Saturday, May 31, 2008

Rights of Spring



Son, put down the sprinkler.
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Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Vodka Shots All Around

In my line of professional work, when a child has a hearing loss, the most important thing you can do is communicate, communicate, communicate. You drench the children in language constantly and unfortunately, I've done so with the Bug and am doing so with G-Snak. The consequence of drenching a normally hearing child in language is rather tiring in that Bug NEVER EVER SHUTS UP. I'm not saying I'm adverse to a chatty kid. They're cute....BUT HE NEVER EVER SHUTS UP. NEVER. If it's quiet in my house it's only because he's not within earshot. I try to tell people to ignore him. But they don't. They have plenty of sleep and they can leave my house anytime they want. So they encourage him to KEEP TALKING.
I know what you're thinking. I'm a chipper sort of parent. But really, I've got quite the dark sense of humor. In order to combat the NON-STOP TALKING, I often mutter dark jokes that are just on the edge of inappropriate if the kids hear and that usually cracks me up. So, we're in the doctor's office for both Bug and Snack and I paged through a magazine. It had a picture of a vodka bottle. You're supposed to always talk to an infant, right? So I say to Snack, "There's mummy's bottle. Can you say vodka? Can you say, glug, glug? Oh, what fun! Mama has a dark, dark, macabre sense of humor." Bug, actually stops talking to say, "Hey, what's a vodka? What's dark, dark, cob? I want to see a picture of a dark, dark, cob! I want vodka! I want vodka!" I tried to show him a picture of the barn (Architectural digest had a special issue on farm structures. Apparently, like their spirits as well.), but he wouldn't have it. And, thus we proceeded to tantrum number 3,429 for the day just as the doctor walks in...
The joke was worth it.
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Friday, May 23, 2008

Race relations? Terrifying? P-Shaw.
I know something more terrifying than race today. It's kids. And I've proof.
Nevermind the examples from my "overwhelmed" entry where there didn't seem one thing besides the sun put on this earth to respect the art of child rearing. A society not set up for kids, but yearning to keep its youth is terrifying to say the least, but I digress. The other day, the kidlettes and I went for a walk. It was getting cloudy and near dusk and we were on the long strip of pavement at Alki beach. There was construction on part of the road and part of the path, so the path narrowed to a width only three people wide. Two very large black men were walking toward me and the kiddies in the stroller. My gut didn't send off alarm bells in the retrospect and as a side note your gut is more accurate than "race." I've met white women in line at the coffee shop that creeped me out a hell of a lot more than a black man sharing a sidewalk with me at night. Anyhew...One of the two black guys jumped off the path and nearly toppled down onto the beach below as we approached. I joked, "We aren't that scary are we?" He says straight at me and in all seriousness, "Ah, well, kids are kinda scary."
After trying to get a reasonable picture with my parents during their visit or trying to get out the door in a presentable (note - I did not say clean or tidy) fashion, I couldn't agree more.
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Tuesday, May 20, 2008



So, so....Well, I haven't been blogging mostly because I've been really overwhelmed. I've had lots of requests to add new stuff faster and so I'll try. I've been told, "What's to be overwhelming with two young children in the city of Seattle?" Here's an example:

This morning after our Spanish class, the Bug, the Snack and myself were driving home. I turned on NPR because I like the gardening show they have on Tuesdays. The rule in my car has been swiped from my Speech/Debate Team days - driver picks all. Heat, radio station, directions, they are all my choice. However we were a little late getting out of class, Bug had to use the facilities before we left class, Snack needed a snack before we could drive in peace all the way home...Instead of my gardening show, there's a story about this ranch that might have thirty bodies left from Charles Manson. Bug says, "What's murder?" before I realize what's being said and can turn it off. Then as a distraction, I say, "Oh, look at that big ship in the harbor!" Bug asks, "What kind of ship is it?" It's a beautiful battleship. A strong hull cutting through the waves, a gorgeous grey against the water's green. I tell him it's a battleship, but I regret it as soon as it's out of my mouth because Bug asks, "What's a battleship?" and I have to say, "It's a big ship that takes soldiers to war or supplies to countries that have catastrophies." Bug asks, "What war is?" I turn the radio on again to a random station and the lyrics are rockin "big booties" and really just mysoginist stuff. So. I turn off the radio. I've stopped answering questions. It's too much. I hardly know how to explain these things to myself much less a little boy that I've kept alive for 3 years because of good drugs and a heightened understanding of what the word "safe" means. Any kitchen table besides my own is not safe, and yet, we still make it out the door into the world to try.

I'm bumping against these things daily. I'm tired of telling him that I'll explain later or that it's hard to explain or that I don't know what to explain first or offering stump-the-bunny answers like, "What's a battleship? That's a battleship," and nothing more than a pointed finger.

I am also overwhelmed by all the lovin my kids give me. I'm off to kiss them in their slumber and try again tomorrow.

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Sunday, May 11, 2008

She's 11 Months!


The Snack is 11 months old in this pic, minus the sign. She "blows kisses," but doesn't quite remember the blowing part and so her palm is left up to her mouth and she looks at you with the Snack look that says, "Okay, so what's the fuss about here?" I am a distant second to the Bug in the Snack's life and that's just fine with me.
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