Monday, December 3, 2012


We do still exist. Here are the fall/winter holiday photos. Thank you new blogger app on my phone and agile thumbs. Now off to bed at the disgusting hour of 3:50am. I'm sure moon baby will wake me up in 5 minutes.


Seeing as how its been almost 3 years, one wedding and another child since I last posted, I decided that perhaps it might be best to alter the format of this poorly neglected blog so that it may serve as the journal I originally intended it to be, but also be attainable to my severely sleep deprived overly addled fragment of a brain that remains (fried as it may be by 6pm, let alone whatever hour I attempt to scribble a word or two). To that end, I'm going to endeavor to at least post brief (ha! as if I'm capable of such a thing) snapshots of moments collected - little images or thoughts to provide a glimpse years later into the chaos that I exist in right now and sometimes call life. And I'm going to let it all hang out  - snapshots in all their super messy expletive ridden glory. Please, oh 1 reader I may have left...don't call child protective services. I'm (hopefully. please oh god, hopefully...) not as bad as I may write myself to be.

Today J and I had a completely ridiculous fight over kefir. It was one of those rushing to get out of the house fights we seem to have pretty much every day. I could have easily poured him the kefir in less time than the struggle took, but as so often happens in these situations I suddenly became an asshole 4 year old myself, and dug my heels in. I had already made him a sandwhich, and we were in a hurry to get to a freaking birthday party so its not like I was taking him to the DMV or something equally we both dug in our heels and we both cried and yelled and it was a messy shitty clumsy exit from the house, which I of course instantly felt guilty about once the car was driving and we were on the way. Words uttered that I regret: Oh God! Just shut up about the kefir! (First time saying shut up - out loud at least - to my child. Another thing I swore I'd never do, crossed off the list.) Also regrettable (albeit not a first): Please. just. get. in. the god damn . car. Parent of the year I am not. At least I say please while being a complete asshole.

I somehow cobbled together a Luke Skywalker costume for he-who-dislikes-star-wars-but-desperately-wants-to-fit-in, figuring I'd rather he show up in costume and remove it later than not show up in costume and wish he had. I choose wisely, as other kids were envious of his button down belted shirt jedi whatever the fuck look. See, I'm not all shitty impatience. Just mostly. Watching him at the party, I was both worried by and proud of his hesitancy to rush in to collect the pinata candy. His holding back, his waiting to dive into things isn't bad, its just who he is. I love it about him and yet it also makes me worry is he happy? Is he having fun? Its candy, for fuck's sake - the holy grail of his mini existance! Why hold back?


My moon baby always looks like she's smarter than everyone else in the room and maybe just barely tolerating us all. I'm pretty sure she was a cat in a former life. I fucking melt when she rocks her head coyishly (is that even a word? Its 2am, I've been with 2 kids all day through a fucking birthday party, visit with an out of town friend, and babysitting my schmister's son until 11pm while simultaneously trying to work and entertain my baby- I don't even know if I"m writing in English, Spanish or French at this point. I'm pretty sure its not a word, but now if I change it I will have to delete this explanation for nothing) from side to side in a combination of dancing and flirtation. I love that she knows I fucking melt and does it to get precisely that reaction. She's also been doing this ballet leg stance where she holds herself upright on whatever is enabling her to be on two legs at the moment, and extends her leg outward while then giving her captive audience the coyish head tilt (shut up, I had to use the word again to justify the long rant above). She's definitely got some of the performing genes somewhere in that DNA code.


I don't have the energy to write an ending to this post. I'm suddenly feeling all the weight of this long day, and the weight of the immense to-do list facing me this week and all the relief that has come with finally writing a bit again has turned into regret over staying up so late writing when I still have work to finish for the job job. Expert juggler I am not. Frantic ball chaser? Why yes. Yes I am. Even if that sounds way saucier than it is.

And with that weird non ending I leave you to ponder frantic ball chasing in all its non-glory.