Queen of Rambles

First, let’s all jump up and down and do the happy dance! It looks like a salsa, because that’s my happy dance. If I could just get Mike to take some salsa lessons, I could start hanging out in a salsa club. Only then I’d need a babysitter and it is starting to sound like an expensive proposition. Instead, I’ll salsa with the Backyardigans. I have the cha-cha-cha episode saved from automatic deletion.

But why the happy dance?

Because, my friends, Mike has a job! One that pays money! We don’t have all the details yet, but it is a good, good, good thing. It is local. In fact, it is much closer than his other job and we may invest in a little commuter car to cut his commute down to 15 minutes. I’m not going to get too specific because I don’t know how much he wants me to tell. If you are on livejournal, you can try friending big_bubba and maybe he’ll share some information with you. I don’t know what his criteria for adding people is, but he does have a friends only journal.

It’s a good thing we got such excellent news today, because the other good parts of the day included me thinking “I’m so thankful I’m not wearing new pants” and “at least I have a typically healthy child.” While I was very THANKFUL for both those things, they are thoughts I think when I am trying really hard not to lose my shit.

Erik started barking like a seal last night, which meant we had a fabulous night of cold noises. He was pathetic all day, which meant I had to be one of those responsible people who stay home all day with a sick child instead of going forth to preschool and the gym and infecting everyone who comes within sneezing range. It was a l-o-n-g day. We watched way too much TV and Erik was way too hyper by about 4 pm and I was ready to go outside and scream really loud. I wanted to pick Mike up from the train station so I could hear the details of the job situation and turn Erik over to another responsible adult, but the child refused to put on clothes. I know I am the mother and I could have MADE him put on clothes, but do you realize how big the child is? And how determined?

I’ve been reading Your Three-Year-Old: Friend or Enemy and it gave me permission to not win every battle. Thus, I didn’t feel guilt when I let him beat me and run around naked. Instead, I went and laid on the bed and tried to ignore him. The book keeps repeating a scary mantra: use a babysitter as much as possible with your Three. Your Three loves you so much that he must control you and fight you. We are in for a heck of a ride with Three. I’m just glad I have permission to lose battles with him. The war is tiring and I am a quitter. I don’t mind sounding the retreat as long as it doesn’t mean he is going to impregnate seven girls by the time he is seventeen and then go shoot up a local mall. Though I guess if he is impregnating girls he won’t have time to plan mass murders. Make love, not war.

Speaking of war, I’ve been watching the Sarah Palin/Charlie Gibson interviews and it makes me angry on Sarah’s behalf. I don’t like her or anything she stands for, but it was beyond cruel for John McCain to place this woman in the public spotlight the way he has done. Yes, she could have said no but really? Who wouldn’t be flattered by the nomination? Who wouldn’t want to believe they could become a very powerful political player? Who wouldn’t try to ignore the fact that the media will eat you alive? Holy cow. That woman has a hard, hard row to hoe. Charlie Gibson is a nice guy, but even he couldn’t make her look anything other than completely out of her league. At best, she seems to be trying hard to hold her own. At worst, she looks like an idiot.

Ok, enough of that. I’m sure you don’t need me to point out all the Palin links.

Let’s talk about my son’s awesome command of the English language. When his mommy yells out “FUCK!” he tells his daddy that mommy needs help. Astute boy!

And boy oh boy did mommy need help. I had a 48 ounce box of semi-frozen pizza sauce sitting on the counter. I looked at it funny, and suddenly it was all over the floor and my legs. Thankfully, Mike is a well-trained Swedish husband and quickly saved the day with a mop. Also, thankfully, naked boy actually minded his mother and didn’t decide to take a walk through the tomato sauce.

Now let’s hope he doesn’t decide to use a very bad word that slipped out of his mother’s mouth.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 16th, 2008 at 8:16 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.