Thursday, March 30, 2006

A day at the zoo feels like a day at the circus

Our zoo is notorious for having to put animals to sleep or just killing them by letting them eat rat poisoning that someone forgot to put away. Frankly, it's embarrassing. It is a zoo. It's not like it's a brand new idea. I mean, they aren't killing the animals in the San Diego Zoo. The animals actually seem happy there. No, I'm not kidding. I have a picture of a bear with a smile on his face. But maybe that's just all that good weather in So. Cal. I don't know.

So yesterday I took the boy to the zoo. His father thought that maybe all of his crying lately had to do with depression and lack of playdates. I swear on a Bible. Those very words came out of his mouth. Rather than put the kid on Zoloft, I decided to expose him to wild animals. Our very first exhibit was one that truly expresses the care and concern shown to animals at our zoo.

There was a kangaroo, lying on his side, rapidly breathing.

"What's wrong with that kangaroo, Mommy?"

Mommy was stunned. I guess she hadn't anticipated a conversation with her 5-year-old at the zoo about long-term care, assisted living, Alzheimer's and death. I decided to HASU--Hook A Sister Up.

"The kangaroo is taking a nap. It's his naptime. Isn't he a good napper?"

Mommy (and the other 7 parents) looked grateful. Apparently the Wisconsonites had not heard about our less-than-stellar zoo mortality rate. The zoo had a sign posted by the hyperventilating kangaroo stating that they were keeping Roo as comfortable as possible. I'm thinking it's time to up Roo's morphine. That wasn't looking too comfortable.s

All I'm saying is that if you can't do a job right, don't do it at all. The animals deserve far better.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

If you can't play with the big dogs, stay on the porch

Which has nothing to do with this post.

Last night my husband came to bed with a look on his face. That look that said "you are in big trouble."

K: Hi.
D: Hi.


D: Do you want to tell me what was up with the shower this morning?
K: (thinking that playing dumb might be helpful at this point even though I know EXACTLY where this is going) Huh?


D: What the hell was up with hair in the shower this morning? There was hair EVERYWHERE. I actually got out of the shower this morning and came back to bed to see if you were bald and I just hadn't noticed it last night.
K: Well there was this poo incident and I had to dump the little tub out and I forgot to get my hair out of the drain when I was the shower earlier and then there was hair everywhere but then it had poo in it and he was screaming and did I mention that there was poo everywhere?
D: Do you know how long it took me to clean up the hair?
K: Uh, sorry. But haven't I've been better lately about the hair in the drain?


D: Not so much.
K: I'm trying, babe.
D: Do you have any idea how much hair was in the drain?
K: But there was poo! Can't you give a little for the Poo Factor?


Monday, March 27, 2006

The baby is in the 20th Percentile for weight, and his mother is in the 20th percentile for Mothering

I have issues. I’ll admit it. I’m lazy. I’m the mother that took her shoeless infant to an Italian wake. I’m lucky someone didn’t take me out in the parking lot due to my lack of respect. Ever since this child’s birth 13 months ago, I have neither the time nor energy to deal with the torture that accompanies shoes.

I finally resorted to just putting socks on him. In 45 degree weather. My mother would be mortified if she knew that I deemed this a solution. But even the socks create a situation involving maniacal screaming akin to torture. He has now figured out how to stand on one foot while leaning against something in order to take the socks off. And if, God forbid, you put shoes on him, he takes them off and throws them at you. His aim is not so good, so we are all still OK. But the kid cannot go out without something on his feet. I just can’t tolerate all the comments. I know you are the perfect mother and your child’s clothes never had stains, always matched, and your child wore activity-appropriate shoes. Your child will also probably grow up to be an uptight accountant who will secretly cross-dress on weekends. But leave me alone. I’m doing the best I can.

So I got clever. When I take him out now, I dress him in a onesie and put his snowsuit on that has feet in it. His feet stay warm, he doesn’t get too hot, he’s pissed but I still win. Yippee.

Until the bitch in BJ’s the other night. She said to Derek, “is that pajamas or a snowsuit?”

I missed all this and when he told me about it 5 minutes later, I asked what she was talking about.

D: I think she was being sarcastic. Like either answer would be unacceptable.
K: What does that mean?
D: Well, it’s not snowing.
K: I’m sorry. Will the outfit spontaneously combust if there is not precipitation in the air? It’s 45 effing degrees out. It’s not like it’s Miami in the summer time.

I then may have threatened to go kick her ass, but my husband was wise enough to wait until AFTER her soccer-mom-minivan-driving-fat-ass left the parking lot. She probably would have maced me anyway.

If my child had his way, he would be naked regardless of the weather. I come up with a solution and I still get opinions. So I didn’t want to spend the evening looking for socks down 37 aisles. Maybe I should just duct tape the bastards to his feet. Would that be an acceptable solution? Maybe he could throw a shoe at her instead of me, the woman who has suckled and nurtured him and still manages to get the ass-end of his moods. I hope she ran home to write a book that will help all of us 20th percentile mothers. Cause Lord knows we don’t have a clue.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

"Oh, what a beautiful mornin', Oh, what a beautiful day."

No more stomach flu for the Boo.

Chocolate Mint Brownies.

I was told by a 15 year old girl that my jeans were "cool."

George Mason 86, U. Conn. 84.

Did you say Georgetown? Nope.
Did you say George Washington? Nope.

George Mason? Who/Where the hell is George Mason?

"I got a beautiful feelin'
Ev'rything's going my way."