It Has a Lovely Bouquet
If you had told me yesterday that I would be able to write this true sentence, I would not have believed you:
This morning, BabyGirl actually ate cat poop for the second time in her life.
Thank you, I’ll be accepting my Mother of the Year award from Brittany Spears.
I mean, really? Don’t you think once is enough to figure out it tastes like, . . . oh, I don’t know, CRAP?? We were leaving her bedroom to come downstairs this morning, and she stopped outside the bathroom door. The litter was in that bathroom because of our holiday guests. I was still a little drowsy, and vaguely saw her pick something up and put it in her mouth. Then I saw more on the floor and realized the cat must’ve stepped in poop and been shaking it off as she ran out of the bathroom, down the hall, and down the stairs. (‘Cause she’s too stupid to realize that’s poop stuck to her foot and thinks there’s a Cat Boogey Man trying to grab her by the toe. Idiot cat.)
BabyGirl sampled a little bit, then spit it out and started gagging and coughing. Does that mean she’ll be hesitant to try it a THIRD time? A girl can dream.
Which of These Things is Not Like the Other?
We took the kids into Washington DC yesterday to see the Madame Toussauds wax museum. Not as many figures as in London, but it was still fun. Here’s the one mystery moment: we were in a room and spread around were the figures of Rosa Parks; Malcolm X; Martin Luther King, Jr; and . . .wait for it . . .Yoko Ono. Maybe she was just holding Ghandi’s place while he was getting some wax repair done? I can only hope.
I’m In The Dark Ages, People
Sugar Daddy finds it hard to resist constant news. When we have six or seven channels that offer 24/7 updates, he feels compelled to constantly switch between them, as if one of them will suddenly have an item that a) none of the other outlets have, b) will change his life, or c) will give him an excuse to start monologueing about some point of law. (Snore.) In addition, we are really not responsible enough to have as many channels as cable offers. It’s just too much for us to wrap our brains around. This is how most of our evenings are spent:
Sugar Daddy: (Flipping through the cable channels) What’s on TV? How many channels do we have again?
Dolan Mama: Mmmm, like, 950? But anything above 900 is just music. And a bunch of those aren’t in English.
SD: (Pausing on a station broadcasting in Urdu) Hunh.
DM: Out of all the crap on, you’re stopping here?
SD: Well, what do YOU want to watch?
DM: Put it on guide and let’s see what’s on.
SD: (Pushing remote channels at random, hoping he’ll somehow accidentally hit the guide button. Puts it on the cartoon channel instead, which means BabyGirl comes running and plops down to watch her shows.) Think she’d mind if I changed it?
DM: Have you even met your daughter? She will lose her stuff if you change now.
(We give Baby Girl until the next commercial, then distract her so we can continue to surf.)
SD: (Two hours later) OK, that’s all 800 channels. Did you see anything you wanted to watch?
DM: Which channel was the Dog Whisperer on? Is it still on? Or that show about Bible history–I think it was in the 300’s.
SD: (Pushing random buttons to find Cesar Milan, winds up on the cartoon channel again, BabyGirl comes running) Crap.
We usually wind up watching a marathon of something–Dirty Jobs, CSI, just ’cause the show is still on when we get back around to it an hour later.
So he started making noise about getting rid of cable TV. Really, the kids don’t watch during the school week, so it’s mainly BabyGirl and me who would be affected. And there really is a lot of junk programming on. When we flip by some channel with a half-lit surfer broadcasting his current Dungeons and Dragons game from his parents’ basement, we ask, “And we’re paying for this??”
We’ve been without cable for several weeks now. Several looooong weeks. It’s been years since I watched regular network programming. Between living overseas and having cable for syndicated shows, I couldn’t tell you when was the last time I watched CBS or ABC. I have no clue what shows they even have any more. I lamented this to Sugar Daddy and suggested that we buy a TV Guide. A freakin’ TV Guide, people! He forbade me to do it, saying he wasn’t going to “live in the 70’s again.”
So we now have 25 channels (only 20 in English) and still no clue what’s on. But it goes so much faster to flip through the worthless stuff. You’d think since we have a digital converter box and digital antennae, everything would be peachy. Not so much. Yes, the picture is clear—when it comes in and isn’t all square-ish and silent. But apparently BabyGirl has come to accept that Sesame Street has regular frozen silences between short bursts of activity. The kids are OK with it–they still get to watch The Simpsons. The TV in the basement that was for the kids now picks up nothing, since it doesn’t even have a digital converter box. But they’re OK with just playing Rock Band and their new PS2 games down there.
Our new project is to figure out how to hook the laptop up to the TV so that we can watch TV shows off the internet, but still get the TV watching experience. (Stop snickering, it will TOO work.) So if you hear a bunch of general cussing and throwing of TV/computer peripherals from this area, you’ll know we’re well on our way to a day full of Andy Griffith rerun. Um, yay?
Christmas Letter – 2008 Edition
My Christmas cards got sent out on Christmas Eve this year. I think I should get extra points for “cards sent closest to Christmas”. In truth, I just didn’t get my shit together in time to get them out earlier. Sue me. When I put them in the mail slot at the Post Office, I felt like one of those calf ropers at the rodeo who finishes tying the three legs and throws their hands in the air to show they’re done. You know what I mean? No? Only me, I guess.
Here’s this year’s letter with, as usual, identifying info changed. I’m paranoid when I’m off my meds. I can’t figure out what’s going on with the numbers and bullet formatting, and trying to fix it will just make me cranky. You know what it’s supposed to look like–just picture it that way in your head.
Please get out your Number 2 pencils for this year’s Christmas quiz on:
The Dolans, 2008.
- April was an exciting month for our family because
- we turned the clocks forward. Or was it back? Um, is this why we were late for church for 6 months?
- we made our traditional batch of Tax Return Brownies.
- Sugar Daddy came home after 6 months in Iraq.
2. Sugar Daddy’s new job
-
- brings him back to his first love . . .crochet.
- involves a pole and a lot of folded up $1 bills.
- has him [working at a military facility]
- The big kids
- spent much of the past year trying to buy a Senate seat in Illinois.
- are only here for the cookies.
- are 7th graders and middle school honor students. (And the best darn big siblings any baby could ask for!)
- This year, DS2 has been
- [this multiple choice answer has been eliminated due to the troubled economy—savings will be put towards any Dunkin’ Donuts bail out. Mmmm, donuts . . .]
- giving Michael Phelps some pointers on his breast stroke.
- a student government representative and biking enthusiast. (He recently spent a Saturday on a 20-mile ride with his friend, Tommy.)
- DD3 is
- thisclose to violating her parole.
- a community organizer.
- singing in the middle school chorus and learning sign language.
- DD4 has spent her free time this year
- hunting wolves from helicopters.
- staring dreamily at the Joe the Plumber poster on her bedroom wall.
- Irish dancing and playing the piano.
- DS1 ([Nickname]) enjoys
- confusing everyone by answering to two names.
- making obscene objects with Legos.
- building rockets and bridges in his technology class and being a member of [club name] (the after-school “dude” club.)
- This year, Dolanmama has
- enjoyed the fact that she’s the youngest and hottest babe at the Elks Club Bingo Night.
- joined “Team Edward”.
- continued teaching Irish dance and started blogging.
- BabyGirl
- is the one who let the dogs out.
- taught Chuck Norris how to do that roundhouse kick thing.
- knows how to rock a ladybug costume at Halloween. (She’s 2 ½ this Christmas!)
- The Dolans
- believe most situations can be handled with duct tape and beer.
- dress up as pirates when you’re not looking. Arrrgh!
- wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Curves–One of the Signs of My Apocalypse
I have joined Curves. As I mentioned to some Facebook friends, I think this might be the last nail in the middle-age woman coffin. (One friend helpfully commented, “Not the last nail.”) I wanted to get back into some strength training, but it has been ten years since the last time I used weight machines. I realized that, other than dancing once or twice a week, I was pretty sedentary. So I decided that a year at Curves would be a good start.
The workouts are great for the ADD side of my personality. You go all-out on each machine, but only for 30 seconds. Then, you run in place for 30 seconds before the next machine. It’s over before I have a chance to start whining. You finish the whole workout in 30 minutes. With the new high-tech gadgetry, you then can find out how you are progressing on the machines, how your strength has improved, and how many calories you’ve burned. (That last one is my favorite–I mentally plan my evening wine/beer selections based on how many calories I’ve “earned”.)
Last week, I was working out and this older lady commented that I was making a lot of noise. Really? I’m one of those people who sometimes forgets to breathe when I’m exercising, so I tend to pant a little while doing the resistance portion. I might even occasionally grunt, but I’m not yelling like the guys in the Mr. Universe movies. Now I’m totally self-conscious about my workouts. I will allow that this woman was a good 30 years older than me. And working out in culottes. If you don’t know that those are:
Only picture these with athletic shoes and an old lady admonishing me.
So now I’m getting dissed by old ladies in strange clothes. Can I be any sadder? Apparently so.
One month after I started working out, it was time for my weight and measurements day. They take all of your info before you start, and then these monthly checks are supposed to show you how far you’ve come since that starting point. Supposed. To.
I’ve spent a month watching what I eat and working out three times a week. Both things I’d really rather not do, but figured it would be worth the pay off. After a month, I had lost 1.7 pounds. Less than two pounds. Even my Curves cheerleader, who is supposed to be all encouraging, sort of grimaced and said, “Well, but you haven’t been dieting, have you?” When I told her that I had, indeed, been dieting since before I started Curves, she finally found her internal script and started the whole, “Well, at least you didn’t gain any!” I could have sat on my ass and done that, Cupcake. (Mmmmm, cupcakes. Can you see my problem?) I can boast that my body fat dropped one percentage point (I’m only 76% butter now) and my hip measurement is one inch smaller. Tell my pants, ’cause they apparently didn’t get the memo.
Now, I’m still working out, but I’m just generally pissy about it. Sort of this “I’m-here-not-that-it-does-any-good-(and-I’ll-grunt-all-I-want-thank-you-very-much)” attitude. I’m like the Angry Curves Member in the script of life. Things could be worse.
When I visited my parents for Thanksgiving, I actually found a Curves in their city so I could continue my workouts. (Fat lot of good it did, no pun intended.) Halfway through my circuit, one of the other women staggered off a machine and had to plop onto a nearby bench. The employee ran and grabbed a trash can and we all watched in mild interest as the woman threw up and then sat with a washcloth on her head. Within minutes, THREE emergency vehicles arrived. Vitals were taken, medical history discussed, Barfing Curves Member whisked off to hospital. With that kind of drama to watch three times a week, I might be more interested in getting to the gym.
