Blog It Out, Bitch
Page 7
The most annoying part - besides the smell of moth balls, Geritol, and death - was the way they organized the clothes. It was like Infants and Children. That's it. No sizes, no gender specific racks, no age groups. And they were only categorized by color. There was a whole rack of red clothes, green ones, etc. And for patterns, well they just piled all that shit together. Polka dots, plaid, stripes, butterflies, didn't matter. Oh, and coats. They just lumped those together, too.
When I did find something cute it was always in smaller sizes. All of my nephews are younger than Kali and my best friend's children are as well. It's one thing to buy something for your own child from Goodwill, but wouldn't it be kinda tacky to buy something for someone else's baby at Goodwill?
Them: “You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble.”
You (sheepishly): “I really didn't."
The Ballad of Connor and Courtney
January 20, 2007
Donny and I were both knocked out at 9:30 in the morning when Kali came into our bedroom.
“Mommy, can you come downstairs and pour me some Kool-Aid?”
Without opening my eyes, I asked, “Don't you have juice boxes?”
“No, Daddy said he's not buying them anymore because I never finish them and it's a waste of money.”
“Well, then Daddy should go pour the Kool-Aid ‘cause Mommy would have bought you juice boxes.”
I eventually gave in and groggily made my way downstairs. As I did, Kali starts telling me a story. “Remember I told you that Connor and Courtney are best friends? They've been best friends since the 1st grade. Well, they're not friends anymore. Wanna know why?”
I must have said yes or grunted.
“Well we were at recess the other day and Courtney started yelling in Connor's ear and he didn't like it. So, he started yelling back in her ear and they both got in trouble. Now, Connor is mad at Courtney and he's not talking to her. He said she doesn't even exist.”
I thought that was pretty mean and figured Kali was exaggerating. I said, "I'm sure he's not that mad."
“Well, Connor and I were talking yesterday and Courtney came over and started talking to us and Connor looked at me and said, ‘Do you hear anything? I don't. Do we even have a Courtney in this class?’”
As I listened, I realized that this is how it begins. This is when boys learn the appropriate way to argue with girls and how to treat people when you’re not getting along with them. And at this tender age of eight, Connor is well on his way to mastering the art of douchebaggery. His parents must be so proud.
I Do Housework… Sometimes
January 25, 2007
Lately, I've been putting off everything of importance to the last minute – especially school work and housework. Yes, I do housework... on occasion. Sometimes. Okay, let me keep it real. Recently, I went to vacuum and as I kept pressing the little pedal on the bottom of the vacuum with my foot all it would do was tilt backwards.
“Why won't this thing turn on?”
“That's not the power. You have to hit the switch on the handle.” Donny said patiently.
“Since when? This has always been the power.” I continued to tap the pedal furiously.
“That was the old vacuum cleaner.”
“Well, what happened to that one?”
“It broke so I bought this one.”
“When was that?”
“Like, a year ago.”
Shut up.
Because It’s Never Too Early to Develop a Complex
February 13, 2007
Yesterday I had Oprah on as background noise while I did my Spanish homework. Kali comes home from school and sits on the floor beside the couch. I can't see her, but I hear that she's keeping herself occupied with something on the floor. The show was about amazing kids who at ages like 8, 12, and 15 were opera singers, college students (and a surgeon), and CEOs respectively.
As the episode goes on, I can hear Kali getting more and more impatient with whatever she's doing. What was she doing? Practicing tying her shoes. Now, some of you may be thinking that at 7, she should already know how to tie her shoes. She does, but over the past few years all of her sneakers have been of the slip-on variety. Nike or Sketchers, they were always ones that require her to just slip her feet in and go. And even when we have bought her lace-up sneakers, I usually tie them for her because it's quicker and I know the tie will actually stay tied if I do it.
Because her mother is lazy and loves items of convenience, my child, at the age of 7, was trying to remember how to properly tie a shoe. She had it down except when it gets to the part where you pull each loop away from each other to tighten the laces. One loop kept slipping. At one point, she got so frustrated she exclaimed, "She's eight and she can sing in German and I can't even tie my shoes!"
I thought she was going to throw the shoe across the room. Like me, she has a horrible temper. Her frustration level gets so high she just lashes out. Last week, she threw the XBOX controller across the room which led to her weekend-long banishment from the console. On Sunday, she asked if she may be allowed to end her punishment a day early and play with the XBOX. I explained that the controllers were $50 a piece and that she was more than welcome to end her punishment a day early in lieu of a $50 spanking. Confused by the word "lieu" and terrified of a spanking worth $50 - whatever that means - she shook her head and went upstairs to read a Juni B. Jones book.
So, where was I? Oh yeah, I sat on the floor with her and we each took a shoe (new dress shoes purchased on Friday for the annual Father/Daughter dance which I would post pictures of if the internet wasn't full of scuzzy pervs because my daughter and my husband both looked dashing... did I really just say dashing?) and practiced tying until she got it right.
As we did, I explained to her that she shouldn't be jealous of those children on Oprah because they were all most likely late in life children whose mothers had to take all kinds of fertility drugs just to get pregnant, which also means that their genius is really some kind of disability which means they will be smart and accomplished, sure, but they will also suffer from social inadequacies and remain virgins well into their thirties. Meanwhile, she earned her brains the old fashioned way: through her brilliant mother and hard work. And she too will grow up to be smart and accomplished, albeit with sloppily tied shoes, but accomplished nonetheless.
Scary Dream
February 26, 2007
I had a dream last night that Donny finally snapped. We were arguing over some stuff he found and right in the middle of the argument he broke down. I could see the moment it happened. His eyes watered, his shoulders slumped, and then he pulled out a knife - a big ass, Michael Meyer's knife from thin air. I started backing up and reached for the phone. He didn't even care. And I knew I was in trouble. A sane person, once seeing you're calling the cops, would put the knife down.
"Ok, ok, ok, I was just playing. I'm putting it down. Put down the phone. We can just talk." But someone who has officially gone White Boy Crazy doesn't give a shit if you call the cops or not because he knows by the time they arrive everyone will be dead.
You know how dreams skip around? Well, the next thing I know he's showing me all the stuff he found that made him snap... while still holding the knife: a piece of paper that had some doodling on it by me and two male coworkers, made during a very boring staff meeting. Some pictures of me in a skimpy dress taken on the back deck of his mother's house - pictures he took mind you - and a myriad of other things that all had logical explanations behind them.
I remember thinking, "I'm going to be murdered over a misunderstanding!"
This all stems from the fact that I felt guilty last night. We watched the Oscars, showered, and got in bed around 1am. He had to get up at 4:30am and I was dead tired. We fell asleep holding hands, but I know he was thinking, "Screw this hand holding shit, let me put my penis in you!" I was too tired, people!
I feel really bad because this weekend he painted the family room. The only room left on the fir
st floor that we hadn't painted. And I did nothing. So, tonight I'm going to make sure to give him some because I really don't want to have anymore dreams like that. It was freaky.
Black Circus
February 27, 2007
Did you guys know that Black people have their own circus? We do. It's called the Universoul Circus. Get it? Universal. Soul. Black people have rhythm, and everyone else... doesn't. I don't know. Anyway, my parents took Kali there two weekends ago with some other family members. Donny and I didn't go because Donny had to work, and I'm not really sure why I didn't go. Oh yeah, I hate leaving the house, and I don't like animals, crowds, or people in general.
So, before they go I tell my sister, "Don't let any elephants trample my baby." She assures me she'll do her best to avoid an elephant stampede. A few hours later she calls me from the parking lot. It seems my nephew wasn't enjoying his first trip to the circus so she took him outside for some air and a break.
"You should have come for the blog material alone."
"Why? Is it horrible?"
"It's just… black."
I crack up laughing. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"There are no lions and elephants here. Kali is sitting there looking mildly amused. She only seemed to get interested when one of the guys doing a high wire act almost fell."
That's my baby. She digs carnage.
I guess things livened up after the phone call because Kali came home gushing about how much fun she had. My father told me the next day that the finale included three elephants in wigs called The DreamGirls. The audience was encouraged to guess which were Beyonce, Jennifer Hudson, and the third girl no one pays attention to. My father said as one elephant passed, their eyes met and he saw the shame of years of humiliation.
"Are they real Grandpa?” Kali asked, slightly frightened.
He assured her they were real, but also reassured her that Grandpa knew where all the exits were in case today was the day the elephants snapped at having to wear wigs and sequins, and that although he didn't know how many nine millimeter slugs it would take to stop an elephant, he had enough on him to find out. That's how Grandpa rolls.
My Weekend as a Single Mom
March 12, 2007
Whenever Donny goes out of town I get a small taste of what it would be like as a single Mom. I say small taste because as a single Mom I doubt I would be able to afford a five bedroom house in the 'burbs, two cars, and an Xbox 360, but it's nice to pretend. Let's all just play along, shall we?
Donny left on a Thursday in the hopes that he'd get to Michigan in time to see his Grandmother before she passed. The doctors had sent her home the day before with the warning, "It could be days, it could be hours." Unfortunately, she died that morning while he was in the air on the way to Chicago. He called me at 1:30 in the afternoon as he waited for the flight to Michigan to board.
“I have nothing to do. This is a nice airport.”
“Call James and tell him to come hang out with you.”
James is a friend of mine who lives in Chicago. You may have seen him on two seasons of the CBS reality show, Big Brother.
“He'd only come hang out with me if you were here.”
“That's because I'm awesome.”
“I can always go see Oprah.”
“Asshole.”
I worship at the church of Oprah.
Thirty minutes later he calls me with the news. I felt so horrible for him. Let me tell you, my maternal Grandmother is 80 and I adore her. If when I got the news that she died I was in an airport in a strange city surrounded by strangers, Homeland Security would detain my ass with the quickness. Why? Because I'd act a damn fool, that’s why. Fortunately for all involved my husband isn't as prone to theatrics as I am, and composed himself long enough to board the flight to Michigan.
Friday, I put Kali on the bus and spent the day watching movies (something I'm sure a single mother wouldn't be able to do, but we're pretending remember?) I watched The Departed and after dinner and putting Kali to bed, I watched The Prestige. I highly recommend them both.
Saturday, I woke up early and worked out on the elliptical while watching Charmed. Shannon Doherty died and I cried. A lot. So much so that I totally understand the judgmental snickering going on as you read this. I don't care. I made breakfast for me and Kali, and then we went to Blockbuster Video.
"Can I sit in the front seat, pleeease?"
For some odd reason, whenever Donny is out of town, besides getting a taste of what it would be like to raise a child alone, I also have this inexplicable habit of spoiling Kali. So, I said yes. I know, I know. I wasn't thinking.
Off we go and Kali is full of questions. She wanted to know what every light, needle, lever, button, and pedal in the car meant. Sadly, I could only answer a few of them. She points to the emergency brake.
"What's this?"
"If the brakes on the car don't work, I think I'm supposed to pull that, and hopefully we'll stop. You also use it if you park on a hill. I think it ensures the car won't slide."
"What happens if those brakes with your foot don't work and this one doesn't work?"
"Then we're fucked… but don't say that cause it's a bad word."
Silence.
"We're doomed. You should have said we're doomed, Mommy."
Little did I know, and I found out this morning, that the airbags could possibly break my poor baby's neck and that's why children under thirteen aren't allowed in the front seat. Great, just great.
We stop at Wal-Mart for groceries and Charmed season 4 DVD because I simply had to know how the Halliwell sisters dealt with the loss of their beloved Prue. Kali asks about eating in a restaurant that night.
"No, because I spent more money than I wanted to today. I bought that Charmed DVD set and..."
"Daddy will be mad?"
"Well, not really."
"Because it’s his money?"
"Technically, yes, but it's really our money because we're married."
"So, you're going to tell him?"
"Well, no. I'm going to put it with all our other DVDs and see if he notices. If he doesn't...."
"You're so sneaky," she said in a voice tinged with awe.
Are you keeping count?
Endangering the life of a minor? Check.
Used foul language in front of minor? Check.
Taught said minor how to lie and deceive? Check.
So, I'm realizing by last night that this single mother business is kinda hard. I'm loading and unloading the dishwasher, doing all the laundry, taking out the trash, checking the mail, paying bills, cleaning, cooking, bathing the child, etc. No wonder I'm normally so lazy. Donny is here to do all this stuff for me, or at least help with the majority of it. In actuality, it's his fault I'm this way. Ok, so I realize that makes no sense, but it makes me feel better about myself and less ashamed. I've cooked more since he's been gone than when he's here. I can tell he's noticed as evident by the long pauses after I tell him how I've spent my day.
"I cleaned up, did some laundry, made lunch, now I'm studying before I make dinner."
Through the phone lines I can hear the gears in his head spin as he tries to figure out a way to get me to do this shit when he's home. Either that or he's contemplating whether or not the family can stand two funerals in two weeks as he surely wants to choke my ass by now. I don't know what's gotten into me! Friday night I made Ginger Teriyaki marinated chicken with stir fry veggies. Last night I bought a rotisserie chicken, made pasta with a light cream sauce and steamed broccoli. Kali wanted no parts of that so I made her a Kid Cuisine that came with the one food that she loves and I cannot stand: The corn dog.
I hate corn dogs. I despise everything about them and why I buy them for my child is beyond me. As I put it in the microwave, I hold the stick between my index finger and my thumb and scrunch up my nose. You would think I was holding a rat. Kali just shakes her head.
"Why do you hate them so much? You like hot dogs. You like corn. You sh
ould like corn dogs! Give me two good reasons why you don't like them."
"The way they look and the way they smell."
"Ok, give me five good reasons."
What a little smartass.
Yesterday was the funeral and it was hard on everyone. Donny's grandparents were married for fifty-four years. They did everything together. My heart breaks for his Grandfather. My mother-in-law called to ask if I would listen to what she wrote to read at the funeral. Somehow or another I have a reputation for being good with words. This was one time I wished it weren't true. Or at least that people didn't think it. I listened to my mother-in-law talk about her mother and she broke down several times as she read. She cried, I cried, and I told her it was perfect the way it was. I wouldn't change a word. It really was perfect.
Today, my husband went to his father's grave. He hasn't been to Michigan in years and I'm sure it was emotional. I haven't been able to reach him to find out though. I called his mother's cell phone when he didn't answer his and was told he was at a relative’s house partaking of a little target practice. That did not make me happy. I don't know that Donny's ever shot a gun in his life. I don't need him coming home with any new White Boy Crazy skills.
So, now I'm tired from a day of cleaning, studying, washing and folding clothes, reading with Kali, playing with Kali, and cooking. She's bathed and in her bed probably watching T.V when she should be sleeping. I'm going to lock up the house, set the alarm, shower and put Kali into bed with me with the door locked, weapons near, and phone tucked under the pillow.