Tuesday, February 27, 2007

I want to go home. I want to go home and crawl under the covers and never, never come out, world be damned.

I am a conundrum...A sick mommy. Mommies, who tend all wounds and nurse all sickly babies back to health, are really not allowed to get sick. Who doctors the doctor? No-effing-body. So here I sit in my cubie, head swimming in Advil and coffee and trying not to look like I'm slumping over, which I totally am. Were it not for this workspace securely fastened to the wall, I would surely be in a heap on the floor. Not the best spot to seek a raise/promotion from. Hell, it's hard to stay employed if you get in the habit of taking naps on the job. Not a good idea. Where's the maitre'd? More coffee!

I'd be sharing all the hilarities my boys have been up to if they weren't sick themselves. It's hard to practice your Laurel & Hardy routine when The Virus Of '07 has got you down for the count. Although there are exceptions...

The baby is learning to wave. So far, that's about all he's got down, the wave. Elbow-wrist, elbow-wrist, just in time for the Mardi Gras parades. Next, we'll tackle timing, because his is seriously off. If we are, say, entering a room, I'll do my Mommy thing and put on a mini-Broadway show...HEL-LO! HI! OH, HELLO! HI THERE! Waving like a madwoman all the while. Baby appears uninterested. But in the middle of a stroll across a room where no one has entered or exited for the past 12 hours, he will spontaneously start waving. Elbow-wrist, elbow-wrist, entirely for his own benefit. Or perhaps for a little exercise. I've been meaning to talk to him about those rolls. Sheesh.

Methinks it may be time to pop another cold med. The world is coming into focus again. Ick.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Tomorrow marks dear Julian's first day in a new classroom. Big Boys 'R Us. His soon-to-be-ex teachers and I had a good cry this morning over our failure to keep him a baby forever. We tried! Lord we tried. He still takes a bottle, he still enjoys a good cuddle, but somehow he managed to grow up when we weren't looking. He walks, he talks, he slices, he dices, he can do it all. So very bittersweet, this growing up thing.

In other news, Spencer tried to murder his teacher. Ok, I may be slightly exaggerating (you're shocked, I know), but she did pull me aside yesterday at pick-up and mention her concern that he had wrapped his hands around her throat during playtime. Hmmm. I have two possible suspects as to where he's seen this behavior (I always wait to strangle his father until after the boys are asleep) - television, and/or his cousins. His cousins have heretofore offered up such gems as "dork," "idiot," and how to knock a little brother over quicker than a parent can blink. And television, well...whether it's a question of life imitating art or the reverse, it seems there is entirely too much garbage on Ye Olde Boob Tube for this momma's liking. Oh. My. God. I have become my mother. I never in a million years thought I would protest my beloved TV. But even the supposedly "safe" children's shows promote questionable content, as evidenced by dear Spence during a recent innocent cardboard box/clubhouse adventure, shouting, "You'll be trapped in there...for-evaaahhh! A-hahahahaha!"

And you wonder why I'm in no rush for my youngest to grow up.

So we'll more closely monitor Spencer's interactions. Keep your fingers crossed for both my children to remain the sweetly innocent children you've come to know and laugh at with me. I'll consider my parenting endeavor a rousing success if I can keep them out of the penal system just a little while longer.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Well ladies & gentlemen, it's that wonderful, gorgeous, happy time of year again...Second only to springtime, it's...drumroll please...TAX RETURN TIME! Yesterday, I was a poor beggar scraping up parking money. Today, I am one rich momma.

Oh, if the bill hounds could hear me now. Calm down! I fully intend to pay down (some of) that damnable debt that haunts me. But on my way there, would you really mind if I stopped off to pick up some new work digs and Spiderman socks for my little superhero? What's that, you wouldn't mind? Have a ball, you say? Go to town?? I deserve it??! L I B. You sons of bitches do have hearts. I take it all back.

It's funny how somehow the heavier your pockets are, the lighter your step is. I am un-depressable, world, so take that! You want to stand in line to pile work on my desk and fight about priority? Go ahead, you silly attorneys. If you need me, I'll be right over here glowing and counting my newfound treasure.

I can't wait to go home this evening (T to the G to the Izzy Izzy F) and...relax. I plan on reading and watching movies and hiring a cabana boy to carry me up to the bathroom every so often.

So this post is dedicated to my H&R Block guy, damned if can remember his name, a dead ringer for the "stapler" guy from Office Space. A little creepy but nice, nevertheless, and capable enough to add a couple zeroes to my return. Here's to you, buddy.

Friday, February 02, 2007

This post is dedicated to the legal assistant who walked out on the job earlier this week. I can't blame her, and yet somehow I still do. She worked for the biggest rhymes-with-sick of the office, and now guess who does. Yours truly. So...thanks.

I've discovered, however, that with a little BYOB and a lot of CYA, a generous amount of work can be crapped out over the span of 9 to 5. Ok, I'm kidding about the BYOB part, more like drink coffee 'til your head spins and you can blame any and all mistakes on dehydration and caffeine saturation.

I do want to apologize to my reader(s) for having been away so long. Please see above vent.

The latest is that we are quickly approaching dear Julian's 1st birthday. This has got my emotions running amuck. Some days, I think, we'll never be to the point where both my little geniuses can arise, grab a snack, and turn on the TV while I catch up on all the sleep I've been missing these past 4 years. Other times, I think, dear God, where did my baby go? Who can I rock in the rocking chair and nibble their cheeks clean off?? And of course, if my babies are older, that must mean I'm older, which I simply refuse to admit. I hope they don't mind if I wear a halter top and daisy dukes to their high school graduations.

So he's come a long way, this baby 'o' mine, and I'm quite proud of him, although I have noticed that he's developing quite differently than young master Spence did. It seems his gross motor skills are off the charts, but I've yet to hear him articulate much more than the random "uh oh." While Spence walked later, around 11 months as opposed to the baby's impressive 8, he had quite the vocabulary by his 1st birthday. I can only hope that they will play off of each other's strengths and weaknesses in the future, and a little friendly academic competition never hurt anyone. I'll see your 'A' and raise you an 'A+.' A mama can dream.

I also wanted to mention quickly that I've purchased an extremely cheap digital camera off of your favorite virtual garage sale and mine, Ebay, so I hope to post pictures here shortly. Expect several glamorous shots of dear JuJuBee shoving cake in his face and a few of an irritated Spencer demanding to know when it will be his birthday. Stay tuned.