolyn
I’m making my coffee when Ellis comes around the corner (with his screwdriver) and says:
E: Uh, oh mama
Me: What is it baby?
E: It’s broken
Me: What’s broken?
E: Jenga is broken.
Me: Oh yeah?
E: Chloe eat it. Show me. (meaning let me show you)
Me: OK, show me.
Sorry Darla,
I tend to get a bit defensive when people question ability to parent. Especially people whom I don’t know, and have never commented here before. Especially because this site gets (thankfully) little to no traffic and I don’t usually run across this kind of thing here. What I should have said was:
1. “Why would you keep your son strapped in a car seat for almost 6 hours?” none of your business
2. “Who did you drive to the airport and why? Was this an emergency?” I don’t owe you an explanation
3. I am an imperfect person (see tag-line) and by extension, an imperfect mother, as we all are. I am harder on myself than you or anyone else could possibly imagine. I doubt you could render a judgment about me that I haven’t already. I would list them for you, but I don’t have a year of my life to devote to it.
This space is my outlet for frustration, and joy, and a way to communicate with my family. To keep it that way I will ask that you employ the age old adage “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” It’s probably why I get so few comments anyway.
Thanks,
Yours truly
