Wednesday, May 31, 2006

It ain't the heat, it's the humility. - Yogi Berra

For the record, there is nothing like a hot, sweaty, drooling baby crawling around to let you know just how inadequate that last bout of vacuuming was.
Or perhaps futile is a better word choice.

What are we doing today?
Visiting Dad at work?
Going to the public library to find book about tornadoes, Primo’s latest obsession?
Visiting their old preschool before it closes for good at the end of June?
Getting Mama some caffeine? [This is NOT an option, but a necessity.]
Grocery shopping for diapers and wipes and shaving cream and laundry detergent and any number of other necessities I would SWEAR I had JUST stocked up on?
Buying the boys their summer sandals and new sneakers?
Visiting the library where I work because they have an excellent children’s collection?
So many options.

It’s going to be ninety degrees here today.
That must factor in.
It’s so hot that even the goldfish looks hot.

Did I mention that Segundo is potty-training?
He’s doing great, but god, it’s so much work.
It’s almost - I say almost – easier to just deal with diapers.
But he must be trained to attend preschool in the fall.

Also, for whatever reason, my children REFUSE to accept that it’s like Africa-hot, and insist on wearing sweatpants, long-sleeved t-shirts – yesterday I had to wrestle a polarfleece out of Segundo’s literally hot little hands. Time for a dresser drawer purge of all things winter-like. Even the long-sleeved t-shirts I left there for cool summer evenings at the park or the beach – must be hidden.

The only sure thing is that tonight? I drink. With other mamas from Primo’s preschool who have also just endured their first few days full-day with *their* preschooler(s).


So we traveled far and wide today.

First – H’s office. I NEVER understand this, his wanting us to come visit him there. He inevitably looks harried and worried because there are people trying to WORK, and I spend the whole time comparing my sweaty, fat, stringy-haired, squinty-eyed self to all the sleek and well-turned-out office-types who are not stressed out trying to herd three small children quietly throughout the halls. And then I think, “Oh, crap, they probably all think I am checking up on H,” when the reality of it is? I don’t care. At this particular moment. If anyone wants his self-absorbed, slightly-geeky, semi-Asperger’s self? They are welcome to him.
I mean, I love him and all, but I DO have that sticky-out-y stomach issue going on. AS HE CONTINUES TO POINT OUT.
So I ask you, would YOU want him?

Then we walked the two blocks (was I insane?) to the library, where all the computers were down. So the kind lady behind the counter had to handwrite all the barcodes for all our books – all, oh, sixteen of them – for checking-out purposes. Now here is where H redeems himself – he drove the car from where it was parked in front of his office building and left it right outside the library for me. God bless him, because anyone knows that the most difficult thing of any outing is getting the kids in and out of the car. Everything else in between, I can handle with (some) equanimity.

THEN we drove to the boys’ old daycare, which is closing at the end of this month, so H and I thought it would be nice for the boys to go say hi and good-bye to everyone. I enjoyed seeing everyone, but the fact of the matter is that I can never remember whose child is whose, and what people’s names are, and my boys acted like they had never ever seen these people before in their lives. Except the baby, who was thrilled to bits to discover that there are other people his size out there in the big wide world! And they would smile at him! And let him teeth their toys! Oh joy!

And then I descended to the lowest depths of decadence and bad-mama-ism: I not only bought Happy Meals on the way home? I CHARGED THEM so I wouldn’t have to stop at an ATM. I think fast food restaurants accepting credit cards is pretty much the end of civilization as we know it, a depravity like unto the Roman Empire’s all-you-can-eat Christian buffets, and the need for a portion of their houses to be actually named the vomitorium. It’s only the first full day of vacation, and here I am. How much lower can I go? I am all too afraid we shall soon find out.

Then this is where I should blog about what this blog is meant to be about (ya folla?): books. Soon, I swear. I, as Blackbird might say and I believe has, pinky swear. I PROMISE YOU. But now, enough about that literary crap. It’s hot and I desperately need a drink. Preferably alcoholic.



Carolyn said...

I think it would be great if we could outsource sex.

I won't pay anybody to clean my house but I would pay them to pleasure my husband.

Just kidding, maybe.

And I'm glad that you post about all sorts of other things besides books! You write most eloquently about everything.

David said...

AC is on. Visitors are welcome...

Badger said...

So. Ninety degrees is hot up there where you live, then? I totally wore jeans today because it was ONLY supposed to be 90. Cold front! Woo!

Surfing Free said...

It's so funny remembering how much I used to look forward to school holidays when I was a child, and think now how much my mother must have dreaded it!

May I suggest lots of time at the local pool, day trips in the car, and videos :)

Miz S said...

Don't forget the sprinkler in the backyard. Lots of popsicles. Oh dear, I'm getting stressed out just thinking about YOUR summer.

And I'm still a little pissed at H about the tummy comments. He should be saying, "Baby, I'm just glad there's more of you to love." Maybe Mizter S could have a chat with him.

blackbird said...

I'm rather enjoying your NOT talking about books.
I pinky swear.

Katya said...

I'm missing your book talks -- you know that's where I get my reading list from. :)

90 degrees is hot there? I'm with Badger on this one -- I think it was in the high 80s and I was thinking, "Yippee! It's going to be cooler for a while!"

And H should NOT be saying anything about your tummy at all.

Badger said...

I think you should remind H that HE'S the one who stretched your tummy out like that with his stupid penis. So he should totally be kissing your ass.

Loretta said...

Hmm - tummy comments - I know a great divorce, really, ask him to shove a watermelon into his stomach and then push it out his urethra and see if his stomach is squishy.

Otherwise - your days sounds nice. Trust me, all the women at the office were jealous that you are a stay at home mom.

Sarah Louise said...

BB, you are an excellent writer on all topics. I loved experiencing this day with you.

I bet H wants you to visit because he likes seeing you and the boys in the middle of the day.

Did you find some good tornado books? I guess Primo's too young for my favorite disaster flick, Twister.

Suse said...

In my experience the volcano obsession follows the Thomas the Tank obsession. Primo skipped a stage!

jess said...

Not talking about books?! Gasp! I don't think I can keep reading.

Actually, it's good because then I can catch up on my reading lists.

MsCellania said...

I've had to hide the warm clothes, too. And then drag them back out. It's hot, it's cold, it's a pain in the rear is what it is.

And I charge everything on a credit card. Everything. A cup of coffee goes on the cc as our bank is half an hour away from me, and ATM's? Nah - I can't ever remember our codes and the darn things get snatched and I curse, alarming passersby. Plus, then there's a record. And dh can say "SEVEN starbucks? SEVEN?" and I can say "Oh, it must be MUCH closer to 9!"

Congrats to Segundo on the potty training. I still have one in diapers at night. It's like getting a huge raise when you can drop diapers and wipes from the shopping list.

And the continuing mention of the stomach would mean dh is welcome to sleep in the guest room. Or possibly the doghouse. You have had 3 children in what - 5 years?! Your dh needs a physiology lesson. Cave Women gained an extra pad of fat with each child, and it was for "Emergency Rations, Only" As in Really Difficult to Lose unless she was starving. She had to survive to hunt/gather for those ankle biters she was toting. While worthless sperm donor chewed bark, sat by fire and grunted with his fellow man. The reason ancient man did not survive long was that ancient woman figured out she could hunt much easier using dead worthless man as bait. That's why there are so many maimed man's bones with wooly mammoth, etc - these were the fools who grunted at their mates "Hey, Getting Bigga Arounda Da Middle, bring me a .... " (choking, gurgling last gasp of breath sound, followed by satisfied grunt and a thud)

telfair said...

We just got finished with our stinking summer here in the Southern Hemisphere(throughout which I imitated Eugene Morris Jerome, of "Biloxi Blues" fame, too...Africa hot and whatnot.
So I feel your pain even while I nod companionably over your quote choice. And laugh hysterically over your comparison of Credit Card Ronald McDonald with the depraved excesses of the Roman Empire.

Amy said...

Love that this blog reads with the same sense of exhaustion that your day must have! It's awesome!

By the way, if you need me, I'll be at David's. I'm too cheap to turn my own a/c on, but not too low to not blatantly steal it from others!