My parents' bathroom is divided -- the toilet and shower are in a small room and then the sink is in in an anteroom. From when we moved in in 1986 until about 2005 the trash can was always right next to the toilet. Then my mom moved it out to the anteroom for whatever reason. Despite it having been out there for several years now, I swear to God, 95% of the times that I go to throw something away in that bathroom I first make a move toward the toilet before remembering the trash can isn't there any more and changing course. I find it interesting that I just can't seem to shake the conditioning of nearly 20 years.
Even stranger than that the following: I lived here with my dog, Baby, for seven years before moving to Oklahoma. Her food and water dish was always kept on the kitchen floor in front of the microwave cart. When my friend would come over with her baby, or anyone else would stop by with a little one, we'd have to put the food and water up to keep the kid from playing in it. It attracted them like magnets. Sometimes I wouldn't think of it in time and we'd catch whomever it was playing in the water.
Now, Baby has been dead 9 years now, I haven't lived in this house in nearly 12 years, and that friend's baby? She's now 16. And yet, on more than one occasion, I have caught one of my kids heading that direction out of the corner of my eye and "Uh-oh, the dog dish!" has flashed through my brain, along with a brief inkling that I should be jumping up to move it.
So am I the only one stuck in the past? Has anyone else any habits that were so ingrained that you can't entirely un-train yourself, even now?
Well, it's JZ's birthday, too!
My weird, wild and wacky boy is the big 0-5 today. I celebrated by taking him to the Health Dept. and having his kindergarten shots done. Four of them, two in each arm. He was NOT happy.
Now, before anyone gets the idea that I'm into S&M and my idea of a party is inflicting pain, I have to point out that this was a spur-of-the-moment decision. You see, my lovely daughter (oldest) has recently come down with the creeping crud. It's all over her face and legs. This happened, of course, on Saturday morning, when all doctors worth their salt are out playing golf. So I called first thing this morning and they got her in. I was afraid she was going to need a shot of cortisone but, no, they gave us a script for the oral version. Phew, crisis averted. While we were out, though, my conscience pricked me about my other lovely daughter (small, evil one) being behind on her vaccinations. I didn't really want to put it off any longer because it tends to gnaw at the back of my mind and loom large over my head until I get it done (owing to the fact that I HATE having to take them for shots).
Therefore I decided, while we were out, to just pop over to the Health Dept. (because our pediatrician doesn't vax in his office) and have Eliza stuck. On the way there it occurred to me that JZ was going to need all his kindy shots at some point before registration day at the beginning of August. Now, not only do I hate having to get them shots, but I also loathe going to the Health Dept. to do it. I mean, there's a big notice on the door that says "If you think you have TB ask the nurse for a mask." Hello?!?! And I'm supposed to take my kids and hang around that place where people with God-knows-what come and go? Any chance I have to avoid a trip down there, I take. So I went ahead and ordered up a round of needles for JZ, as well. I didn't tell him until we were walking into the actual room where they were going to do the shots, so he had very little time to worry about it beforehand. He cried, of course, but recovered by the time we got out to the van, especially with the promise of McDonald's following our trip to the pharmacy. (By way of distraction/bribery, I'd already previously promised doctor-phobic Madalyn a shake following her appointment, so we were headed over there anyway.)
So now the unpleasantness is over. Madalyn's had her first dose of oral steroid for the "contact dermatitis" (our best theory is our roving cat dragged home something on his fur that caused it; likely poison ivy oil). JZ is sporting four Batman band-aids. Eliza crashed and burned on the way home and is now in bed, sleeping it off. And I'm nursing a headache which was likely brought on by the stress of all of this going on while I'm trying to get ready to fly the coop on Thursday.
JZ has some presents to open this afternoon, then we may go grab a bite to eat around dinner at the location of his choosing. Then, tonight, he has a party -- but not his. It's the birthday party of a preschool classmate. I'm not sure if today is the boy's actual birthday or whether this was just the best close-by date for them to have the party but I'm tickled that JZ is, in a roundabout way, getting a birthday party on his birthday. However, it also feels a bit strange, like we're leeching off someone else's celebration. There was no reason for me not to let JZ go, though. We didn't have any plans, and it's not like I'm going to show up there with a cake and gifts for JZ and guests of our own. (We had his celebration yesterday, by the way. The five of us went up to Chuck E. Cheese's in the city and did a party there. I had offered to throw him a party here, with his friends, but he chose Chuck E.'s instead.)
All in all, I think the fun/good will outweigh the pooiness of getting shots. And a BIG happy birthday to my Johnny. I don't know what our life would be like without him. Okay, it'd probably be a lot quieter. But definitely not as fun.
I've lived here for going on a dozen years now, and, despite that fact, I still have the occasional, "Wait....how did I get here, and what am I doing in Oklahoma?" moments.
Today I was driving down I-35, listening to "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. Quite out of the blue I was thwacked upside the head by the realization that if you'd told me, back when the song came out, that, nearly twenty years later, I'd still be listening to the same song while driving to my house in Oklahoma with my kid in the back seat (and two more at home) I'd have told you to lay off the hallucinogens. So then I laughed. A lot. Because what else can you do? Life is funny. It's a little effed-up, too....but mostly it's funny.
P.S. - Right after that they played "I Want Action" by Poison and my next great revelation was how wholly inappropriate that song is when there's a seven-year-old in the car (another idea I'd probably have pooh-poohed back then, incidentally). But I took a chance that the screeching guitars coupled with poor enunciation would insure that most of what Bret was saying would go over her head, and I cranked it up. I may be old and living in Oklahoma but I'm not dead.
Would it be too geeky/twee/excessive to have JZ wear a Beatles shirt to travel if Madalyn is already wearing her John Lennon shirt?
I'm just trying to sort out what everyone's wearing on the plane next week. I like them to look cute and put-together but I don't necessarily want them in their really nice going-out clothes, plus I don't like them to wear anything light-colored because they always manage to either spill their drink or smear snack crumbs on themselves at least once during the course of the trip. JZ's Yellow Submarine shirt would be perfect because it's tie-dyed bright colors so it would conceal a multitude of errors. The shirts aren't what I'd call "cute" but it ratchets up their hipness factor and that is an acceptable substitute.
So, what do you think?
(And, yes, this is the kind of stuff I spend time thinking about. Unsettling glimpse into how my mind works, hmm?)
Tee hee....
 | 2 As a 1930s wife, I am |
We SO did not need another stroller. We have one; it's lightweight and compact and perfect for travel. Unfortunately it's also boring and a bitch to steer. Also, it does not have flames. Obviously this situation needed to be rectified immediately. Enter the Cosatto Diablo. This baby is sweet. It has two-position calf support, meaning you can raise the footrest like you would on a recliner so the baby's feet aren't dangling. It's also got "Cozy Toes", a fleecy boot that goes over the bottom half of the stroller to keep the child warm. I may start walking when the weather gets cold again just to use it. And, as their literature points out, the stroller offers "ultimate street cred" which, as you know, is paramount to the development of any toddler.
So, here it is, unnecessary but irresistible:
I mean, people, come on....IT HAS FLAMES!
(Ours should be arriving sometime next week.)
You get sniffly at the end of "Blue Lagoon." People. Seriously. Let's put aside the fact that this is one bad mama-jama of a movie and the fact remains: there's not even anything TO cry about! Teen parents and offspring are alive and well; just sleeping. And yet here I sit, imagining myself in Brooke Shields' place and Eliza in place of the little bastard jungle baby, and I'm getting choked up. Oy vey.
Wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that Eliza is sleeping in her very own bedroom (well, Madalyn's very own bedroom) for the first time tonight, and I'm convinced that someone's going to break into the house and steal her while I'm asleep?
Medication.....must get back on medication.....