Daring Young Mom

Your earrings were very eye-catching and sparkly.

I wanted to tell you this but felt intimidated by your 6’5” spike-heel-enhanced height and the two miniature body guards flanking you.

I nodded to nearly everyone I saw on the street as we headed to the theatre. To some I gave a smile. To others I said “Hello.”

To you, I made no gesture, said nothing. Isn’t it strange that you go to so much effort to attract attention to yourself, only to be studiously ignored by the majority of the people you pass on the street?

I liked the earrings, although I could not pull them off with my wardrobe. I thought you should know.

No one gave us a bedroom set and I’m okay with that. I still like all of you and I have confidence that when you are done with yours, you will pass it my way. I have confidence in sunshine. I have confidence in rain. I have confidence that some day…someone…will give us a beautiful bedroom set for free and we will sleep in luxury.

Now I want more. I wanna be where my people are. I wanna see, wanna see em drivin’, drivin’ around in a – what’s that word again? 2005-Honda-Odyessey-Mini-Van-With-Dual-Power-Sliding-Doors-Leather-Seats-Tinted-Windows-Optional-8th-Seat-and-Built-in-DVD-Player.

The catch is, I want to get it for practically no money……… because, that’s what I have at my disposal. SO, I’ve spent the morning on Craig’s List, emailing extremely low bids to people with vans of all kinds in hopes that some kind person will have pity on us and give us a great deal.

Just picture us driving thousands of miles to visit our family this Christmas, the kids in the backseat of our too small car with no chance of me going back to feed or read a story, gifts and baby gear piled up around their eyeballs (The Flying Smurf is bigger but the seatbelts don’t lock at all so we don’t feel safe putting car seats in there. It’s also less reliable.).

We’re considering renting a van for the 2 week trip which would cost $1000. So, why not spend a few thousand more and get a not-exactly-what-we-want-but-exactly-what-we-can-afford-at-the-moment substitute.

If you’ve got one and you have pity in your soul, shoot me an email.

Tonight is a date night. I have a babysitter coming at 8:00 and decided to get the kids down and asleep well before she comes. This involves keeping them up past their afternoon naps to get them to go down earlier tonight. In about 30 minutes.

So this whole afternoon our house has seen a serious case of Mad Cow Disease. Everyone has been mad and everyone has been having a cow (Yes, me too. Thanks for asking.).

Suddenly at dinner, Laylee turned sweet and hilarious and ate all the food on her plate. Magoo stopped screaming and started laughing for no reason.

Laylee says, “What do we eat for dinner?” (like she’s setting me up for a knock knock joke)
I say, “I don’t know. What?”
Laylee: FOOD! Bwa HA HA HA!
Me: That was a funny joke. You got any more?

So Laylee reaches way back to when she used to say, “Peek a Boo,” and Daddy would say, “Peek WHO’S BOO?” and she would laugh hysterically.

Me: Do you have any more jokes?
Laylee: Peek WHO’S BOO? (Hysterical laughter)
Me: Oh, that was a good one.
Laylee: Peek Magoo’s BOO? Peek Mommy’s BOO? Peek Laylee’s BOO? (Choking because she’s laughing so hard.)

It ain’t no thing. Don’t cry ner nothin’. My husband and I are just better at the microwave than you. You’re still a good person….most likely.

Lately I microwave everything for 90 seconds, regardless of what it is. I watch it while the rays burn holes through my brain and when the food is sufficiently bubbly or exploding, I take it out. I want to press clear on the key pad. I really do, but it doesn’t always happen.

“They” say you marry someone like your dad and maybe it’s true because this used to drive my dad nuts and now it drives Dan nuts as well. One afternoon he asked me with a smile, “Do you realize what time it is?”

Me: No. What time is it?
Dan: It’s “one” o’clock.
Me: No it’s not.
Dan: Yes – it is. That’s what the clock on the microwave says……”1”

“Why even bother to take the food out when there’s only 1 second left?” you might ask. I’ve thought about this and come to the conclusion that letting the microwave finish cooking the food and then beep is like giving away any role I had in the cooking process. If I take it out at 89 seconds, I have decided that 89 seconds is the perfect doneness for that food item after extensive research and brain-frying observation.

This quest for microwaving perfection should not be so very foreign to the DY Dad, considering he is the poster child for microwave OCD.

Dan does not like to stir and he also likes his food to be evenly heated to the perfect temperature. He normally covers his meal with wax paper, places it on a very low power level and cooks it for anywhere from 5-200 minutes. His food comes out magically warm all over and he never needs to lift a finger to stir. He always waits for the beep.

I’m not complaining about this skill. You know how recipes say to “soften” the butter first but you never do and then you have to bake something right away and don’t have time to watch butter come to room temperature for 2 hours. Dan can accomplish this with complex microwave calculations in under 10 minutes — without melting a drop of the butter. If you’d like his formula for this, you’ll have to ask him yourself.

Now for something red. This is the soap of the godesses. If you use this soap, you become instantly irresistable. I feel unworthy to purchase this soap for myself but gave it to my monther-in-law as part of her Mother’s Day present last year. It is delicious and I wish you had a smell-o-vision computer like me so you could suck it in. Yummy!

Last night was girl’s night out and I think some of the girls were prejudiced against my baby-blue sedan and its lack of sweet hydraulics or woofer-enhanced system. This car pre-dates my entrance into college but it’s just so “roomy” and “comfortable.” Ladies night would not be complete without The Flying Smurf.

We cruised down Main Street Suburbia with the gangsta rap of our high school days playing on the stereo. The gangsta lean was out in force as well as the giggling. Oh, there was giggling. And also crying.

The first round of crying occurred shortly after we arrived at Claim Jumper for desert and Shirley Temples (thanks to Karli for inciting this beverage revolution). I got a call from DY Dad.

Dan: Are you at the movie yet?
Me: No, we’re just starting desert? (Mad giggling and way too fast talking in the background)
Dan: Something-I-couldn’t-hear…..crying.
Me: Magoo’s crying?
Dan: NO, EV-ER-Y-ONE is CRYING. Do you know where Ducky is?

This is the bed-time kiss of death. If everyone’s already crying, and there’s no Ducky, you are a goner. I gave some suggestions, offered some words of comfort but there wasn’t much I could do from there. Eventually he found ducky….wrapped in a blanket…in an upturned stepstool…..in our bedroom…..with a book on top of it. He is a hero of fatherness.

The second through 100th rounds of crying occurred throughout the movie. Ah! Pride and Prejudice condensed into 2 hours of romance and repressed passion. Is it possible? Is it even safe? We laughed, we cried, we grabbed each other’s arms and tried to hold in our screams of glee. It was AWESOME!

Proposal…..under pillars…. covered in moss…..in the RAIN……. with pride and anger that almost leads to a make-out session? This never happens in real life but I think it will now happen in my NANOWRIMO book.

We had the best seats, seats where you can put your feet up on the railing and take pictures of them with your cell phone camera.

The cinematography was great, adaptation excellent, somehow magically paced slowly enough to maintain the spirit of the book but still cram everything into 2 hours. Go see it. Go see it now. Children, schmildren!

For this outing, I carried a purse so small it couldn’t possibly contain a diaper, wipes, sippy cup, crayons, changes of clothes, snack-foods, flashlight, Leatherman, hats, sunscreen, teething rings, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches or Ziploc baggies.

It wouldn’t even fit my wallet so I had to grab a couple of cards, some cash and shove them into the Chick’s Rule wallet. Nice!

I wore hair jewelry, piggy tales and loads of faux bling. Despite the fact that I forgot my eye glitter, the teenage boy at the counter asked me if I was a student. I so wanted to say, “Yeah, I go to Suburbia High but I, like, forgot my ID. Can I, like, get a discount anyway? Juniors rule!” followed by the mad batting of glitter encrusted eyelashes. Instead, I laughed and said, “You should ask my kids,” and forked over the 9 bucks.

Karen and a few others have recently hinted at the fact that they may be too old to wear the Daring Young Mom gear. I consider anyone a Daring Young Mom until they gracefully make the transition to Daring Young Grandma. It’s all in the ”˜tude ladies, all in the ”˜tude.

The scene that inspired the most crying in our group involved a painfully (in a good way) long walk by Mr. Darcy through the mist to Elizabeth Bennet where they professed their love and then consummated it by tenderly touching noses as the sun rose over the English country side.

Movies like this always remind me of Dan’s and my romantical and dramatic courtship. The repressed passion, the rain, the nose touching! It made me want to go home and just really squidge him and Eskimo kiss him for hours on end.

I won’t tell you if he was awake when I got home or whether any nasal contact was made. (I will say that I live in a damp climate and had to approach the house through the mist at 12:30am).

I just really like him a lot. I’m so glad to be married to a man who Mr. Darcy makes me glad to rush home to.

(For another perspective on this evening, see Eulallia’s post.)

Boys are different than girls. My first indication of this (okay, not my first) was when Magoo started wetting through his clothes but not his diaper. Laylee did not have the gift of aim in her diaper escapades and I am fascinated by this ability.

He is also much more physically strong and active than she was at this age and has far better reflexes. This could possibly be because he was born a toddler.

Example: Yesterday we started him on solids. Unlike the Laylee who took 2 weeks of daily attempts before she would swallow anything, Magoo swallowed his first bite and was eager for more. The problem is, he wants to feed himself.

You’d think I could feed a wee infant without splattering rice cereal all over the state of Washington and I could if it weren’t for his cat-like speed and reflexes. He sits patiently until I get the spoon one centimeter from his mouth and then with lightning speed, he whips his hand up from his lap and grabs the handle of the spoon just as I’m about to insert the goods. Great cunning, he has. (Did Mr. Miyagi talk like this too or was it just Yoda?)

The way he does it, the speed and concentration it takes, reminds me of the Karate Kid catching flies with chopsticks. His eyes, tracking the spoon. Wait for it….wait for it….ah HA!

And maybe he will be good with the chopsticks when he gets to the stage of maturity where children are allowed to play with pointy sticks (I’m not to that chapter yet in the What to Expect series). It’s in his blood.

I spent an entire year of college using chopsticks because I had a roommate who had been a missionary in Taiwan, had zillions of them and we were all too cheap to buy silverware. Pie, ice cream, spaghetti, breakfast cereal, you name it, we ate it with chopsticks (Actually, you don’t have to name it. That’s pretty much all we ate that year.).

DY Daniel-Son is quite skilled with a chopstick himself. He also speaks the Chinese which makes him just about the most attractive chopstick-usin’ white guy around. We took this picture at the beach last July. Your name’s Daniel, there’s a log sticking up out of the ocean, the sun’s setting, what are you gonna do, I mean really?

Now to Magoo I have this to say:
You are adorable and I love and like you with a fervent motherly likishness, but if you keep this up I am just ruthless enough to “sweep the leg,” if yaknowaImsayin…….or at least, strap your arms to your sides with duct tape. Oh, the indignity. When we’re done with that, you can use your pent up energy and frustration to sand the floor, paint the fence and wax my car. It’s the green one in the garage.