Weekend recap
Here it is. My weekend in a nutshell:
Friday night:
Jim and I on our back patio after returning home from seeing the band Idlewilde at First Ave. We have consumed multiple beers:
Me: “So what was it really like watching Maggie being born? I was so freaked out I hardly remember anything. “
Jim: “Well, I was worried about you, getting tired and doing all that pushing, and then I could see her head, and then I saw a shoulder or a back or something and then they pulled her out really fast. And I was pretty much trying not to vomit or pass out. But it was beautiful.”
Saturday:
Me making chicken chili in the kitchen with Maggie (in high chair) 3 feet away.
Maggie, noticing me not noticing her. I am chopping things instead: “Hi!”
Me: (making chili) “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Repeat about 300 times. I think you get the picture. “Hi!” is the preferable method of attention seeking, as opposed to whiny high pitched shrieking. I for one, am not about to complain.
Sunday:
The entire family (minus Jim who had to work) goes to the Renaissance festival which takes place in a huge field in Shakopee Minnesota:
We basically spend 4 hours looking for chicken on a stick for my sister Molly. I sample the wares of many food vendors with one hand while heaving Maggie’s stroller through 4 inches of mud with the other. I also spend a lot of time trying to keep Maggie from disappearing into throngs of people. No one informed Maggie that she is supposed to have separation anxiety. She is not at all wary of strangers. She runs towards all varieties of them screaming with glee. Where’s Mom? Who cares! The world is too interesting a place to worry about nonsense like kidnappers, toddler trampling horses, vicious biting dogs and tatooed gypsies. Does she worry that the next time I see her it might be 2016? During an episode of “Growing Up Carni”? Oh! There's Maggie! Now she's the child bride of a four toothed man named 'Ricket'! Gosh I miss her! She was such a great baby." No. Clearly Maggie does not worry about these things. This is my job.
Later Sunday afternoon:
In the car with sisters Molly and Betsy. Leean Rimes “how do I live?” is playing on the radio. We like the LITE F.M. Station. We mock the songs we don’t like, and we crank the ones we do because we think it’s funny to drive around in a minivan blasting LITE favorites like “wind beneath my wings” and pretending to be gangsters execpt we are in a minivan. And we are blasting lite rock instead of rap.
Oh, the irony.
We amuse no one but ourselves. But isn’t that the point?
Me: “Who is this Ow-Choo and why can’t she live with him? What kind of a name is “Ow-Choo? Chinese? Inuit?”
Leean Rimes: “How do I live with Ow-Choo? I want to know. How do I breathe with Ow-Choo? If you’d ever leave.. Baby you would take away everything good in my life. How do I live with Ow-Choo?”
Me: “Man that woman is all over the map. I love you I hate you I love you I hate you! Poor Ow-choo!”
Later Sunday night:
Sister Betsy’s 28th Birthday celebration dinner at Mom and Dads house:
Gasp! Dad is out of wine!! Double gasp! The Beaujolais from two Thanksgivings ago is absolute crap! It tastes of robitussin! No one will drink it! Triple gasp! Coffee anyone?
Someone brings up Shandi, the 3rd runner up from America’s Next Top Model (ANTM) season 1. I inform the 5 other dinner guests who are ANTM addicts that I just saw a mugshot of Shandi on TV. She was arrested for robbing a Mr. Bulky’s candy store. A MR. BULKY’S CANDY STORE. Tyra Banks must be PISSED.
Tyra: “I have never IN MY LIFE yelled at a convicted felon like this!”
My sister Julie’s child, demigoddess #2 runs upstairs for a covert google check, and produces a picture of Shandi’s mugshot which is passed around the dinner table. Everyone takes a look and offers their 2 cents.
“Shandi had a hard life.”
“Her mother was evil.”
“She cheated on her boyfriend on national television and then had a nervous breakdown. In the fetal postion on the floor. In Italy.”
“She was raised in a Walgreen’s or some crap like that.”
But MR. BULKY’S?? How embarrassing. Poor Shandi.
That pretty much sums up my weekend.
I have omitted “the bathtub incident”. When I amend my fear of being turned over to social services by my readers, I will tell you about that part of my weekend. This incident led me to utter a few spontaneous Hail Mary’s. And I don’t even know how to offer a proper “Hail Mary”. It was one of those moments that makes me glad parents don’t need licenses because mine would be revoked right now. And my daughter would be given away to someone with superior parenting skills. Or maybe just someone with parenting skills.
Riveting stuff, huh?
Friday night:
Jim and I on our back patio after returning home from seeing the band Idlewilde at First Ave. We have consumed multiple beers:
Me: “So what was it really like watching Maggie being born? I was so freaked out I hardly remember anything. “
Jim: “Well, I was worried about you, getting tired and doing all that pushing, and then I could see her head, and then I saw a shoulder or a back or something and then they pulled her out really fast. And I was pretty much trying not to vomit or pass out. But it was beautiful.”
Saturday:
Me making chicken chili in the kitchen with Maggie (in high chair) 3 feet away.
Maggie, noticing me not noticing her. I am chopping things instead: “Hi!”
Me: (making chili) “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Maggie: “Hi!”
Me: “Hi!”
Repeat about 300 times. I think you get the picture. “Hi!” is the preferable method of attention seeking, as opposed to whiny high pitched shrieking. I for one, am not about to complain.
Sunday:
The entire family (minus Jim who had to work) goes to the Renaissance festival which takes place in a huge field in Shakopee Minnesota:
We basically spend 4 hours looking for chicken on a stick for my sister Molly. I sample the wares of many food vendors with one hand while heaving Maggie’s stroller through 4 inches of mud with the other. I also spend a lot of time trying to keep Maggie from disappearing into throngs of people. No one informed Maggie that she is supposed to have separation anxiety. She is not at all wary of strangers. She runs towards all varieties of them screaming with glee. Where’s Mom? Who cares! The world is too interesting a place to worry about nonsense like kidnappers, toddler trampling horses, vicious biting dogs and tatooed gypsies. Does she worry that the next time I see her it might be 2016? During an episode of “Growing Up Carni”? Oh! There's Maggie! Now she's the child bride of a four toothed man named 'Ricket'! Gosh I miss her! She was such a great baby." No. Clearly Maggie does not worry about these things. This is my job.
Later Sunday afternoon:
In the car with sisters Molly and Betsy. Leean Rimes “how do I live?” is playing on the radio. We like the LITE F.M. Station. We mock the songs we don’t like, and we crank the ones we do because we think it’s funny to drive around in a minivan blasting LITE favorites like “wind beneath my wings” and pretending to be gangsters execpt we are in a minivan. And we are blasting lite rock instead of rap.
Oh, the irony.
We amuse no one but ourselves. But isn’t that the point?
Me: “Who is this Ow-Choo and why can’t she live with him? What kind of a name is “Ow-Choo? Chinese? Inuit?”
Leean Rimes: “How do I live with Ow-Choo? I want to know. How do I breathe with Ow-Choo? If you’d ever leave.. Baby you would take away everything good in my life. How do I live with Ow-Choo?”
Me: “Man that woman is all over the map. I love you I hate you I love you I hate you! Poor Ow-choo!”
Later Sunday night:
Sister Betsy’s 28th Birthday celebration dinner at Mom and Dads house:
Gasp! Dad is out of wine!! Double gasp! The Beaujolais from two Thanksgivings ago is absolute crap! It tastes of robitussin! No one will drink it! Triple gasp! Coffee anyone?
Someone brings up Shandi, the 3rd runner up from America’s Next Top Model (ANTM) season 1. I inform the 5 other dinner guests who are ANTM addicts that I just saw a mugshot of Shandi on TV. She was arrested for robbing a Mr. Bulky’s candy store. A MR. BULKY’S CANDY STORE. Tyra Banks must be PISSED.
Tyra: “I have never IN MY LIFE yelled at a convicted felon like this!”
My sister Julie’s child, demigoddess #2 runs upstairs for a covert google check, and produces a picture of Shandi’s mugshot which is passed around the dinner table. Everyone takes a look and offers their 2 cents.
“Shandi had a hard life.”
“Her mother was evil.”
“She cheated on her boyfriend on national television and then had a nervous breakdown. In the fetal postion on the floor. In Italy.”
“She was raised in a Walgreen’s or some crap like that.”
But MR. BULKY’S?? How embarrassing. Poor Shandi.
That pretty much sums up my weekend.
I have omitted “the bathtub incident”. When I amend my fear of being turned over to social services by my readers, I will tell you about that part of my weekend. This incident led me to utter a few spontaneous Hail Mary’s. And I don’t even know how to offer a proper “Hail Mary”. It was one of those moments that makes me glad parents don’t need licenses because mine would be revoked right now. And my daughter would be given away to someone with superior parenting skills. Or maybe just someone with parenting skills.
Riveting stuff, huh?
7 Comments:
If the bathroom incident is anything like nearly overdosing my son on Tylenol PM, you have my sympathies. Motherhood...it's a bitch.
I've made Kyle tell me multiple times what it was like to see my guts on a tray. Twice.
Ren Faire? Oy.
You should paint the minivan to look like the rap label street team vans, except with a big mural of Celine Dion on one side. And you would have amused me. I might have run after the van, shrieking "Let me in! I know all the words to 'You Light Up My Life'! By heart!"
I'm looking forward to a more detailed discussion of the Hail Mary bathtub incident. Worse than the poop/hot water one?
Ow Choo! Ahahahaha!
My son chipped his tooth but good on the edge of the bathtub when he was about Maggie's age. And I was sitting right there.
Ow-Choo is the long lost brother of Rioanche. You know, the girl who dances on the sand...?
If the bathtub incident is anything like my beach changing room incident, we'd be in bad parent rehab together.
I can tell you, straight up, that witnessing a birth (live...not Memorex) is a freaking sureal cum gorgeous experience. I was in the room for the excretion of two nieces and one nephew. The moment I saw the first of these little gelatenous bags of floppiness gnaw her way out of my sister, I actually felt my perception change.
Tres kooky...and by kooky, I mean bad ass.
You never fail to disappoint, Meghan. Always brilliant. Always hilarious (except when it is sad, but even then, fabulous writing.)
i love your husband's comment about the birth. hahahaha. magical experience, eh? haha.
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