I stumbled across this behind the scenes video for Madonnaâ€™s Confessions tour, and for whatever reason, I was so inspired by hard she and her crew works. She doesnâ€™t have a great voice, but she takes care of it so that she can sustain a two-hour show with dancing. I will say though she is an awesome dancer. When I watch her rehearsing dance numbers surrounded by twentysomethings, I am floored at how she still moves with precision and energy â€“ the lady is FIFTY-something. I canâ€™t even walk up stairs without my knees hurting. But the other parts of the tour are impressive as well â€“ the videos, concepts, costumes, the song remixes to fit into the show. Malcolm Gladwellâ€™s Outliers (never read it) says those on top work harder than anyone else, and I believe it.
There is always laundry at my house â€“ clean, unclean, it sits everywhere in piles. I donâ€™t think weâ€™re particularly messy, but it is not possible to take care of housework and keep three little ones content. One has to take precedence over the other. My sweet dad tries to help by folding. I wish he wouldnâ€™t. When I see the piles heâ€™s worked on, I can see how much he is deteriorating.
Sorting is one of those developmental milestones for toddlers, the ability to group like with like. Ironic, right, as the kids acquires these skills, my dad is steadily losing them.
Prior to becoming ill, he could, of course, sort laundry and fold shirts with military precision. Now? Ay caramba, I can tell when heâ€™s folded clothing because of the muddy quality of how they all kind of lie on top of each other. Whe I ask him a question, he nods and looks away, which makes me realize he must fake his response often, not really following whatâ€™s going on around him. Still, some moments are better than others. Like we can still eat together and really talk, so all is not lost. Thatâ€™s the part I want to keep my eye on, whatâ€™s working, whatâ€™s good.
Sleep is a rarity these days. Our girl Wonder Twin is experiencing teething pain with a vengeance, which causes her to screech epically. She holds our attention at a volume and pitch of such great heights, our little Axel Rose, our teeny Ozzy Osbourne. I half-expect a neighbor to call 911. These past few nights, I mentally prepare for the disruption by cop.
This is what has inspired a rash of midnight visits from First Son, who insists on spending the rest of the night in our bed. We are too tired to object. Typically, he is a restless visitor. His head is like a pillow-seeking missle. Without the pillow landing, he spends the night looking for rest, half-conscious. He moves, alternating between kicking his father me. It’s like sharing a bed with a break dancer when they’re doing–what’s that move? The one where they spin on their back and their legs whip around, splayed like half a helix in a DNA ladder? But when he finds a pillow, his body knows whats to do and the three of us actually sleep. This is a bad habit. When i tell husband we should escort our visitor back to his own quarters, he says “but I like seeing him when i open my eyes.” So we’re keeping him…for now.
The other day, I took him with me to retrieve the laundry in the basement. When I pressed “B” in the elevator, he said “mom, we go to the Beautiful Basement,” clearly practicing his B words. The unexpected pairing cracked me up.
I hope we are creating some fond memories for this one, because he sure is creating them for me.
One of the toys I had when I was a kid was called Baby Alive — a realistic baby you could feed fruit-flavored powder once you mixed it with water, and it would poop it out. It was really pretty ugly looking and I never fed the doll. My younger cousin was four or something at the time, so I fed the food to her instead. (I made her play a baby, it was great.) Haven’t thought of that toy in ages, till I read about this photographer’s work on people who collect mega-real dolls to cuddle like real babies. The photographer is Rebecca Martinez and the photos, and this behavior, seem…mega-strange. When I saw the first photo without knowing it was a fake, part of me did respond with a “awwwww.” (I am someone who is into babies…at least at times. Good thing, since I have a kajillion roommates at the moment who are…babies).
I don’t have an explanation of these collections, no feel for the why. I would guess people are into this because that baby stage is fleeting and they miss it. I’m currently in that baby stage, and it can be very magical and amazing, but also incredibly gross, and they are forgetting that part — or maybe these dolls give them all the cute bits without the grossness.
Baby Alive was not really adorable, so once the food was gone, I lost track of her…oh lord, I can go on forever on the weird toys i had as kid.
That is all. It is cold season. Every time a child sneeze, we have to sprint with a tissue so they donâ€™t wipe it all over the place, eat it, smear it into their cheeks, etc. Having one child, I am accustomed to a certain level of grossness. But Boy Wonder Twin sneeze this a.m. and the results were BOOGER APOCALYPSE!!!!! There you go. Two Marlon Brando shout-outs in one day.
When I read this title on People.com, I was like, huh? Which part makes you feel sexy? Is it the part when the baby throws up on your shoulder or when he poops on his back? For me, I think it’s probably the poop on the back. Yes, the combination of odor, texture, and all the sensory details — definitely. Sexy is the word I would choose.
Husband and I have opposite working schedules at the moment, and because I prefer to lead as civilized a life as possible, I try to get another pair of hands when Iâ€™m alone with the three of the Wild, Beautiful Kajillion Children who live in my house. Every night Husband works, my dad joins me getting the kids from day care, getting them fed, bathed, and put to bed. I think I probably see my dad and co-workers the most out of anyone right now. He can’t do a lot of things he used to, but he can still feed the babies, talk to them, tell them how wonderful they are — all of which is incredibly important to raising Dem Babies. The Girl Twin, in particular, needs so much attention (to which I tell her, Girl, you were born in to the wrong family, but we will try), that she and my dad are really close. But beyond taking care of the kids, my dad always keeps an eye on me, urging me to take it easy, take a nap. He is calm on the occasions I flip out (caused by a variety of factors, e.g., broken glass on the floor with the kids at home makes me on edge). People with his condition typically do not get out of bed, so I don’t know how he does it. The days he doesn’t come to see us, my mom tells me he sleeps all day — which could be as a result of physical illness, or he might need to recover from the insanity of seeing me and the teeny ones. Anyway, this year, I get to spend gobs of time with my dad, and I can tell you this — he is a really, really good guy. A really good guy.
I’m throwing my first kid party for the First Son and went a little crazy with the goody bags. One item in it gave me pause — I put it down and picked it up a few times, because I love it but I’m worried that it’ll tick some parents off. It’s not big deal, but it’s a set of ugly teeth for the kids to wear. There’s nothing cute about it. It will actively make the children who wear it pretty ugly. That potentially will make me unpopular with parents. Oh well, I just could not resist!