- Sorry I didn’t write all week. The truth is I didn’t have anything to say, and I made a vow to myself that I would never “force” myself to write a post. That takes the fun out of it, making it a chore. Plus, if I had to force myself into writing when I had nothing to say, you all would have to endure the result, which would inevitably be a bunch of passionless drivel.
- And obviously, we all prefer passionate drivel. Duh.
- Anyhoo, today we bought Georgie “big girl panties.” Strangely the kid is almost potty trained. I am not responsible for this. I am the worst potty-trainer in the world. So bad, in fact, that I deemed that job “the husband’s job,” for three reasons: 1. I suck at it. 2. I hate it. And 3. He did a great job with the first one, and the second, so why fuck with nature?
- So we put the panties on her and she promptly removed them, which is no big deal, since she’s usually walking around naked, or half-naked anyway. Whatevs. Pick your battles, etc. I picked her up at one point though and noticed a wet spot on my shirt. Using my vast deductive reasoning skills, I determined that she piddled on me, but it wasn’t enough to be a full pee, which led me to believe it was the remains of a previous pee. So we asked her “Georgie, did you just pee on the floor?” To which she responds “Yes.” And then we ask: “Will you show us where?” And the kid says “Sure” all nonchalantly and starts walking into Rocket’s room, where she points to a suitcase on the floor. Sure enough, she peed on a suitcase that was leaning against the wall.
- Which means my toddler PEED LIKE A CAT on personal belongings. And like a cat, she just looked at us like “what? Leave me alone so I can get on with my life.”
- So the underwear thing is going great.
- Also, tonight I had one of those moments in parenting where the truth hits you like bucket of ice cold water across your face – the reality of your life, maybe something you haven’t wanted to see. It was a nothing moment, and yet it was an everything moment. Ava blatantly disobeyed me in a way that made it clear to me that we are on our way to more independence, a little rebellion, dare I say it? Teenage years. Oh, people. NOW I have something to write.
- On Saturday we went with some of our favorite people in the whole world to San Francisco, one of our favorite places in the whole world. We went to the Exploratorium, which is this hands-on science museum type place for those of you living in Massachusetts. (Why Massachusetts? I don’t know. It’s the first place that came to me.) It was so much damn fun.
- And they have this thing there called the “Tactile Dome.” It’s this giant dome. Yeah, I know. You probably could have gathered that yourselves. But inside it is this maze (tunnels and slides and corners and shit) and it is PITCH BLACK in there, so you have to navigate wholly by touch. I hate to tell you this for fear of ruining my street cred, then again I have no street cred, so here we go: the first time I went in I had this insane claustrophobic panic attack. I started sweating, my mind was screaming terrible thoughts, my heart was pounding. I almost tackled my friend behind me to get out. But I took a break and tripped out for a minute at my own pathetic-ness, then talked to the dude who worked there. He suggested I try it again with just one person, who I trust, who could tell me what’s ahead and help me. So I picked my friend Roy because he’s an Eagle Scout and speaks in soothing tones. I figured if anybody knows how to handle a fucking spaz like me, it’s a damn Eagle Scout. And I did it people. I faced the fear and did it. Strangely I’m kind of proud of that. I mean I was really scared.
- But you know what I’m more proud of? My kids did it too. Seven and ten years old, in a pitch-black dome, navigating tight turns and tunnels, squealing in delight like it’s freaking Disneyland. I love having kids who aren’t afraid to try new things. I love that they just DO IT, and live, taking risks, throwing themselves into the arms of this world, this place, whatever that may look like.
Sometimes things like that happen and a little voice comes into my head “Well, Janelle, maybe you’re not totally messing up this parenting gig after all.”
Cause even though I may be terrified, my kids can stand on their own two feet, and teach their mama a few things in the process.
Brave little bastards.
I was going to put in a few photos, but I realized there’s only one that sums up what I want to say, and it’s this one. It’s my friend Cara Lyn, about whom I could write a whole post, who embodies the life and energy and love I’m talking about. You can read her here, at her brilliant freaking blog, or you can just look at this picture for a minute and let it all sink in. Honestly, I suggest both. xoxo. Love you people.
ShanSunday, 30 September, 2012 at 22:50
I love your cat. Probably the only one on the planet that wouldn’t make me die, so that makes her even more adorable.
Sarah O'MalleyMonday, 1 October, 2012 at 14:26
I am NOT a story topper, I am someone who TOTALLY understands having a child who pees on things. My youngest son peed inside his older brother’s Pajama Drawer. Since my oldest son was gone over that weekend I did not discover the pee mess for three days. I walked into his room and was over come with the same urine smell one might find in a stairwell, or bus stop downtown. I had to wash ALL of the Pj’s THREE TIMES before the urine smell went away. BEST “wee-weekend” EVER!