Bits and bytes.

Kiddle: "Mommy, get off my computer!"
Me: "Excuse me? It's MY computer. I just let you use it."
Kiddle: "NO, Mommy. That's MY computer. YOU. GET. OUT. OF. THERE."

Wow. Needless to say, I did not get out of there.

***

We're not going to make it to Oklahoma for Christmas this year, so my mom ordered some gifts for the boys. You know, ON THE COMPUTER. She managed to get Kiddle's Imaginext Gorilla Mountain ordered from Walmart with only one phone call to me. Pretty good so far. But then she emailed me that when she ordered a puzzle from Amazon for Kiddle, she accidentally ordered TWO. Seriously. How does one do that? I can see missing the "2" in the quantity box, but it seems like the total cost should have tipped her off. God bless her.

It does make me wonder what technology will be in place in 20-30 years that stumps me to the point of driving Kiddle and Bigga crazy. I just try to keep that in mind whenever my mom is gearing up to place some orders. Patience ... patience.

***

Several years ago — you know, when I had a real job and was paid to be on the computer excessively — my right wrist was bothering me to the point that I had to switch my mouse over to the left side. And LIKED it. I could still write with my right hand and manipulate a document with the left, or, even more importantly, eat my lunch and surf around online. That practice was carried over to home and continues to this day, much to the annoyance of Mr. P anytime he tries to hop on my computer for a quick look at something.

But I decided to sacrifice my convenience for the kiddo. You see, he's got GREAT gross motor skills and pretty good fine motor skills. Or so I thought. Apparently school doesn't think so, simply because he can't draw a circle or use scissors very well. But he doesn't like to do those things so I hadn't pushed him too hard in the artsy-craftsy fields. What he does like to do is while away his time on the computer, which certainly requires a bit of fine motor coordination. He gets lots of practice — with his LEFT hand. And he's a righty. Whoops.

So I've officially switched back to a right-handed mouse. I know, I know, what a wonderful mom I am, giving up my ability to eat a sandwich while keeping myself updated on my Facebook friends' minutiae and all. And hopefully I'll find the sacrifice was worth it when Kiddle's school notebook is full of perfect circles, expertly cut out snowflakes, and in-the-lines colouring.

That is not a handle!

I'm so tired of Bigga using my ponytail as a handle and all the pulling and grabbing of my hair in general. I mean I'm REALLY tired of it. To the point that I don't like to pick him up right now and I have to carry him facing away from me. I swear his first words will be, "Let go. Let GO! LET GO!!!"

I told Mr. P that one of these days I'm going to chuck him across the room in frustration ... but unfortunately he'll be attached to my head, so that won't work. I'd just end up tossing myself with him.

At least he hasn't discovered my earrings ... so far. But I'm sure that the day he realizes they're there will be the day I lose an ear.

Don't push ...

I'm a woman on the edge.

We'd been talking about Mr. P going to Dallas with some buddies in December. Kind of a belated birthday celebration, I suppose. And I truly want to him to go and have fun. After all, it's not his fault I'm tethered to a nursing baby ... but I also resent the hell out of him for it. Especially when I found out he'd booked the trip — and it's Friday to MONDAY. I said, "Great, but you owe me big time for this." And he, Mr. Funny, said, "Huh-uh. You had your trip booked and didn't go. You missed your chance."

Oh, you mean the to-DC-and-back-in-one-day trip I had planned — TAKING BIGGA BIT WITH ME — that I had to cancel because Bigga cracked his skull and couldn't fly? Because I was worried I didn't have enough milk pumped and didn't want to strand you with a screaming, hungry baby? AND because I was sick? THAT trip?!

His attempt at levity was met with a silence so cold I'm surprised he didn't shiver. That's right. I'm so close to losing it, my sense of humor already packed its bags and left. Well, I guess he finally realized just how fragile my remaining sanity is, because he leapt into action and planned an afternoon of pampering at a spa in the city with my dear friend. A head-to-toe package with a massage, facial, manicure and pedicure. AND dinner. AND I'm spending the night at her place.

He even got me a sweet card, created a little certificate explaining the plan and slipped the card in with the mail. But naturally I just grabbed the usual pile of catalogs and junk out of the mailbox and chucked it all on the entryway table. "Anything good in the mail?" he said. "Oh, I don't know," I replied, dashing his hopes of an extra bit of surprise. "I didn't look through it."

Other than running errands on Fridays when I have a babysitter, I can literally count the hours — if it even adds up to hours — I've had to myself in the last six months. So I'm really looking forward to a bit of me-time. In all honesty, it won't fix what ails me. I'm so tired and disorganized and uninspired, and I know that in the end it's really up to me to get myself out of this funk. But a day at the spa ain't a bad way to start.

Mommy the Sailor

Well, it's official. I have to start watching my mouth around Kiddle.

I know that I've been saying that for a while. And I've eliminated (ok, maybe just cut back) on the really offensive bad words around Kiddle. But I'm not that careful about things like "damn," "crap" and a well-timed "JEEES-US CHRIST!" But no more, no more. I really have to stop.

We went to Queens today for Thanksgiving dinner with Mr. P's family. (Now THAT is a place to learn some colourful language!) Nothing interesting to report — except that on the way there, we passed a minor car accident. A Mercedes had rear-ended a BMW and the two drivers were standing in front of the cars, assessing the damage. I let out a little laugh as I drove past and said, "A BMW and a Mercedes? I guess those guys will have to dick it out." And what do I immediately hear from the back seat? A sweet little echo saying, "Dick it out!"

Whoops! Yep, it's official.

Six Month Checkup, Part I

Bigga's six-month checkup was today ... but nothing to report. Just as we got started, the office received a call that the gas station next to the building was on fire and we had to evacuate. So I grabbed all our stuff, hoisted my half-naked baby under my arm and dashed out the back door. And this is what we found:

Damn! They weren't kidding. I'll admit it was hard to make my nosy self actually leave the scene, but I figured my super-cautious pediatrician wouldn't approve of me standing around with a baby next to a gas station fire, especially with all the mini-explosions we could hear. And even I knew it wouldn't be a good scene if the pumps and tanks went up too, so I snapped a quick pic and got us out of there lickety-split.

The crazy thing is that I was planning to go to that station next to get my leaky tire fixed. And, as Mr. P pointed out, thank goodness I didn't leave my car there and just walk over to the appointment. I would definitely be sans car. Disorganization wins out in this case because I thought Bigga's appointment was at 10:30, but it was actually at 10:00 so I didn't have time to get there early.

And maybe it was a good thing after all that the doctor didn't get a good look at my kid today. First of all, he was DIRTY. I won't actually admit to how long it's been since he's had a bath. And, unbeknownst to me, he must have pooped just after he woke up this morning. I didn't realize it until I got Kiddle out the door to school, so by the time I changed him, his butt was looking a bit red and ugly. Plus, his ears needed to be q-tipped desperately. Fortunately for him, he doesn't seem to have inherited Mr. P's nasty ear wax (like Kiddle did), but his ears were looking pretty gross. And, to top it all off, I trimmed his nails the other day and obviously shaped one of his big toenails into a tiny little dagger. He has long red scratches all over the back of one leg. So he wasn't exactly the best example of maternal care today. Sorry Bigga Bit!

Half of that's been remedied (bath, ear cleaning). Still need to fix his toe, but at least he's clean. I'm starting to think he won't be as blond as Kiddle, but it was hard to tell with all that oil and grime. But even post-bath, I still think that. Only time will tell.