so the fish said

State of the Union

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 21:54:15 -0500

My baby is five. Sure, he still says "lemember" for remember and "bigtar" for guitar but I know he's just humoring me because I have to buy him new shoes every three months and despite my best efforts he insists on learning how to read. He could happily eat nothing but meat all day every day with maybe some frozen peas thrown in for variety. He remembers every single thing that has ever happened to him since birth, as near as we can figure, and he uses it against us on a regular basis. Five. My baby. Five. My not-baby made a chocolate cake with two kinds of frosting and decorated it pretty much entirely by herself. I figure tomorrow I will just teach her how to drive and then she can dispense with this whole parenting facade and get herself an apartment, except that she will have to come over every morning so I can strap the velcro on her shoes which she refuses to do for herself. I bought a minivan. I know, I know, but I hate how much I love it. I'm working on developing some sort of minivan-mom gang signs that we can flash each other when we pass in the elementary school carpool lane. Something that means "yes I'm driving a minivan, but only ironically" or "we win cupholders" or "maybe you should put your latte in one of your many cupholders before you flash minivan gang signs next time." I'll host several convenient training sessions once I have them finalized.

Third or Maybe Fourth Sort-of Annual Cactus Fish Christmas Card Exchange

Sun, 09 Dec 2012 21:25:11 -0500

Well! That was a very brief blog resurgence, wasn't it? The good news, however, is that I just ordered my Christmas cards. No, wait, the good news is that Chris just ordered our Christmas cards because he designed them. Twice. The first design was great but it was also $102 for 50 cards and I told him there was no way in hell we were paying that and he'd better get his virtual butt over to Costco right quick and start over. Which he did, because he loves me. Or maybe just because we are both pretty tired tonight and he didn't have the energy for a fight. The better news than that is that since Chris did the cards this year I didn't have to, and it is usually my job and not my tippy-top favorite holiday task. But the other good news is that Costco cards are pretty cheap and once you order 50 it is even cheaper to add on a whole bunch more and that bunch more are going to you nice people, if you would like to have them. Just in case you haven't participated before, here's how it works:

If you want to exchange cards with me, leave a comment on this post and I will email you.
Please for the love of god do not put your mailing address in my comment section.
No lurkers. Sorry, lurkers, I love you, I truly do, but you aren't getting my address unless we have had some level of two-way communication over the years and I feel reasonably sure you aren't going to run over to my place and steal my kidneys.
If you request a card from me, you have to send one back. Fairs fair.
I'll do Canada, but anywhere else takes too damned long. Sorry Europeans! And Aussies! And everyone else!
I won't do do Canada, get your minds out of the gutter.
While supplies last - I'll post a follow-up once I think I've maxed out my available cards, but please forgive me if I run out before I get back here to beg for mercy.
How impressed are we that I remembered how to do bullet points? Very impressed indeed.

Traditions

Wed, 21 Nov 2012 21:44:27 -0500

We started making gingerbread men on Thanksgiving morning before Owen was born. We turn on the parade, cut out the cookies, decorate with homemade frosting, and have eaten enough to be in a full on sugar crash by the time Santa gets to Macy's. When I told the kids today that we were going to be making gingerbread men tomorrow, I was met with a resounding and stereophonic "Do we have to?" And then when I announced that I would be making cinnamon rolls (from scratch, mind you) for breakfast tomorrow, Mia said "But why?" and Owen said "Ew, gross." And then they both said, "Do we have to eat them?" Yes, yes you do. And you have to make gingerbread men as well. I'm making your childhood memories here, goddamit, now smile and have fun. Sigh. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, my dear old friends, and may all of your children participate in your family traditions without whining.

Let You Entertain Me

Tue, 20 Nov 2012 14:11:26 -0500

What are you watching? I'm watching Sons of Anarchy season whatever they are on now and Dowtown Abbey season 2. Chris and I are caught up on Walking Dead and working our way through a backlog of Mad Men. We watched all of The Booth at the End over the summer. Otherwise, we watch a couple of shows that we mostly hate and sometimes, like last night, get sucked into some sort of Intervention marathon and stay up entirely too late watching something we will never watch again. We have cable and Netflix streaming and Hulu and Amazon Prime and there must be something better out there with which to pass the mindless hour a night between when the children finally fall asleep and we head upstairs ourselves, but we haven't the foggiest what it might be. So tell me, what's good? It doesn't have to new, in fact we both like to have an entire series of something available in case we like it. Oh, and you will notice a total lack of comedies on my list. That's because I have no sense of humor. You can recommend them though, and I'll pass the ideas along to Chris for the nights I'm out.

Borderline

Mon, 19 Nov 2012 21:24:53 -0500

Sometimes it is fine, really, almost totally fine. And other parents and other kids have it so much worse, and really it is fine, and probably totally normal, and developmentally appropriate or at least he will likely grow out of it but really nothing to worry about. Except that maybe it is, something to worry about I mean, but how am I to know, I'm not an expert. And that, my friends, is borderline. And we are, so many of us, trained not to raise a stink for anything less than egregious. We mind our manners. We wait and see. But sometimes even the most reticent among us have to stand up and say, or really, stand up and yell, wait, this isn't right. This is my kid, and this isn't right. Which is why Owen - challenging, trying, sweeter than a chocolate factory Owen - has both a full speech evaluation and an (almost unbelievably unrelated, but I assure you that it is) ENT appointment to determine whether he needs to have his adenoids removed coming up in the next month. And Owen loves teachers, so the speech thing is no problem, but man does he hate doctors, bringers of throat cultures and shots. Poor thing. But I'm the mom, and something, somewhere, isn't quite right. Not quite. Borderline. Sorry, baby, but it is my job to stand up and yell about it.

Go Turkey Go Turkey Go

Sun, 18 Nov 2012 08:08:32 -0500

I started running in mid-August. And then I went on vacation and then I started running all over again at the beginning of September. I did Couch to 5k via a handy dandy iPhone app and lots of full-blast Pandora and I hated almost every minute of it but lo and behold, by the end I could run 5k without stopping or dying along the way. And after that I added some distance so that I've actually run 5 consecutive miles a couple of times now. None of this is all that interesting, except that I have been trying, off and on, to be a runner for about 12 year now, and in all those 12 years I never once managed to put three miles together. I never managed it because I wanted to be fast. I couldn't just run a mile, it had to be an eight minute mile. Never mind if I hadn't exercised in a year and smoked a pack a day. And as soon as I ran one mile I started planning how I would run a marathon. I never, ever made it to a race of any kind. I would burn out, or break my foot, or get pregnant, or something else would happen and I would give it up cold. And then yesterday, I ran my local Turkey Trot. My goals were to finish and to run the entire way. And I did. I put together some 10-plus minute miles and I high-fived my kids and Mia made me a sign and I ran every step of those 5000 meters and finished just over 32 minutes and I hated every single second of it. But I did it. And now that it is over I am overly proud of myself and feel the need to brag. A lot. Now, did I ever tell you about that time I got an A in Calculus?

Lick the Needle

Wed, 14 Nov 2012 14:26:57 -0500

I'm 38 today. I could be coy and just say that today is my birthday, but I got over coy roughly a decade ago, so now I am 38 and here we are. I debated and debated what to do with myself on my birthday since I have roughly three hours child and husband free, and after running through all my options I decided to sit on my couch for three hours and watch back to back to back DVR'd episodes of Sons of Anarchy. (Do not talk to me about Sons of Anarchy, I'm still five episodes behind.) Anyway, I watched one episode, but then I was bored with the couch so I went running, and then I headed straight back to the couch for more biker violence. Pretty ideal morning, if you ask me. Anyway, things here are good. Mia is missing so many teeth that she is living on overcooked pasta and applesauce, but she is very happy in school this year and that is a huge improvement on all of our lives. Also, she finally has a warm-blooded pet and it suits her so well. He's a guinea pig named Andersen, and Chris and I have taken to calling him Andersen Pooper. Owen is very nearly five and I have to constantly remind myself of all the very nearly five children I have known and how badly most of them have needed a good throttling in order to avoid delivering said (purely hyperbolic) throttling to my own child, but when he isn't screaming on the floor because I didn't pour the precise amount of milk into his glass that he desired he is really a very sweet boy. Although he just refused to participate in his weekly swim lesson and both kicked me and hit me with his goggles for good measure, just to drive his point home. So there's that. (I just updated their pictures over on the right there, so click through from your feed reader if you are interested. Poor Owen - add "impossible to get a good picture of cause they do that weird smile thing" to the burdens of being almost-five.) A friend of mine died last month. It was neither sudden nor unexpected, but still far too soon and too young. She taught me that if life hands you lemons you should say oh well fuck you too and grab an awesome hat and sing some show tunes and make lemonade confetti and load it into a cannon and fire it straight back into life's face. She also taught me that, when you are threading a needle, you should never lick the thread. Lick the needle instead, and I swear that thread practically jumps through the eye. I'm thinking of making 38 the year I blog again. It seems impossible from here, but maybe all I have to do is lick the needle instead of the thread.

Grateful

Thu, 24 May 2012 23:34:14 -0500

We are just back from the beach, we cut the vacation short so that Owen could attend his last day of preschool. And while at the beach we had ice cream sundaes and played stupid-expensive mini golf and stupider-expensiver spin bumper cars that made Mommy and Daddy want to pukey. And we fished in the ocean, because Owen said he wanted to and then lost interest in 10 minutes, but let me assure that those were a pricey 10 minutes. And I started the week being grateful that we could give our kids these things, that we could have these experiences, and that we could say oh well, this is vacation, so screw the cost and it really, for us, didn't matter. But really I am grateful for the small moments that cost nothing. I am grateful that Mia's favorite moment was "going running" on the beach with me before breakfast this morning. And Owen's favorite part was running down the stairs with Daddy, singing the "Crab Rescue" song, and fishing yet another crab out of the house's swimming pool. So yes, I am grateful for the ability to give my kids things, but I am more grateful for the ability to take a week to spend giving the kids us while they still appreciate us. We are living a charmed life, and I just want to get that on the record while it is true.

Life skills

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 18:06:53 -0500

Yesterday I became the proud auntie of yet another perfect, beautiful niece. As I was dropping my first two perfect, beautiful nieces off at their house to spend the night with their grandmother it was discovered that one of the children (I suspect Owen) had, earlier in the day, locked the knob of the door that was supposed to be open and we therefore had no way to get into the house. As my brother's father-in-law raced off to the hospital to retrieve a key, I raced back to my car to retrieve a credit card. When I opened the car door, my phone was ringing. It was my brother. "Do you know how to do the credit card thing?" he asked. "One step ahead of you," I said. Ten seconds and one library card later I had broken into my brother's house. "You know how I know how to do that?" I said. "Remember when you were pet sitting that horrible dog for our neighbors and you locked the keys in the house? I watched Dad break in with a credit card." "Yeah," said my brother. "That's how I knew about it too." My brother and I both called Dad later to thank him for the valuable like skill. His response: "Did I ever teach you how to hot wire a car?" He didn't. I'm bitter. Once he had taught me about breaking and entering, why shy away from grand theft?

Update, of sorts

Fri, 16 Mar 2012 11:48:41 -0500

Things currently in the back of my car:

One bag of assorted bathing suits, towels, goggles, and a Star Wars bathrobe for Owen's twice-weekly Mommy and Me swim lessons.
One bag of snow pants, gloves, long socks and a bike helmet for Mia's twice-weekly ice skating (and my once-weekly ice skating).
One bag holding a bat, t-ball tee and an incredibly heavy first base that honks when you stomp on it, plus a large barrel holding balls, ice packs, and a first aid kit for Owen's t-ball team of which I am somehow the manager.
Two cases of beer and seven bottles of wine for my Bunco group, which I am hosting next week.
A new toilet fill valve and flapper for the powder room toilet which has taken to singing when you flush it. Anybody wants an operatic toilet let me know and I'll send you the old parts.
A roll of paper towels, because you never can tell when somebody is going to puke in the car.
A full change of clothes for both children, see above.
A picnic blanket, because you never can tell when you will need to have a picnic.
Eight reusable grocery bags.
Four crayons, three goldfish (one smushed), a fruit snack wrapper, rogue bits of mulch from the last time I hauled mulch, a lone Elmo Go Fish card, half of one of those gelatinous window stick on things which I believe used to be an Easter egg, and an ice scraper.

Ten Years On

Sun, 27 Nov 2011 20:42:56 -0500

I had dinner last night (with my husband, you remember him) at a restaurant where I once had dinner with you. It was strange. It has been so many years since I have been anywhere that smelled even faintly of you, and thinking back I believe that was the only time we ever had dinner together, at opposite ends of a very long, very crowded table. Mostly it was cigarettes, with a view of the parking garage, and drinks, coffee and sodas to make it through the work day and beers on all those Friday afternoons when we stole away from friends and loved ones who expected to be invited and had our kindred hour together. I don't talk about you anymore, other than those rare times when my daughter (she's six now, can you even imagine) asks how she got her name and I tell her a simple story from when we were young. I hardly even think about you anymore, and when I stop to think about that it makes me sad, because I swore, as we all do, that I would never forget, and yet I have. I have forgotten so much, so many details, all of the conversations, other than a bit here and a word there. I wish I could remember it all, but maybe I had to forget so that I could forgive you for dying. I wish you were still here. I wish your kids could play with my kids and we could still sneak off, once or twice a year, for that quiet beer that nobody else ever quite understood. Or even if we wouldn't be friends anymore, I would like the world just a little bit better if you were still somewhere in it.

Secret Word

Thu, 20 Oct 2011 21:20:56 -0500

Mia has a secret word, let's say it is Tulip. If someone she is not expecting shows up to pick her up from somewhere and says "Hey, your mom asked me to come get you" she knows to ask them for the secret word and run screaming in the other direction if they can't tell her it is Tulip. (Clearly this is for someone she knows, for strangers she knows to run screaming immediately.) Owen knows the secret word too, but doesn't totally understand its application. So when we are playing Tickle or Wrestle or Chase or Trap Owen (his favorite) and Owen is done playing the game, he shouts out Tulip! Tulip! So yes, my three-year-old has a safe word. As you can imagine, I am quite proud.

Question from Owen

Fri, 30 Sep 2011 18:28:07 -0500

Owen (three and a half, in case you have lost track) has an important question that I am unable to answer, so I offered to ask you. "If The Hulk was frozen in carbonite, would he be able to use his strong muscles to break out?" (There's more, but it gets even more complicated after this one, so I've decided to stick to the basics, such as they are.)

First Day of School, Child 2

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 11:26:45 -0500

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First Day of School, Child 1

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 09:41:26 -0500

She can read, write, add, subtract and do some basic fractions. She can swim, ride a two-wheeler, make her own lunch, carry a tune, hit a baseball, and tell a joke that is actually funny. She's six. She's awesome. She's a first grader.

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