I laughed and nodded simultaneously as I read a story about Foo Fighters' Dave Grohl's social transformation now that he's a dad. I felt one with him, except for the fact that he's a ridiculously wealthy, worldy rock star with a tour bus that's probably bigger than my house.
Here's what he told PEOPLE magazine: "We don't talk about how much we drank last night [anymore],"(Now) it's how much sleep we got, how much sleep the baby got, diaper rash, formula. We used to go on the road for three months at a time. It's a struggle for me to leave for even 12 days. I realized the life I always imagined beginning once the band ended has to begin now."
I have really tried to not become one of THOSE parents. You know, the ones that would like to do nothing other than talk incessantly about every little thing they're kids are doing. I do fall into this trap more with moms because I feel like they're probably dying to talk about what happens in their daily lives, too, or at least to talk to someone who isn't wearing diapers.
Eric and I have only recently reintroduced more adult conversation with each other, mostly political blabber and something related to an odd YouTube video we saw that our kids shouldn't see, but made us laugh maniacally.
Actually these are the moments I need more of. I love to talk about Thing 1 and Thing 2 and the amazing things they've been doing - speaking in multi-word sentences, pooping in the potty on rare occassions, etc. But that's my general state of speaking! I need more of the pre-kid talk in my verbage for my own mental health and continued brain activity if for nothing else.
I also am thankful that Eric and I have never chosen to entertain any baby talk with our kids. We talk to them like the people that they are and now that some words are above their understanding, but that "boo-boo" and cutesy words with overaccentuated rolling rs are not part of the English language. Thing 1 and Thing 2 stare at us in horror when people speak to them like they're "wittle, wittle babies." Puke.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
If Thing 1 had an iPod, this would be his playlist
"Let's put on the Backyardigans and you and Thing 2 can dance." - Mama
"No Backyardigans! I want Beastie Boys!" - Thing 1
In the style of Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, I give you Thing 1's summer playlist. We'll expand that top 5 philosophy to a top 10 so you can at least create a jammin' collection of tunes on Thing 1's rotation.
1. Jimmy James, The Beastie Boys
2. Cannonball, The Breeders
3. Hot Pants, James Brown
4. Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash
5. Afternoon Delight, The Anchorman Crew
6. Yellow Submarine, The Beatles
7. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, Jack Johnson 8. Love and Marriage, Frank Sinatra
9. No Woman No Cry, Bob Marley
10. Come Clean, Jeru the Demaja
"No Backyardigans! I want Beastie Boys!" - Thing 1
In the style of Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, I give you Thing 1's summer playlist. We'll expand that top 5 philosophy to a top 10 so you can at least create a jammin' collection of tunes on Thing 1's rotation.
1. Jimmy James, The Beastie Boys
2. Cannonball, The Breeders
3. Hot Pants, James Brown
4. Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash
5. Afternoon Delight, The Anchorman Crew
6. Yellow Submarine, The Beatles
7. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, Jack Johnson 8. Love and Marriage, Frank Sinatra
9. No Woman No Cry, Bob Marley
10. Come Clean, Jeru the Demaja
Monday, May 19, 2008
Obama drama
Noticeably absent from Obama's town hall meeting in Pendleton, Oregon? Toddlers.Although there were a few other cherubic babies and miscellaneous primary school students, Thing 1 and Thing 2 were representing the toddler population of future American voters on Sunday.
Now that we've returned from arduous journey (from the trek in the car and standing in line for tickets which was repeated today to get in to the talk) to only enjoy minutes of Obama's talk, I certainly understand why there weren't more kids.
We were really looking at this as a rare opportunity for all of us to experience history. In the end, we were part of history, at least for Obama's stop in Pendleton.
Thing 1 got booted from the Pendleton Convention Center for crying hysterically...by Secret Service, a deputy and the rally organizer. In our own defense, he was crying in the hallway since we promptly removed him when he started crying loudly, just before Obama took to the mic.
It seems he's got a lot of fears these days and today it was being in a confined area on the bleachers and surrounded by loud clapping and cheering.
I got to stay in my seat with Thing 2 until she woke up and started crying too. Luckily, it was enough to hear 10 minutes of Obama's talk. I'm sure we weren't the crowd favorite, but I'm still glad we went. We'll never see our fellow cheerleaders again and we can say we were there.
Update: I was concerned enough about Thing 1's increasingly fears about noises that I chatted with my mama guru, aka best friend and mother of three. She sent me this link: http://askville.amazon.com/child-scared-loud-puppets-make-noise/AnswerViewer.do?requestId=4532857
Now that we've returned from arduous journey (from the trek in the car and standing in line for tickets which was repeated today to get in to the talk) to only enjoy minutes of Obama's talk, I certainly understand why there weren't more kids.
We were really looking at this as a rare opportunity for all of us to experience history. In the end, we were part of history, at least for Obama's stop in Pendleton.
Thing 1 got booted from the Pendleton Convention Center for crying hysterically...by Secret Service, a deputy and the rally organizer. In our own defense, he was crying in the hallway since we promptly removed him when he started crying loudly, just before Obama took to the mic.
It seems he's got a lot of fears these days and today it was being in a confined area on the bleachers and surrounded by loud clapping and cheering.
I got to stay in my seat with Thing 2 until she woke up and started crying too. Luckily, it was enough to hear 10 minutes of Obama's talk. I'm sure we weren't the crowd favorite, but I'm still glad we went. We'll never see our fellow cheerleaders again and we can say we were there.
Update: I was concerned enough about Thing 1's increasingly fears about noises that I chatted with my mama guru, aka best friend and mother of three. She sent me this link: http://askville.amazon.com/child-scared-loud-puppets-make-noise/AnswerViewer.do?requestId=4532857
Sunday, April 20, 2008
An open letter
Dear Buddy, Coco and unidentified yelping black dog,
I recognize that you can't read. But I'm putting my frustrations to paper in case you are more intelligent than I've given canines credit.
I've had my share of interesting roommates (the stripper with seizures and the unemployed shopaholic with an unhealthy affection for all things Nabisco, for instance). But I've never had any trouble with neighbors...until recently.
I know you're lonely and perhaps a little depressed about the fact you're dogs. Plus you don't have a lot of unique characteristics going for you. You're dogs with the most common names imaginable. (My guess for random black dog's name is Shadow or Lucky.)
I also recognize that you've been latch-key dogs for most of your existence. But don't forget, you do have each other to chase and play fetch with.
But I need to say it, (because I'm too much of an unconfrontational sort to tell your owners)...you're making life unbearable on this side of the fence.
That is, what's left of it.
With your incessant, round-the-clock cries of desperation, you've pummeled our adjoining fence, stripping it into mangled pieces of wood. Not only is not longer aesthetically pleasing, but it's also no longer safe for tiny digits like those belonging to our kids.
This has meant numerous trips to the lumber yard to repair the fence you've destroyed. Oh, and we get to hear your deafening yells as Eric makes said repairs. It's like you think you're the Sam Kinisons of the canine realm, except with even more of a grating pitch and no funny jokes.
Buddy, you in particular, need to work on your tone of bark. You've become vicious. I know you're upset that I paid $40 for the high-pitched device to control your barking. I had to do something though. I can no longer stomach your oppositional and defiant behavior.
Please let me know if a Milk-Bone or an electric fence would do the trick.
Feel free to email me if you're able or just give me a shout...over the fence. I know you will.
Sincerely,
Genoa
I recognize that you can't read. But I'm putting my frustrations to paper in case you are more intelligent than I've given canines credit.
I've had my share of interesting roommates (the stripper with seizures and the unemployed shopaholic with an unhealthy affection for all things Nabisco, for instance). But I've never had any trouble with neighbors...until recently.
I know you're lonely and perhaps a little depressed about the fact you're dogs. Plus you don't have a lot of unique characteristics going for you. You're dogs with the most common names imaginable. (My guess for random black dog's name is Shadow or Lucky.)
I also recognize that you've been latch-key dogs for most of your existence. But don't forget, you do have each other to chase and play fetch with.
But I need to say it, (because I'm too much of an unconfrontational sort to tell your owners)...you're making life unbearable on this side of the fence.
That is, what's left of it.
With your incessant, round-the-clock cries of desperation, you've pummeled our adjoining fence, stripping it into mangled pieces of wood. Not only is not longer aesthetically pleasing, but it's also no longer safe for tiny digits like those belonging to our kids.
This has meant numerous trips to the lumber yard to repair the fence you've destroyed. Oh, and we get to hear your deafening yells as Eric makes said repairs. It's like you think you're the Sam Kinisons of the canine realm, except with even more of a grating pitch and no funny jokes.
Buddy, you in particular, need to work on your tone of bark. You've become vicious. I know you're upset that I paid $40 for the high-pitched device to control your barking. I had to do something though. I can no longer stomach your oppositional and defiant behavior.
Please let me know if a Milk-Bone or an electric fence would do the trick.
Feel free to email me if you're able or just give me a shout...over the fence. I know you will.
Sincerely,
Genoa
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
