Quote of the Day

The art of being a parent is to sleep when the baby isn't looking.

-Anonymous

Really?

This weekend, my son and I went to the park.  It was a beautiful day, though a bit warm, but the bulk of the slides and things were in the shade by the time we got there.  We had a blast.  But, naturally, I left the park only after having an altercation with another mom.

I say "mom," but the woman could have just as easily been a nanny or a cousin or a stage manager--I don't really know.  I'm guessing mom, though, based on several factors.  Anyway, my kid and I were gleefully going down the slide, when a little boy and his "mom" walked over to the playground.  I heard her say something about it being hot and she sat on the bench and told him to go play.  The little boy ran over and, desperate for companionship, started talking to me.  He was 5 and his name was Grover.  His name wasn't actually Grover, but (a) I'm not putting a little kid's real name in here and (b) I can't remember it anyway.  So, I was saying.  Grover was 5 and told me all about his brothers and how he wasn't going to school until he's 6.  He was a funny, clearly smart, personable kid, so we let him follow us around to the slides and the swings, and chatted with the kid.

I should mention that "mom" watched the entire time, so I felt better about it.  I smiled at her, and she ignored me.  Because I was in a particularly generous mood, I relfected on that morning when I asked my own kid to leave me be on the back steps, while he ran around the yard.  Parents get tired.  Fair enough.  So anyway, Grover was a total champ, talking to my own son and being extremely gentle with him.  I loved the kid.  I seriously was blown away at how considerate a 5 year old could be.  So we played and played. 

Finally, we had to go.  I said goodbye to Grover, trying not to let the look of disappointment on his face make me cry.  I told him we would see him again at the park.  As we walked away, I decided to swing by "mom" and let her know her kid rocked.  So we took the long way around, got within about 20 feet, and half-whispered "Grover is an awesome kid."  She looked at me as though I had informed her that her second head was gnawing on her shoulder.  She (not whispering) said "it's none of your business, and you should stay away from other people's kids."

Really?

While I, of course, came up with a million rebuttals later, I have to admit that for once I was at a loss for words.  We simply walked away.  But, really?  What the heck?  I justify it with typical "parenthood is hard" and "people are going through things" pep talks.  But, really?  I'm stepping in and doing YOUR job at the playground, and I get yelled at?

As you know, I'm all about justifying things that people do that are crazy.  But today, I'm just going with "people are crazy."

The Wild Wild West

Badger, Badger

A while back, I gave a glimpse into the beauty that was my new neighbors parroting my old, and doing construction at all hours.  Well, I am happy to say that they have sold their 12 bedroom multi-pool mansion and the new people are not yet in.  It's heaven.  All quiet and peaceful.  Well, sort of.

It's not loud, per se, but there is a noise that sort of runs under the nights here.  It's animals.  Sure, some are the cats and dogs of the neighborhood.  But there are others.  Last night I heard an owl.  Many nights when it's warmer, the crickets come out.  I swear to all higher beings that I once heard a bear.  Or it may have been a mountain lion--regardless, I am sure it was scary and had teeth.  And it totally, totally freaks me out.

When in Chicago, I had a relatively fine time wandering around the city at night.  It didn't happen much, but I wasn't particularly afraid as I walked home from a bar, found my car after a concert, or roamed the alleys after finally finding a stupid parking space at 3am.  I probably shouldn't have been as relaxed as I was.  The tavern owner a few blocks away was killed in his alley behind the bar one night.  Muggings are prevalent.  It is, in fact, Chicago.  But blissfully I never had any problems.

So that's why it is so stinking funny to me that I am terrified to go out of my house after dark here.  Sure, everyone is packing, but that doesn't bother me.  I am instead afraid of the animals.  Seriously.  Even the stupid cats.  It scares the hell out of me, and I've even had nightmares about fighting off a tiger in the backyard.  When I was a kid, we had a badger under our back porch.  Now I sit and fear that one will pop out at me (dancing, of course), rip my head off, and take my child to go live with the badger colony and be raised as its own.  And while I'm all for Bucky and friends visiting, I'm fairly certain that they're not as friendly here as they are in Madison. 

Yes, I admit, this makes me a huge pansy.  If either of my grandfathers could hear me now, they would be appalled (though not likely shocked).  Why am I such a chicken?  It's not like I'm not used to animals.  I didn't have a particularly bad experience with one, other than a few donkey lawyers.  So why am I suddenly afraid of the wild, wild west?

While you answer that, I'm huddled in the corner, waiting for daylight, listening for Bucky to emerge....

Should I Not Do That?

As I have mentioned (repeatedly) I have a bit of a sweet tooth.  And as I have also mentioned, it is growing.  Yesterday I mentioned my newfound talent of offing an entire cake or batch of cookies.  But the funny thing is, this desire for sugar generally only kicks in after my son has gone to bed.  Case in point.  For the last few nights, I have baked cookies.  For my kid, of course.  But this logic is sort of flawed when I manage to devour each and every one, before he wakes in the morning.  The moment his head hits the pillow, I desire anything and everything sweet.  And for better or worse, it's hit-or-miss whether that "anything" is in my house.  Therefore, what many of you won't think is funny are the thoughts that sometimes go through my head as a result.

I guess you could say it has actually crossed my mind to go to Dairy Queen and pick up a Blizzard.  Or to the grocery store and get a cake.  After my kid is asleep.  HORRIBLE!!!  I guess it's debatable how serious I am.  I mean, I haven't actually done it, so I must not be completely awful, right?  But, man, do I want to.  The conversations in my head are priceless.  "You know, he's just going to be asleep...."  "Are you INSANE?  You can't leave your kid alone in the house!!!"  "Of course not.  But, he's just going to be asleep...."  For all law enforcement, DCFS, newspaper and other authority figures freaking out, I of course will never actually leave my kid alone.  Heck, I freak out when a sitter is here.  I'm just sayin.  Sometimes the desire for a Butterfinger Blizzard is so overwhelming, a teeny tiny little voice says "go ahead."  AGAIN--it won't happen.  Please don't come take my child.  Just sayin.

Mmmmm...sheet cake....
I know I have a problem.

Is It Bad to Eat an Entire Cake?

I will wait until you leave,
then eat the entire thing.
Ugly flowers included.

I've never really paid that much attention to what I eat.  I'm about 9 feet tall, so there has always been plenty of room for the food to go.  That said, my weight has ballooned over the past several years, as it often does in women of a certain age.  And, of course, there's the gift of a 3rd stomach that my child gave me.  It's the gift that keeps on giving.

Generally I can say that since my son was born, I haven't had the time or the inclination to eat a lot of bad things.  Until now.  Recently I have been doing what I assume you can only call stress-eating.  Worrying about the past, the future and everything in between, I find comfort in having a cookie.  All of them.  I get absolutely livid when the women at the grocery store don't have the individual slices of cake sitting out, and so I buy an entire cake.  And eat it.  What?  It helps.  So I keep doing it.

And, man, I can feel it.  I must weigh about a million pounds.  But I can't stop.  Yesterday I was around people who were having a celebratory cake.  Most of the women either obligingly declined, or took small pieces or even scraped off the frosting.  Yeah, I had seconds.  And I even thought about scraping off the excess frosting from the cake board. 

I guess it's fine if it makes me happy, right? Ok, even I don't buy that one.  But I guess I keep thinking it will stop when the stress stops.  Which should be any second now, right?  RIGHT?