Death

How do you talk to a four year old about death in a way that makes it real, but not scary? Maddie knows about death, but only in the abstract. She knows my mom is dead and dinosaurs are dead and that sort of thing, but still thinks you can wake up anyone who’s dead with Magic Kisses. (Which is totally my doing, although not intentional.)

Our much-beloved cat is nearing 17 and her hyperthyroidism has become unmanageable. She only weighs four pounds now, she’s stopped grooming herself and is covered in mats and just seems done. Gerald and I have made the very difficult decision to have her euthanized and I’m taking her to the vet this evening. How in the world do we talk to Maddie about this? I’m afraid telling her that Puss is old and sick will make her afraid that someone getting sick means they’re going to die.

Do you have an experience in talking to your kids about the death of a pet? Can you offer any words of wisdom?

Seriously the most obvious complaint you’ve ever heard

You know what I’m pissed about? Being an adult is so damn hard. This is not how it was supposed to be. When I was a kid being an adult was all about being the boss, staying up late, eating whatever you wanted, having money and and choosing what to watch on TV. I call shenanigans on this not being as advertised.

Ungrateful Saturdays

A lot of people are doing the Thankful Thursday thing this month and that’s all well and good, but you know what’s better? Being ungrateful. That doesn’t get nearly enough press this time of year.

Without further ado, I present Things for Which I am Ungrateful, Part One:

* Sure, I got asked to stay on at work, but I only got SIX hours assigned to me next week. SIX. Do they not appreciate that Christmas is coming and I got shit to buy?

* People who expect shit for Christmas.

* Having to buy new outfits, cram my kids into them, keep them from covering themselves in jelly and then force everyone to act happy for five goddamn minutes for crying out loud just to take a picture to mail to people who couldn’t care less. And who probably won’t be sending me a card. OR reimbursing me for postage.

* Not being allowed to be drunk for all of Thanksgiving.

* And Christmas.

* Having to travel to see family. Why can’t everyone come here? Because then I’d bitch about how everyone was coming here and I have to clean and cook for them. Jesus. I’m never happy.

* Not being able to listen to the music I want to hear in the car. Why can’t my kids be cool enough to not repeat Cee Lo Green or Jay-Z or Little Lion Man?

Now it’s your turn. ‘Fess up. What are you ungrateful for these days?

Say CHEESE!

This year my dad and his wife have asked for a family portrait from each of the kids. They want to frame them all purty-like and display them like the proud parents/grandparents they are. (I know, right? PUKE!) So, in addition to needing a family photo for my awesome Shutterfly Christmas cards, I need one that will be hanging on the wall for god knows how long.

This, of course, leads me to outfits. We need cute outfits to wear in said photo. Nothing too matchy-matchy because that’ll just look weird in a frame. (Totally ok for Christmas cards in my book, though.) And nothing too Christmas-y because, again, in a frame. Here’s what I like so far. What do you think?

For Sam

For Maddie

For me

For Gerald

All photos courtesy of Old Navy.com

All of the outfits except mine are the same shade of red. ON doesn’t have a sweater in the right shade for women. Jerkfaces. Anyhow, I’m going to see if it looks ok with the other red when I go to the store. I don’t want to stand out because my red is clashing.

Freedom!!

Maddie has gone to stay with her grandparents for a week. This leaves Sam and me alone for the majority of our day. I am positively giddy with the thought of only one child. The sort of giddiness that used to be reserved for Maddie staying with her grandparents and there was no Sam in the picture at all. How has one child become a LUXURY in only six short months?

And the truly ironic part? Sam is much more needy than Maddie is. I’m not even home alone with the relatively self-sufficient kid. Although, I don’t have to play pretend AT ALL this week, which is very nice, indeed.

Ridiculously Easy

1. World’s most ridiculously easy teether? Frozen peach slices in a fresh food feeder. It’s easier for Sam to hold than a teether and the cold numbs his gums. He loves them and will gnaw through one in about 10 minutes.

2. Making baby food is so much easier than I thought it would be. So far we’ve had applesauce, peaches, acorn squash and pears. All I do is roast the fruit or vegetable in the oven, let it cool and then use my immersion blender to puree it. I scoop the puree into an ice cube tray, freeze it for a couple of hours and pop the cubes into a ziplock bag. Done and done. (I also get a bonus smug feeling knowing that I’m giving Sam good, healthy food without added junk. However, the smug feeling is often negated by the fact that Maddie gets things like frozen chicken nuggets and cheesy poofs.)

3. I love that the weather’s getting cooler and I can make more crockpot meals. I’ve got a list of five or six favorites that are all so stinkin’ easy. I love being able to make dinner at 9 or 10 in the morning so that there’s no rush come 5:00. The only downside is being home while it’s cooking is pretty torturous. The smells make me want to eat all damn day.

What are you doing lately that’s ridiculously easy?

Is my Freudian slip showing?

I’ll admit that since I’ve had Sam I’ve been completely mentally unbalanced and in a sleep-deprivation stupor a little scatterbrained. I noticed today, however, that things may be a tad bit worse than I originally thought.

First, as I was quickly scanning my inbox before taking Maddie to school this morning, I saw an email from Zappos. The subject line declared: Your perfect boobs are waiting for you!

This caught my attention for two reasons: One, since when did Zappos start spamming about boobs? Two, OMG I need perfect boobs! I wonder if they come with the legendary Zappos customer service? “Oh, they don’t fit as well as you expected? Well, we’ll be happy to replace them!” Turns out, Zappos was trying to tell me about my perfect boots. Hrmph.

Then as I was browsing through our selection of kids’ movies, I saw a Baby Einstein video that scared the bejebus out of me. Baby Einstein: Baby Satan’s Music Box. First thought was “Baby Satan???” I know TV is bad for young kids, but SATAN? Then I thought, “Well, it’s pretty darn nice of Baby Satan’s parents (the elder and Mrs. Satan, of course) to buy him a music box. Hell can’t be all that bad if there are music boxes.” Yeah, it wasn’t Satan so much as Santa.

Sheesh, you juxtapose one little letter and suddenly you’re giving yourself a friggin’ heart attack.

Done and Done

There are several instances in life when friends and family tell you “You just know.” I heard it about finding the person I was going to marry. I heard it about choosing a career. I heard it about the number of children I was going to have.

Each and every time, I just knew.

When Maddie was a newborn, I swore up and down that I was never having another baby. A crappy pregnancy and awful birth will do that to a person. However, as time healed my wounds and my daughter got more and more awesome, I realized that I wasn’t quite done yet. I knew I wanted another baby and I was sort of scared that I was the type of woman who would want babies forever. I knew Gerald was happy with one child and it took a fair amount of convincing to get him to agree to a second. There was no way I was going to get more kids and keep him as my husband, you know?

Turns out, I’m not that kind of woman. Oh, I’ll still love babies and their porkchops and daydream about them for the rest of my life, but I’m through wanting more. I have that sense of rightness that tells me our family is complete. It was always supposed to be Gerald, me, Maddie and Sam. This is our family. I’ll have fun snuggling my new niece or nephew in March, and I’ll always offer to hold friends’ babies, but I don’t feel the need for another one of my own.

A couple of days ago I went to our storage unit to get some of Maddie’s toys for Sam now that he’s interested. We were given a new exersaucer, so I threw Maddie’s moldy one in the dumpster. As I did, I had the weirdest sense of loss. That was my first baby’s favorite toy. It felt like I’d lost something, which was ridiculous because said “baby” was sitting in the van, singing along to Wubbzy tunes on my iPod. I shook off the weirdness and came home. I cleaned all the toys in the backyard with bleach and Magic Erasers and waited for them to dry. So far, Sam loves the jumperoo like nobody’s business. It felt great to see him enjoying the same toys Maddie played with.

I also brought home my maternity clothes. I made sure everything was clean and boxed them up for Jess. As I did, I again had that sense of loss. I was never going to wear these clothes again! My belly would never be round and full of baby again! WAH! Nevermind that I find pregnancy absolutely miserable and I don’t even want more kids.

I guess even when you’re done, your ovaries keep shouting “babies! babies! babies” Maybe I need to have those suckers removed.

Imaginary Slights

I have a weird idiosyncrasy wherein I make up that friends/acquaintances are mad at me and avoiding me. Usually, there’s nothing that I can identify that I’ve done wrong, but this doesn’t stop me from fretting. And fretting. And lying awake at night fretting some more.

I imagine slights where none were intended. Or were they intended? Oh my gawd, they were probably intended. Here I am, thinking I’m just a mental case, when in reality people really DO hate my guts! GAH!!

If someone stops commenting on my blog, it can’t possibly be that they’re too busy with their own lives to do so, or they just don’t have anything to say about my posts. It must be because they’ve suddenly decided they can’t stand me. God forbid someone not acknowledge my reply tweets. I get Nervous Tummy and the fretting begins in earnest.

I think maybe this is exacerabated by that fact that I have very few close friends. (Close as in “proximity.”) I have such wonderful friends, but they’re so far away from me. (Damn you, internet, and your ability to introduce me to people across the country!) I put all my eggs in the social media basket. Sometimes I think this is so unhealthy and I really ought to commit web suicide. No more blogging, no more Google Reader, no more twitter, no more facebook. I should just concentrate my efforts on developing closer close friends. Then I get scared and realize I don’t want to lose you. Even though you hate me and give me Nervous Tummy.

Misty Eyed

Thank you all for your sympathetic and empathetic comments on my last post. I wrote it hoping for catharsis so I could let it go (it worked, fyi) and ended up feeling so much closer to my tribe of readers.

That got me thinking about how great this whole blogging gig is. I know so many of you that I’d never have the opportunity to know in my real life. I’d never know so much about you, nor you about me, if we didn’t share this desire to publicly recount our exploits. If I was 10 or 15 years older I wouldn’t be anxiously awaiting the arrival of Baby Jess/Torsten. I wouldn’t have fallen hopelessly in love with Temerity Jane over the Craigslist ad for her fridge. I wouldn’t know about Port and Cheez-Its being a delightful combination if it wasn’t for Alice. I wouldn’t have such awesome Besties like Donna and Shelly. (I’d still have Becky, though. Thank gawd.) I wouldn’t laugh at Swistle’s posts that are so insightful and funny. I wouldn’t think daily about how right The New Girl was about how hard a baby and a toddler are together. I wouldn’t be able to watch everyone’s children get older and cuter.

So forgive me for being so misty-eyed, but I just love y’all so damn much.