Little murmurs

When Kid was wee, I would sit just outside his door and listen to him murmur and coo to himself, listen to the adorable little slurping noises that meant he was sucking on his foot, strain my ears to hear his contented little sighs. Now, halfway down the hall in my office, all I can hear at the moment (half an hour past bedtime) is KABLAMMY! TAKE COVER!! OH MY GOD HE GOT IT RIGHT IN THE GUTS!!! AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGHHHHHHH!

And I ask myself, not for the first time, why there isn't some kind of Y Chromosome detector on those pregnancy tests. Just so I could have prepared myself for motherhood by watching UFC, reading "Modern Warfare" and poring over the anatomy of the bowel.

"Darling, who are you shooting in there?" I just asked.

HUGE BIG SIGH AND THE SOUND OF EYES ROLLING

"I'm not shooting anyone, Laur. I'm PUNCHING A TOMB ROBBER RIGHT IN THE GUTS."

Oh well, at least he's on the side of archeological rectitude.

Fridge magnet poem of the day: For Alpha Monkey

Jellylegs

We feed the Kid. He gets a multi-vitamin just in case, but he doesn't really need it. He gets lots of milk, lots of protein, lots of fruit and vegetables. He looks like such a big strong healthy boy.

But appearances are deceiving.

Kid cannot walk without falling down. It is not right that such a boy should be unable to walk in the snow without sinking to his knees in worn-out despair after 30 seconds; to be unable to propel his young body from the kitchen table to the bathtub without dropping like a swatted deerfly; to be unable to manage the simple motion that so many of us take for granted.

Please give generously to the Oakridge Foundation for Gin-Based Parental Therapy. It's too late for Kid. Save his mother.

A quick tour of the workplace

My office, oh my office. What I thought it would be when we moved here and I began my life as a work-at-home mommy:

Sanctuary, intellectual and otherwise
Professional space in which to excel
Source of inspiration
Containing a comfy chair, a footstool, and a good reading lamp
Smelling of hydrangea or iris or something crisp and fresh and professional and intellectual and calm and organized and the pay-off for years of working with stupid mean boys with haircuts that cost more than my monthly rent and having to hear things like "we will engage the anchor-link technology" and "it's hard to get the inertia going and keep it going" and just sit there trying to look smart and pretty and not smirk AND GOD.

Oh my office. Without moving my head, this is what I see. This is just the desk. Part of the desk.

A rock.


Kid media.


Japanese masking tape. Because this was the year I would get, you know, all craftsy for Christmas.


Some kind of decorative bowl that I purchased thinking it would be great to float a single lily in. Currently inside: a partially completed necklace for one of Kid's friends (because this year I would get. . . . .) and half a corn chip.


When I need to escape to my real life on the Cote d'Azur, I spritz some grapefruit-y Hesperides. I get through about a quart every month.


Gramma's silver-plate creamer. Inside: a nerf bullet and two St. Benedict medals. No idea.


Remaining boozy cherries from Bernard Callebaut. I too would like to have marinated in Kirsch for five months. It needed to be said.


IMPRESSED YET?

Going to read this. Yep. Any day now.


Ordered this movie from zip.ca in August. Going to watch it. Any day now.


Wall hydrangea decals! Nothing says "professional writer" like vinyl wall art.


Two pens and a screwdriver.


I did not stage this: a mood ring, a postcard from the Cote d'Azur and a stamp from Dubai celebrating the 1964 World's Fair.


And the reason I sit here all day writing lies about software:

Fridge magnet poem of the day:

As we all know, poetry is the art of not saying what you mean in as confusing a way as possible (thanks, Daddy, for clearing that up!). What I MEANT to say is this:
Dear Winter: If it weren't Christmas, I would wring your neck. Hate you, L

Party on

Nearly recovered from Kid's holiday party yesterday afternoon. It had everything: 9 sugared-up kids, a voice-changing megaphone and some kid rap about poo, a cookie-decorating frenzy, the part where the pantry door fell off, Elvis in pipe-cleaner antlers, pee in the kitchen, and the Great Jelly Belly Mishap (still picking those suckers off the livingroom floor 24 hours later).

Works of high-fructose corn syrup art included:

Voodoo Igloo

Some families have winter homes in Mexico. We have this:

I pity the poor families huddled together in airports waiting for international flights, dealing with pasport control, getting hepatitis medications, studying their well-worn copies of "Spanish for Dummies," dragging wailing children through one crappy gift shop after another. We're at our destination in 7 seconds!

I Just Went Cressy

What have I done? I just invited 10 six year olds to a holiday chocolate fondue party.
I just looked in the mirror. I don't look crazier than usual. Not saying much, but still. . . .
It must be the egg nog. Curse you, Lucerne Dairies!

Bad doggy

I'm upstairs drinking Di Saronno and two nice ladies are trying trying TRYING to vacuum up the Elvis poo problem in the basement. They think they can get the smell and the actual. . . you know. . . out of the carpet, but probably won't be able to get the stain out.

I am absurdly proud of that carpet. Was absurdly proud of that carpet. It's thick and beautiful and tasteful. And its loss to tacky stinkiness and stainhood is a little too much for me at the moment.

I think we have to move.

I love someecards

http://www.someecards.com

Shivering Sands

You should download Warren Ellis's Shivering Sands from lulu.com (hey--it's only $7) if only for the epigraphs, including this one:

Run away with me.
(I promise not to sell you for food later on.)