Tuesday, October 31, 2006

We touched earlier upon the subject of children inheriting their parents’ traits, and this past weekend has revealed that Spencer has most definitely inherited his father’s outgoing personality.

As a child, I was completely unable to approach anyone I wasn’t familiar with, and express myself in any fashion whatsoever. I felt a longing to crawl under the nearest rock, or perhaps disappear entirely, whenever a social situation presented itself. When playing that fun game, Which Super-Power Would YOU Want? Mine was invisibility, hands down. Still is, when I’m late for work or caught typing a blog entry on company time. POOF! Want to scold me? Got to find me first, bitches!

Nathaniel, on the other hand, is and has always been the most extroverted person I know. This, I believe, is why our balancing act works so well. He’ll order the dinner when dining out, for example, and scream if it’s wrong, and I’ll stare at the floor. We each have our parts to play.

So back to this past weekend…We took the kiddos to an indoor trick-or-treating event and they had a BLAST. Batman, a.k.a. cousin Jason, took the lead and off they went, trick-or-treating to their hearts’ content, punctuated with the occasional delighted scream as some masked creature peeked out from around a corner. Said with no sarcasm whatsoever, fun times.

At the end of this winding road of Halloween joy, we came to a gathering place where they had everything from a coloring contest set up, to refreshments and a large area with a d.j. for the kiddies to break it down to the tune of the Monster Mash. I said, “Spence, go show ‘em your moves!” Half-expecting him to turn bashfully into me & hide his face against my (ample) thigh. Son of a gun if he didn’t take off full speed into the heart of the melee, shaking his booty like a pro.

I was astounded…I myself couldn’t have gone onto the dance floor for a million dollars, regardless that my judging peers would have been an eighth my age. Nathaniel was pleasantly surprised, a little smile on his face which I knew meant he was reminiscing on his heyday, complete with impressing the grade-school girlies with his fancy, fancy moves. ‘The sprinkler’ has not died, ladies and gentlemen, it lives on, if only in Nathaniel’s memories.

So I’m here to say, lock up your daughters, because darling Spencer is truly his father’s son.

Friday, October 27, 2006

In this time of wondrous change and growth, I've sat back and watched my boys get older with the subconscious idea that I was somehow perfectly preserved in my 16-yr-old body. That window of internal viewpoint slammed shut just last night while perusing some old photos. I came across one of myself in a sweatshirt in which long blond hair was flowing in the breeze, and I had this smile on my face like, Responsibility? What's that? Who needs it?? Not me, I'm just hanging out, wearing perfectly applied makeup & have you seen this HAIR? Yup, woke up & styled it with all the time in the world laid out before me.

I'm thinking, yup, that's me, wrinkle-free face & all.

Then my eye caught the sweatshirt I had been wearing, & the condition of this sweatshirt, which I actually still own. The shirt is absolutely threadbare, really just two sleeves held together by an Aeropostale logo (yes, I was quite the fashion snob, before I knew what "bills" were).

A bucket of cold water to the face. While I realize that skin doesn't age at quite the rate cotton does, I...prepare yourself...have aged as well! Son of a gun. Who'd have thunk, even I could be affected by the passage of time?? I have laugh lines now, & carry some hefty luggage under my eyes...& around the hip-thigh area...

Oy. I'm not ready for this! Who the hell wants to get older? Not I, said the fly, as he keeled over 24 hours after his birth.

I'm thinking a cute haircut & an extra workout or two may stave off the depression I feel breathing down my neck, edging in on my happiness here at the new job. Well, I suppose I've got to take the good with the bad...Do you know any 16-yr-old legal assistants be-bopping around downtown, going home to the arms of a gorgeous loving family?? All right then. I've got two healthy dollops of sugar at home to help the medicine go down.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Today's Pondering:

What would a stifled sneeze, followed by a sigh of relief, sound like to a cubicle-mate?

For side-splitting fun at home, try holding a book or other impromptu divider between you and a friend, deep breath, lips pursed tightly together, forcefully expel the air, big sigh finale, aaand...Voila! Instant fun! Note: Please don't attempt this if you are actually right now sitting in a cubicle.

Also great at parties!

Monday, October 23, 2006

The government is approving a much-needed piece of legislation I think all of you Internet-savvy should be made aware of.

TAADA (The Acronym Awareness & Dispute Act) allows any person or agency to bring forth an acronym for discussion. If said acronym is already in common use, it cannot be granted to said party. If it’s an unusual & fun one, such as DUBYA, which of course stands for Dumb Useless Bullshit-Yakking Arsehole, you will automatically be placed in the running for the Nobel Prize (NP).

TFB (This Fun Blog) would like to take this opportunity to say that there are entirely TMA (Too Many Acronymns) on This Crazy Planet (TCP), and although there actually is no PL (Pending Legislation) before TBIC (Those Bastards In Congress), I feel there should be. So STIYPASI (Stick That In Your Pipe And Smoke It).

If I come across as Frustrated And Cranky (FAC), it can only be due to my present learning environment (LE), which appears to run solely on WTMATL (Way Too Many Acronyms To Learn). PL (Patent Law) and the ADBMW’s (Attorneys Driving BMW’s (Bavarian Motor Works)) a.k.a. BOSS’s (Bitches Out Sidewalk Shopping) should really consider patenting a learning environment (LE) in which one is submerged in PLL (Patent Law Language) for a short period and be done with it (FINITO), rather than this slow, current madness-inducing CWT (Chinese Water Torture) method.

Please, DUBYA, can’t we come up with some legislation ASAP, or I fear I may TALWOASP (Take A Long Walk Off A Short Pier).

SOL,
Cera

P.S.
P.P.S.
R.S.V.P.
Cc:
Fw:
Encl.
CKV/ckv

Friday, October 20, 2006

Dear Little Boy in the Oven Door,

I just want to extend my heartfelt thanks. You never disappoint; you are always there for my Julian when he needs you to be. You never complain, you never make a sound, you are not another mouth to feed…you’re simply there for him. And he leans on you more and more these days (literally), especially when seeking some quiet solace from his larger, older, much louder siblings. So thank you.

You remind me of “Katie,” Anne of Green Gables’ mirrored friend. Do you know her? How is she these days? Haven’t heard about her since Anne traipsed off to The Isle.

I also wish to apologize…You seem capable of handling not only Julian’s weight, but endure his lengthy make-out sessions, which can get quite messy. My most sincere of apologies for those. When I laugh hysterically and take pictures, don’t fret, dear Oven Door Boy, my mirth is not at your expense. Per se.

So keep up the good work! I know what you’re thinking. I’ll put my money where my mouth is. I’ll break out the Windex this weekend, and all will be right with the world.

Yours in Kitchen Endeavors,
Cera

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

I see my mistake. Now I see my mistake.

We discussed getting a pet, way back when, LBB (Life Before Baby), and Spencer was positively enthralled with the prospect. Although the pair of goldfish didn’t last too long, may they rest in peace, we had actually been toying with the idea of getting some sort of pet, perhaps a hamster in one of those handy indestructible plastic balls, the better to scurry out of reach of the clutches of afore-mentioned loving boy. Who was that cartoon girl, Elmira? Elvira maybe? Who would squeeze her animals til their eyes bulged out of their desperate little heads, squeaking sweet nothings like, “I will LOVE you and HUG you and SQUEEZE you and HOLD you forever and ever and ever!” Mental image in place? Good. Now insert the face of my sweet 3-yr-old. There ya go.

Enter Baby Julian, stage left. I do believe dear Spence thought his wish had been granted. A pet, at long last! For his very own. To LOVE him and HUG him and…you get the idea.

I had thought, when I realized I would be the proud mother of two, two, two boys for the price (I wish) of one! that the sort of obstacles I might face would include separating fights, dividing rooms with pieces of masking tape, deciding whose breathing space was whose, etc. And that may very well be in my future, but for now…

I find my biggest obstacle is separating them, all right. Separating Spence from HUGGING (yes, I mean to use all caps) defenseless Julian, yelling vows of undying love in his face (it’s the ol’ deaf/tourist trick…if they don’t respond, just YELL til you think you’re getting through), lovingly petting random features (ears, toes, eyeballs), slipping food to him from the kitchen table like a little…you guessed it…pet.

So a word to the wise…If you are even considering trying to conceive another baby, whatever you do, limit your child’s exposure to animals. Although cute, warm and cuddly, current studies are indicating that babies are not, in fact, pets. In my house, however, the jury is still out.

Monday, October 16, 2006

This is me, prostrate before you, begging forgiveness and whipping my own back with one of those handy flogger thingies. All right? Ok?

My humblest of apologies for having been absent so very long…In Blogger years, a week equals about two months, I know. Haven’t you been just dying to know what antics my boys are up to, and what the new job entails? Well, honestly, I’m still training for the new job, so when I figure it out, I’ll let you know. In a timely manner, Scout’s honor. I’m an honorary Girl Scout by way of Thin Mint Obsession.

Quick update, since I used a nail file to saw through the ankle chain to my desk and once they discover me missing, it’s all over! They’re coming to take me away, ha ha, hee hee, ho ho…Honestly, it’s not too bad here on the ol’ patent law frontier, just difficult to learn all the terminology. They speak another language ‘round these he-yur parts, and I’m a-fixin’ to learn me some.

The boys, well…Boys will be boys will be boys, no matter how much I dress them in girls’ clothes and makeup and force them to practice their curtsies…KIDDING! My boys are boys, through and through. Spence has just recently joined the ranks of The Rough’N’Tumble Gang, which positively horrifies Julian. It’s difficult to convince the baby that Spence is screaming in fun, especially when the baby and I speak different languages. But we’re learning, the both of us.

In other news, Julian has decided to cruise the furniture as his primary means of transportation, so when his daycare calls Child Protective Services on me for all the bumps and bruises, you are all witness to this testimony, this sixteenth day of October, year of our Lord two-thousand-six…I do solemnly swear that although said baby does piss me off occasionally, I have never raised my hand to him. There are simply too many people in line in front of him for their well-deserved bitch slap. Speaking of which, I do so hope my darling ex-employers have mailed me my last check.

Well, dear audience (are there any left? I feel I’ve been away for eons), do please continue to check in…I promise never to neglect you again for so long. Please don’t pine away for me, I’m here, just struggling to juggle the world and everyone in it. It’s a rough job, but somebody’s got to do it. This is The Circus, signing off.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

The latest trend in raising a generation of baby geniuses is to teach the fine art of sign language. While this may be a noble endeavor, I don't find it to be very practical. In my short time on this planet, in fact, I have never met a blind person. Although I appreciate sign language, don't get me wrong. Helen Keller, you da woman.

What may be more beneficial, to me, is reading lips. I'm going to start teaching my darling 7-mo-old...tomorrow. This involves much over-exaggerated lip contortion, facial expression, and possibly a hand gesture or two, all with the volume set to 'mute.' Should be hilarious.

Selfishly, I'll guide Julian to read lips for my own ulterior motive. This will help to answer a line item on my List of Burning Questions...WHAT ARE THE EXTRAS SAYING?? I must know. I could die happy tomorrow if I only knew what exactly those background conversations are about. You know what I'm talking about. You're watching a TV show, and Susie is breaking up with Bobby or whatever the hell, front and center, but behind them, a couple walks past, or "co-workers" are mingling over by the water cooler...Extras. People, instructed to act as though they are having some sort of fascinatingly intellectual conversation...The director yells, "Action!"...And these people who probably met each other the day before at a casting call turn to each other and say...What?? They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves, do they not? I find myself more fascinated with this than with whatever is happening center stage that I'm supposed to be paying attention to. Hence my problem. This is where Julian comes into play.

So those pseudo-actors had better step lively. In just about...10 years, I'm going to be totally hip to their scene. And...Action!

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

I've touched in the past upon the subject of Ye Olde Boob Tube and its undermining influence in my household. I'd like to revisit that subject...

Sunday evening, I was temporarily possessed by the ghost of June Cleaver and decided to whip up a batch of wholesome goodness for my doting family in the form of cookies. I actually find baking to be very therapeutic, and I need all the therapy I can get these days.

My darling 3-yr-old comes wandering into the kitchen in the midst of said whirling dervish. Curiousity piqued, he begins the usual volley of questions...What's this, what's that, flour? I love flour, let me taste, the oven is hot? What's that thing, what's it for, can I use it, can I mix it, can I touch it, can I hold it? What's that, baking soda? I LOVE baking soda, please may I have some baking soda? I asked nicely.

Since I didn't have a free hand at the time to throw him out the nearest available window, I withstood this one-man firing squad rather well, and was under the impression it was winding down when it clicked.

Down came the peanut butter out of the cupboard. The inevitable..."Peanut butter? For...PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES??"

A gleam came into my darling sweet boy's eye, the like of which I had seen only on cartoon villains...The picture was made complete by much licking of chops and wringing of hands.

"Peanut butter cookies! What a great idea!" I wish I could convey the tone to you. As if I had just suggested some fantastic new method of world domination.

"Peanut butter cookies! Mu-hahahahahaha!!" I know you think I'm making this up, but I swear on Nip/Tuck I'm not exaggerating when I say dear Spencer threw back his head and laughed maniacally.

So the new rule is this...Alden watches his cartoons on his TV, and Spencer can watch as much light-hearted, upbeat kiddie fluff on the Disney channel as he wants. And I can once again sleep at night.