An Exchange

Badger: Mommy, go away!
Me: I can’t do that right now — I’m sorry.
Badger: I’m sorry, too.

(I would post a cute picture, but I seem to have misplaced my camera. Like a spaz. Sigh.)

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A First Time

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A New Skill, A Game, A Request

Look Ma, no pitons!

“Mommy, let’s play a game.  When I say ABC, you tickle Badger.”

Scene: very early morning.  We are downstairs, watching TV and eating Cheerios.  I attempt to sneak upstairs to make coffee.

“Mommy, I coming with you.”
“Can I pick you up?”
“How about you walk?  You’re getting to be an awfully big girl.”
“I not a big girl.  I just a little girl.  You big.”

Yes, I picked her up and carried her up the stairs.

(Hello, I’m back!  Decided to come back to my original intent and make this my personal brag book on my exceptional, rocket scientist child.  I expect this to last approximately 3-5 posts before I go back to whining about all the various non-problems I have.)

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Day “Twenty”: Insert Clever Post Title Here

So, I didn’t write anything yesterday. And I kept trying to get up the gumption to think of something to write about today, and came up empty.

The truth is, I’m exhausted. I was sort of subconsciously banking on just making it here, and now that I’m here my house that was in mothballs for a year is unspeakably filthy, freezing cold, has several serious (or at least irritating) problems and is not toddler-proofed. The flights were… unpleasant.  On top of that, it’s 6 days until Christmas. On top of that, I have even less help than usual as Long-Suffering-Husband crosses the country in the Volvo Cross Country (that’s the sort of cleverness I’m able to muster, that the car’s  name suits its purpose — aren’t I a… can’t think of the word, something clever) with all kinds of belongings I really thought I wouldn’t need for four days, but it turns out I really really do. Even my beloved washing machine (have I told you it beeps out a jaunty tune when it’s done?  It’s the best household appliance of all time) isn’t enough to raise my spirits.

Something has to give, and I’m afraid, my five dear readers, it’s you. Insert sad face here.  I’m calling it a break, and plan to be back sometime shortly after Christmas.  I hope you all have lovely holidays filled with light and magic and the spirit of the season, and not nearly as much dried cat vomit as mine.

Was that too far?  Sorry, I’m super tired.  I’ll see y’all soon.


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Day Nineteen: And We’re Off!

Today is the day. Saturday, not Sunday. It’s 4 AM and I’ve been up for a while (insomnia, hooray!), but other than that bit of bad luck I feel pretty good about being ready. We’re nine-tenths packed, and I have about 4 hours worth of cleaning to do — which is a lot, but I don’t really mind it (so long as Husband keeps Badger entertained) and the flight isn’t till late.  The birthday “party”, such as it was, went well. I’m not freaking out. It’s a Christmas miracle!

I doubt I’ll be able to post tomorrow — our internet doesn’t get turned on until Monday.  I know you’re thinking, “why not use your phone?”, but I’m the last person on Earth who hasn’t got a smartphone.  I use burners (first definition; I don’t shoot people or go to Burning Man) in case the heat catches up with me.

Okay, the truth is I use them because I keep dropping them in the toilet.

Wait, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah, so I might not post tomorrow, but I will write and I’ll post two on Monday.  Unless I don’t write on Sunday and write two on Monday.  Or skip Sunday, and feel so bad about it that I skip Monday too and then the whole experiment ends.  One of those things.

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Day Eighteen: Happy Birthday

It occurs to me that lately this seems to have morphed from a Mommy Blog into a “rant about things I didn’t even know I was mad about” blog (seriously, who sneers at Band-Aid?  High five for so cleverly and roundly beating a 25-years dead horse who helped starving children, me!).  And while it’s been tremendously cathartic at a stressful time and offered an outlet for me to blather about non-baby-related things, I think we all need to remember just whose crazy toddler gymnastics (actually, more pro wrestling — she’s got a Rey Mysterio*-esque dropkick), goofball antics and extreme, turn-it-up-to-11 general awesomeness this blog was created to celebrate.

Sleepy Rocketship

Happy Birthday, my Sweet Sweet.  You are one of America’s foremost toddler citizens, and it’s a pleasure and an honor to be run ragged trailing after you.  And thank you for occasionally sleeping.

*It’s shocking that I know stuff about pro wrestling, isn’t it?  I’m always shocked.

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Day Seventeen: Holiday Music, or: I ♥ Johnny Mathis

Not sure how much time I’ll have to write today, but for the time we have, our theme is Holiday Music.  I have strong, specific feelings about what makes a good Christmas song.  You want your Andy Williams, your Burl Ives, your Firestone Christmas Albums. You do not want Celine Dion, Josh Groban, or the cast of Glee.  Below are some general guidelines for holiday music.

    1. Absolutely nothing written before, say, 1950.  “White Christmas”, good.  “Last Christmas”, bad. Exception: this song. (I’m so embarrassed to like this I won’t even write the name.)
    2. Nothing by crooners who are alive (or as least, less than 80 years old).  Mel Torme, good. Michael Bublé, bad.  Exception: Harry Connick, Jr.
    3. Positively NO NOVELTY songs.  This includes The Chipmunks, and “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth”.  But not “The Hanukkah Song”.
    4. No weird arty or “modern” instrumental renditions (Tran Siberian Orchestra, Gary Hoey).  Exception: the occasional Trans Siberian Orchestra or Gary Hoey song.  (Hey, I never said I was consistent.)
    5. No religious songs by any member of the Rat Pack.  I’m sorry Dean Martin —  “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is very you.  “Oh Holy Night”, not so much.  And Frank Sinatra clearly doesn’t care if I have a merry Christmas or drop dead, so “Joy to the World” coming from him is a little rich.  I can’t even think of an exception.
    6. No “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”  I’m sad to remove this song from my canon.  I am an 80’s music lover (because as we all know I love terrible things).  I can still name who sings each line of the song, just based on the sound of their voice.  BUT.  While it may be a well-intentioned little tune that raised millions for a worthy cause, it is one of the most ignorant, paternalistic pieces of dreck ever written by a smug white guy thinking he’s a great humanitarian.  Consider for a moment:
      “Where nothing ever grows
      No rain or rivers flow
      Do they know it’s Christmastime at all?”

      Seriously, Bob Geldof?  Do you really believe people are stupid enough to live in a place where NOTHING EVER GROWS?  Like, these poor idiots moved to the middle of a desert for the ambiance and forgot to bring the Christmas ham?  Oh wait, except they don’t even KNOW it’s Christmas.  I guess they forgot their calendars, too.  Look, I know Wikipedia didn’t exist in 1985, but do 10 minutes of research before you suggest that the people you’re trying to help are morons who don’t understand the concept of agriculture, or didn’t have a thriving Christian culture when your forebears were still worshiping trees. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
      Sorry.  Clearly I can rant about anything.

    7. Anything at all by Johnny Mathis.  Even “Misty” is acceptable.  But especially anything off this album:
      Johnny Mathis, Merry Christmas
      and especially especially this number one best rendition of the number one best Christmas song all-time, ever:
      There’s no such thing as a bad Johnny Mathis Christmas Song, so I’ll just throw in his rendition of “Feelings”. 
    8. Oh God, I just remembered Mannheim Steamroller.  They’re horrible.
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