Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Daddy crushes

Now that I'm back to higher learning courtesy of my online graduate class, I figure I ought to take a second and blog before I get really wrapped up in my studies and haven't any time.

So here is a little ditty I've been wanting to write about for awhile--daddy crushes.

The idea popped into my head when a friend emailed me a picture of her hubby, her very, very cute hubby. I have told her on more than one occasion how cute he is. I guess I have a wee little crush on him.

As a younger person, I would have thought that by nearly 36 years of age and happily married for nearly 12 years, I would be far beyond having crushes on guys, but apparently, I am not. I suspect lots of women (and men) have crushes.

After N's dance recital, my hubby mentioned enjoying the slinkalicious bodysuits many of the 17-year-old dancers wore for the ballet performance. As I was watching them dance from the balcony, where I sat with N, I knew, just knew, that D was thinking something along those lines. Because he's a horndog? Well, yes. And because he is human.

So knowing that he is imaging all kinds of perverted things about girls who aren't legal, I don't feel so bad having my little daddy crushes. They are only daddy crushes because all I ever meet anymore are the husbands of my mom friends. Sometimes I dig them because they are just plain good to look at. Sometimes it is because of how great they are with kids. I mentioned to D how appealing he is (wink, wink) when he's willingly playing with the kids and enjoying it. My daddy crushes sometimes even involve the daddy in this house. Anyone is fair game...except my brother. That's just gross.

I used to have crushes prior to becoming a mom. I won't name names but suffice it to say I worked in the same school as these gentlemen. Sometimes it was because they were handsome, sometimes because they were intellectually complex, sometimes because they were just "there." Sometimes it was a combination of all these.

And these crushes, at least for me, are harmless. In most cases, I rarely, if ever, see these men, or if I do they are with their wives and say, at most, "hi" to me. More importantly, I know where my bread is buttered. D might occasionally drive me bonkers, but I know we are strangely compatible. We somehow have managed to develop this quiet, relatively peaceful coexistence together.

I do wonder, though, if I will be doing this when I'm in the nursing home?

Monday, June 15, 2009

I'm with David Sedaris on this one

Being exhausted and having some GI problems can really take the spitfire out of a person.

Saturday (early) evening I was extremely fatigued, but still raring to go with a deliciously crude reflection on my daughter's dance recital. Two hours of unplanned and unavoidable bathroom time did me in, though, so now I have what will be a wimpy and not nearly as vivid blog post.

My book club read Holidays on Ice in December 2008 and had a great time discussing "Front Row Center with Thaddeus Bristol," in which Sedaris points out all that is ludicrous about children's holiday pageants and how their parents just lap it up. I found myself one of the few readers who totally agreed with the critical nature of the essay. I couldn't help think of all the biting comments in this essay throughout N's dance recital on Saturday.

The recital, given that it was a performance of amateurs, was pretty involved. The logistical planning was more than a little mind-boggling, especially as it involved many, many, many young kids. It was a good show and made N even more interested in dance than she already was.

But it was, in my humble opinion, entirely too god-damned long. We arrived at 1:45 and didn't get home until after 8:00, and we left at intermission of the evening performance since N was done with her dances. And because the afternoon show ran long we didn't get a chance to eat dinner because they had to move straightaway to the evening performance. So Pa plied N with M&M's, and I survived on water.

Suffice it to say, by the time 8:00 rolled around, I was an extremely tired, hungry and bitchy pregnant woman.

I was just done with all that was overdone. I know I sound like an old-fogey, but when I was a kid we didn't have performances like this that last a veritable eternity. We didn't have program books with pictures of us, the dancers. We didn't receive trophies and ribbons. We didn't receive bouquets of flowers or special stuffed animals from parents and grandparents.

All of this....nonsense takes away from what could be a nice simple recital. But this recital was a performance. I saw the fucking Kirov Ballet in London perform Swan Lake and it wasn't as overdone with flowers and programs and bows. But from talking to other moms I know, it sounds like most dance studios do something similar. Maybe not quite as long or involved, but similar.

I know there is no point in fighting a losing battle. If every other parent, or the majority of parents do it, I will be compelled or guilted into doing it. N cried because she didn't get flowers like many of the other dancers did, and my heart didn't bleed at all. Which may mean I have no heart.

I just value different things. I bought her a corsage for her preschool graduation because I wanted to show her that going to school and learning is valued and special. A graduation is a momentous occasion. A dance recital is fun, but not flower-worthy. At least not until she's put 5, 10 or 15 years into it. I feel rather like Elaine Bennis as I type this.

I was very proud of N for getting up on stage and performing. For trying to do her best. For being well-behaved during the performance. She had a good time, and therefore, I will likely suffer through this shit next year.

At least I won't be pregnant.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Watch me grow... with #3

13 weeks pregnant with #3
Still sickly. Serious denial.

16 weeks pregnant with #3.
Smiling now. Must feel better.

22 weeks pregnant with #3.
I have no shame. Me, prior to bedtime.
You sexy thang.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Thoughts on Knocked Up

Back in the day, when I still had brain cells that functioned properly, I would have written a blog post about Atonement or another classically elegant movie based on a piece of literature. I did see Atonement and really liked it, moreso than I did the book, but its weightiness is just too much for me right now. So my critical inquiry for the moment is limited to Judd Apatow films.

D and I watched Knocked Up over 2 evenings. I liked it. Won't make it to my favorite movies of all time list, but it was entertaining and actually made me think alot about domestic issues.

First, there is a very good reason people like watching hardbodies in porn movies. Because seeing Seth Rogen do a sex scene is not appetizing. I don't want to see someone who looks like me or my hubby or my neighbors doing it. Let's just leave the real human bodies in their real human bedrooms.

Secondly, I am glad I am not like the sister, Debbie. It's absurd that she was so angry that her hubby played fantasy baseball instead of having an affair. It's also absurd the way she got so pissy when he didn't fret over the sex predators in their neighborhood. I HATE sports, but I'd develop an interest in them if my spouse talked to me the way she did. I guess I'm lucky that D and I don't have that kind of mouthy, spit-fire argument style. I might think D is a stupid, dumb ass at times, but I certainly don't tell him to his face (primarily because I don't want to know when he's thinking I'm a stubborn, tightwad bitch).

Thirdly, I can understand a bit how women get miffed when their husbands or male partners need "time away," but that is simply the way men are. I might want time away or need time away, but being a mommy is inherently different from being a daddy. It's "momma bear syndrome." I know I have personally felt hurt when D has said the kids were driving him bananas or when he wanted to get away from them. It is irrational, but I think there is an instinctive, protective component to why women feel that way. But if I acted like D is a asshole jerk for thinking this way or saying this, then I have to lump him with every other "normal" guy who feels this way on a regular basis. And if the majority of men experience it, then it isn't one guy's problem. Women may feel the same but being a momma, in general, means an altogether different level of involvement with children.

For the record, Katherine Heigl did not lumber around as a pregnant woman does, especially in the sack. During that pregnant sex scene, her butt was way too quick to move around into different positions. Lifting my 22 week pregnant ass off the couch is an ordeal, so flipping over on a soft mattress is a feat that takes many minutes and some intense upper body work. And as a 1st time mom, she would be far more concerned about bleeding after intercourse than getting her groove on. And what is so bad about doggy style (or on your knees or rear entry), by the way? Just another example of women being presented as semantically prudish.

And the birth scene.....
I've done the natural thing, and the pain was so intense I was in another fucking world. I couldn't have strung 3 grunts together during transition (the hard part), let alone enough to say, "I don't want to do this. Give me an epidural now you fucking dicksucker."
And by the time you get to the pushing part, you actually feel better.
Also, is it just me, or did someone have a Brazilian wax before delivery? Or was it the blonde hair?
The birth scene in Jude the Obscure with Kate Winslet was better.

So there's my 2 cents about KU. Cute, funny. Totally not worth remembering. A good way to spend a weekend after going to soccer games, the pool and dealing with kids/work.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

A whole lot of whatever

I haven't scrapbooked in ages, and I'm doing a slipshod job of writing in the kids' journals, so I thought I'd just randomly empty my brain of anything that needs remembering (for kids) or forgetting (for myself). Once I get it out of my head, I can let it go and move on to other concerns, worries or things to remember.

1. Pete and Repeat
Good grief, being in the car with my kids is like being in OCD hell (or heaven, depending on how medicated you are.) N is always the instigator. The other day she was just making a noise, "Ah-shew, Ah-shew, Ah-shew," over and over again. And then comes G, chiming right along. Makes my head nearly explode. Kinda like the, "Is that fake cry?," thing.

Whenever N sees someone walking a dog she says, "I want a dog. I mean, I want a chihuahua." And here comes Repeat saying, "Ha-wa-wa. Ha-wa-wa."

Now she points out every Volkswagen Bug, PT Cruiser and convertible she sees. Fortunately, Repeat cannot pronounce any of these, so he only hollers out, "Bus," "Bike," and "Digger."

2. 21 weeks and counting
Let me say it again on the record: This pregnancy is kickin my arse hard. I have finally gotten to the point where I don't require a daily nap. I require a daily rest, but sleep isn't an absolute necessity. So hooray for that.

But, I have developed a nice patch of varicose veins on my right leg, near my knee. Looks like somebody beat the fuck outta me. And given than I spend a decent chunk of my time racing after G to keep him from running into the street or drowning himself in the baby pool, I have been holding my belly up with one hand doing a waddle-dash of sorts to wherever danger lurks. So today, I broke down and purchased a belly support thing and ordered compression tights. Nothing to put you in touch with your inner senior citizen like hanging out at the medical supply place for a couple hours.

N takes dance class, and she really enjoys it. I am all for it, but this recital business is really wearing thin. She is in a afternoon performance and an evening performance, which means I have to get a sitter for G from 1 pm until 7 pm (or longer). It means I have to take her to dress rehearsal on a Friday evening at 4:45, requiring D to come home early to watch G. It means I have had to fork out $60-odd on a costume, and $65-odd on a recital fee, plus I still have to purchase the program. This is in addition to the $39 I pay a month on the class.

I am sure the performance will be nice and will get N even more interested in dance, but this all seems like a whole lot of overkill for a group of 4- and 5-year-old girls. It was suggested that the parents of each class put an ad in the program to congratulate the girls, and by an ad I'm talking up to $40. We, as a group, declined. We were the ONLY group of parents who did not put an ad in the program, which means either we are crazy and heartless or we can find better ways to spend $40 than put an ad in a program that NONE OF OUR KIDS CAN READ!!!!!!!

Yes, I am cheap. Yes, I think so many of these activities that parents put their kids in have gone bloody nuts. But apparently, I am one of the few people on the planet who think perhaps this is all a bit much.

4. Baby #3 Pregnancy Book
I haven't purchased a "Remember the Pregnancy" book for baby #3, and at the rate I'm going, even if I manage to purchase it, I will not write in it. So here are some things I want to remember should I ever have time in my life for such activity.

  • Conceived--mid-January 2009
  • Took cheap pregnancy test -- Monday, Feb 9th
  • Took 2nd, more expensive and far more reliable pregnancy test to get same answer--Tuesday, Feb 10th
  • Started feeling pukey -- end of week, Feb 13th or so
  • Really sick from -week 5 to week 10 (stopped dry heaving in the a.m. during week 10) Felt nauseated much of the time until week 16.
  • 1st dr. visit and u/s -- Monday, March 2nd (8 weeks preggo). Weight: 132 lb
  • 2nd dr. visit -- Monday, March 30th (12 weeks preggo). Weight: 136 lb
  • 3rd dr. visit -- Monday, April 27th (16 weeks preggo). Weight: 146 lb (GOOD GOD!)
  • U/S with maternal/fetal specialist: Thursday, May 14th.
  • 4th dr. visit-- Tuesday, May 26th (20 weeks preggo). Weight: 146 lb (thank heavens!)
  • Felt movement--13 weeks
  • Felt pokes--16 weeks
  • Felt kicks-- 21 weeks