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Because this post concerns dating and such, I'm putting it below the cut so those related to me can make a conscious decision whether or not to read on. If you choose to read on, you will find out things about me you will wish you could un-know immediately. Don't blame me. I warned you. And for heaven's sake don't ever try to talk to me about it. I don't want to know what you think about my online dating profile.
Okay? Onward.
Naomi's first barbie dresses were made from socks. Two slits in the sides for the arms and lop off the bottom and voila! a cap-sleeved, boatnecked barbie uniform of various colors and lengths! Sometimes the heel of the sock would actually match up with the butt of the doll, created a bustled look. This phase is long passed (she started to mine the good sock pile for dresses and the scissors became used in other ways), and I regret that I didn't get a picture.
After socks she moved to something flashier: tinfoil.
This is one of Naomi's tinfoil creations. She's actually kind of over it now, and I had to beg her to make this one. At the peak of her tinfoil fervor each outfit had accessories: gloves, shoes, necklaces, rings, multiple "hair flowers". It really is impressive what she can do with tin. But "going out dancing", which is what the barbies did in their silver dresses, is no longer exciting enough for Naomi. Now they need to be brides.
Lately she's been all about baby wipes. They are white, which is perfect for her wedding obsession. Every barbie is marrying somebody. All her dolls ever do is marry each other, it seems.
"There's more to life to getting married" I always say.
"I know! [eye roll] But she's getting maaaaaarried! It has to be perfect!" (duh, mom).
I don't know where she learned this. It certainly wasn't from me. I blame Disney.
Anyway.
Here's her latest: she juxtaposes the burka-like modesty of the veil and blusher with a slinky fitted strapless gown that showcases Rapunzel Barbie's impossibly long legs, and with a modern splash of color, she ties the look together with a neon orange sash.
I have to tell you, she worked for hours to get the headdress just right.
This site has made me feel a little better.
It reminds me of this bulletin board I used to frequent back before I have Naomi. It was the Debate Board at ParentsPlace.com. Usually is was competitive bickering and Mommy Wars stuff.
But once someone got so fed up with the infighting that she posted a thread called "Mommy Prison Rodeo" where everyone got to post anonymously about their worst moments as a mother.
The thread went on for pages. Even I felt better, and I wasn't even a mommy yet.
Have you heard about this? I can't stop thinking about it. Twice the size of Texas! What I don't understand is how something like this could be sitting in the middle of the Pacific and no one knows or cares.
You know what else I don't understand? Why Sunday night is always such a terrible night for sleeping. Good sleep on a Sunday is crucial to getting the week off to a good start. But Sunday is also transition day, so the girls are exhausted and suffering from some kind of Daddy hangover.
They collapse into sleep early but then one wakes in the middle of the night. Usually it's Naomi, because she's always been a terrible sleeper and she'll always be a terrible sleeper. So she woke up around midnight and Miriam followed shorty after.
Because my bed is a bit more crowded some nights I have set up a kind of makeshift trundle bed for when nightmares attack. Usually this is fine, a movie and a glass of water is enough, until they start pushing and fight for bed space and then Miriam comes up and pours water on my head or screams directly into my eardrum just as I am drifting off to sleep again.
That went on last night until the sky began to lighten. The moment I realized they were both asleep, no one was going to scream or jump on my head or decide my aching back might be a good place for a wild pony ride, I let out a huge sigh and melted blissfully into sleep. I got a whole hour.
So I'm tired, cranky, and my back hurts and I feel terribly, terribly guilty. I'm thinking a little preemptive benadryl on Sunday nights might not be a bad idea, a week off to suck a bad start isn't good for anyone.
I'm also pretty sure than I'm not cut out for the job of being the caretaker of young children. Some of the things I said last night were unforgivable.
I love this picture.
That is all.
once upon a time, i used to digest several books a week. good books, bad books, everthing from r.l. stine to jane austen. i had a rating system, 10 being something so trashy i could barely cop to reading it (v.c. andrews, anyone?) and 1 being so culturally relevant and groundbreaking and Important as to make it almost indigestible without intellectual Tums in the form of a snotty literature professor.
i miss that total immersion into imaginary worlds. i miss the spark it triggered in me to create my own worlds, or at least to chronicle the worlds that i spend most of my waking life thinking about (you know, the worlds that aren't this one).
a few weeks ago i borrowed "rapture of canaan", which is about a 5 on the junk-o-meter. given that i'm out of practice (i haven't read a work of fiction from start to finish since the last harry potter book came out) i expected to lose interest or fall asleep quickly, thus breaking the stride and adding the book to that pile of books i'm going to get around to reading. which isn't so much a physical pile but a vague list of lost books in my head.
imagine my surprise when i tore through it in a few hours. like i'd never taken years' hiatus from reading. it felt great, like the first warm spring day after a long cold winter. my neglected neurons stretched their dendrites in the sun.
so today i'm wandering around the bookstore drinking my coffee with miriam pacified in the stroller with a soft pretzel, and i decide to buy the first book that catches my eye. the junkier the better.
the cover of "darkly dreaming dexter" has the black/white/red color combination that reminds me of my childhood bedroom, the name "dexter" when we briefly considered for naomi if she was a boy, and something corpse-like. so i pick it up. and actually purchase it (that might be the most shocking thing of all).
i made my way home navigating a city sidewalk, simultaneously steering the stroller one handed and reading the gruesome details of a serial killer's nights.
this is the life ;)
i tried to resist facebook. i really did. just like i tried to resist myspace (not like you could tell now, but i totally did). like, "i have my own domain! more than one! why would i need a myspace page?"
well.
i signed up for facebook a long time ago almost by accident. am i the only one who absentmindedly follows buttons until they've clicked their way into a private forum or public humiliation? i hope not.
anyway. facebook frightened me away at first with all the poking and notifications and it seemed so naked, it made me use my last name and it seemed like i couldn't even visit someone's page without my cousin's best friend and my highschool boyfriend being notified. "how am i going to stalk people? get me out of here!"
and then scrabulous lured me back inside, and oregon trail locked the door behind me (high school apple II e flashback! woot!). i've downloaded embarrassing apps like "what color is you aura?" and "what's 1950's pinup are you?" the kinds of things that you can't just do privately, you have to tell your friends you were dumb enough to take the test before it will give you your results. but you can't resist.
i added facebook mobile ("updates on my cell phone? why not?"). i'm not sure how it works. i thought i'd get notified when i've been poked, but so far not. oddly enough, the only thing that's happened so far is that yesterday i got three twitter-style status updates in a row from one person, all worded slightly differently. it left me wondering. "well, did you join a cult or didn't you?"
speaking of twitter, to those of you "following" me there, i am currently in my resistance phase to the crack of social networking sites. i'm sure i'll break down eventually and you'll begin to get twitterings from me in the middle of the day and night: "kateri is catastrophising about tumors. again." or- "kateri is digging for something she needs and will know what it is when she finds it." or- "kateri is very inspired by reading "Armageddon In Retrospect" but finds the images of war too disturbing to read at night". be forewarned.
