Thursday, April 28, 2005

It's all about the shoes

So just after I posted about my fondness for shoes, I discovered Em shares my passion.

She's always been interested in her own shoes. Saturday she gnawed and drooled on one of her pink baby sneakers so much that it was squishy-wet. The babysitter told Canon on Monday that Em played with the babysitter's shoe for 90 minutes.

She's also crazy for my shoes. I have a great photo of her playing with a pair of my shoes while my slippers sit discarded at her side.

More than likely, she didn't pick it up from me, even though I hate to admit that. Her furry brother Murphy will stop at nothing when he wants your shoes. He even taught himself to open the closet doors. Soon they will be partners in crime.


Did anyone else watch the press conference tonight? I remember, even as a kid, when the President was on TV I wouldn't miss it. I couldn't imagine why anyone *wouldn't* want to watch their President talk to them about what was going on in the nation. Of course, current events was always my favorite part of elementary school. (I was initiated as a dork early, I guess.)

Anyway, I watched tonight, and maybe it's because I'm older and more jaded, or maybe, as Canon says, politics are just more partisan (read: vicious), but all I heard coming from Bush's mouth was "Blah blah blah." Ick. It all sounded like dodges and excuses. And it's getting harder and harder to respect the office when you're so disillusioned with the officeholder.

Maybe I should have been watching The Food Network.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Fucking Thin Mints

Why do I give money to the G*rl $couts? Why? Why do I do it? I shell out cash every spring and all it gets me is fat.

And yet I'm happy to pay. And happy to eat. Damn Peanut Butter Patties. Damn Caramel DeLites. Damn Thin Mints. They own me.

All they have to do is figure out a way that Thin Mints will actually make you thin, then I'd love them back.

Monday, April 18, 2005

My feet, they've finally healed

So seven years ago tonight I was at my wedding dance. I remember a lot about that day, but the thing I'll never forget is how bad my feet hurt at the end of the night. I hobbled out to the car to be whisked away to the Honeymoon Suite and all I could think about was getting as far away from my shoes as possible.

I've gone through a lot of other shoes in those seven years. Most of them still clutter my closet. I have this thing about parting with my shoes. I just can't do it. I still have a pair of tennis shoes I wore in high school. (Give me a little credit; I only wear them when I mow the yard. Which is about once every three years.) But I've still got them.

Chunky shoes, knee-high boots, fuzzy slippers. I wore them through miscarriages and fertility treatments and hopeful positives and long, long months of nothingness that crushed tighter every month. The "normal" shoes sit next to the extra-large flip-flops that were the only thing that fit on my swollen hooves for the last four months of my pregnancy.

It must have taken a few days for my feet to heal after the wedding. I really can't remember. There's certainly been a lot more aches and pains and heartaches and hurt since then. Seven years ago I couldn't have predicted any of it. I'm glad i didn't know the struggles and the pain we've endured. But the love, the support, the laughs, they've been better than I expected, too.

I still have those wedding shoes in a box in my closet. I'm not quite ready to get them out and try them on again; I'm still getting used to *all* of my scars healing. But here, at the seven year mark, we've got the family we always wanted. One day I'll show those shoes to Em: the wedding shoes and the flip-flops. And I'll tell her how much both of them hurt my feet. And how I can't decide which pair I love more.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Hottest Ticket in Town

Tonight Em treated us to her first concert.

She sat on the floor, FIsher-Price activity table propped in front of her, Leap-Frog piano to her left, and played the alphabet song and "Old MacDonald" simultaneously. She bopped along in a Baby Dance of Glee whlie surveying the flashing insturmentation spread before her.

I took it all in from my front-row seat, so proud that I had birthed a musical genius. Musical multi-tasking like that could probably earn her a spot in Rush.

No wonder her father is her biggest fan.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

The Eighth Month

I have been a mother for eight months today, which means Em has been here almost as long as I waited for her to arrive.

But not nearly as long as I wished for her; longed for her.

For all those years I dreamed of a snuggly, balled-up, squinty newborn with a mewling cry. I got my wish. But no one told me how fast those days would come and go. How quickly she'd grow up, and assert her independence, and resemble a toddler more than an infant. I look at her and I don't see Baby; I see Child.

I also see my husband and myself, in a whole other person I could never have imagined. Beautiful blue eyes, fluffy flyaway hair, a maniaical, throaty laugh. I see a wide stubborn streak, a love for music, an inquisitive mind. She rolls over only on her own terms. She hates tummy time. I suspect she will skip crawling and go right for the walking... she must stand, oh yes, she must. You are a fool to assume she might sit with you.

She says ba,ba,ba when she's happy or just babbling. She says Ma,Ma,Ma when she's sad or upset or lonely. She knows the difference.

She is the difference.

I love you, Em.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Are you like me? Pick one.

So there's a pot-luck coming up at work.


I think we all know by now the dangers of blogging about work, so I won't go there. But it did get me thinking, after I noticed that one of my more consistent co-workers had signed up to bring slushburgers. I shudder just typing that. Now, if you live anywhere near me, you're intimate with slush and all the dirty ice, pebbly gravel and melty shoe-prints that it entails. So why would you ever want to spoon that between a bun and take a bite? Come on, what is with you people?

So what do you say? Choose "slushburger" if you must. I promise to mock you quietly.

Slushburger, sloppy joe or barbeque?

Gray duck or Goose?

Do you "put gas on," "fill up the tank" or "get gas"?

Bubbler, water fountain or cooler?

Hot dish or casserole?

Buffet or Smorgasbord?

Pop or soda?

Sub, hoagie or po'boy?

Supper or dinner?

Tennis shoes, track shoes or sneakers?

Bitch, whore, or wife? (thanks for the help, Honey.) (He's sick, people, you really can't blame him.)

"Eh?" "Yeah, sure" or "You betcha?"

That last one is more of a trick question. If you live in Fargo, it's all three.

Monday, April 11, 2005

I have seen the future

... and it is poopy.

We're having a poopapalooza at our house. The baby has been bodysnatched by a Pooping Bandit. I hope it's the teething, because if it's not, I'm totally lost.

This is the same kid, who, just a few months ago, wouldn't poop. The same baby with the prunes, and the great formula search, and the infant suppositories, and the prunes. Yesterday she had four blowouts, one of which included an actual puddle. I'm so tuned into the poop I can smell it a room away. Or maybe it's just that bad.

The necessity of mulitple outfits is finally beginning to make sense to me.

Oh yeah, and she started saying Mama this week, which pretty much cancels out all the diapers.