Dear Coffee,

I just wanted to let you know that I love you. You are always there for me, sweet and dark and awake. You help me handle a very alert little person when I am stumbling around with eye boogers intact and sense of humor still slumbering upstairs with it's head under the pillows.
You gurgle cheerfully as you are being born, you steam invitingly when transitioning from the pot to the cup, you look that perfect shade of beige after I add cream and sugar to you (although you aren't as sweet and tasty with just milk, I'm afraid, one thing you need to work on). After a few sips I find myself once again capable of speech, sometimes able to string even 5 or 6 words together at a time maybe even occasionally cracking a weak joke. I don't know what I would do without you in my life Coffee - sometimes when I'm not paying attention I run out of you, and then I have to make do with some other form of caffeine and I just want you to know that I never ever stop thinking of you.

I am having trouble breaking into the

mommy club around here. Mothers are hard to meet. For me it's harder to make friends with a mother than it was to ask a guy out on a date. Sweaty palms, fluttering heart, inappropriate comments coming out of my mouth - all signs of nervousness. But I gotta do it.
Do any of my friends want to hear about Alex's latest tooth, or give me advice about how to handle eating problems? Nope, not at all. And do I really want to hear about the latest drunken escapades? No, not really - it's hard hanging on to friends when you have moved into a different place emotionally. Not to mention that now that I live in Ipswich I might as well live in Kansas for the amount of visits I get from friends - not that I was ever Ms. Popularity, now that I think about it. Oh, I get the obligatory once a week phone call that usually occurs as I am putting Alex down for a nap so I don't get to the phone, and then I can hear 'you never answer your phone' - right. Cause it is ringing off the hook, folks.
How deep are my friendships? When you tell a friend about something scary that is happening in your life, don't you expect them to check back in with you, find out how you are doing? That is what I would think, anyway. When I was part of an online mother's forum, those ladies that I had never met in person knew more about me and my life than friends that I have had for 10 years.
So I guess when you get married and have a kid, you really begin to understand the levels of friendship that were not apparent before. There are people who are truly interested whether or not they can relate personally, those who pretend to be interested but at least make the effort to pretend, and those that pretend that nothing's changed.
Don't get me wrong, I know we're all busy, working, going out, whatever - but a true friend takes the time to follow up. This could also be said to me - but I really only give what I get these days. And I suppose that isn't much in either direction.
Whatever - I'm lonely, and I have nobody to talk to. It's too hot to play outside.

Ways to make a toddler mad

that you might not have thought about:
1. draw smiley faces on the bottom of his feet - apparently the bottoms of your feet aren't that easy to see. oops.
2. draw a smiley face on his butt - he can feel it, but definitely can't see it. again, oops - btw, we were coloring tonight and he was hogging the paper.
3. bungee-cord something open that he usually gets great enjoyment out of slamming shut repeatedly
4. take one of his shoes off and then get distracted and forget about the other one.
5. get his blankie out of the crib for him and leave it on the counter by mistake.

Poor Alex... in my defense though if the kid would just learn to speak many of these would not be issues.

I love kits and packages and

compartments. I love airplane food - not for the taste, obviously, but for the neatly packaged meal. I bought these plastic plates like you'd get at a cafeteria, the ones w/ the different sections? I bought them to use for Alex, but I use them at every meal. I LOVE them, I love seeing my food all nicely separated and laid out in a grid for me. I love frozen dinners - again not the taste, I've yet to discover one that doesn't taste like the box it came in - but they're just so cute and neat.
I also love coloring books, and paint-by-number things. I find blank paper daunting when it comes to creating. I love filling out paperwork, and checking boxes and 'initial here'ing.
I love word searches - only not the hard ones with backwards words, my brain doesn't work that way - and I love putting little things together. I must say though that I have also developed a skill for starting projects and not finishing them, so the putting things together I try to avoid unless Glenn is home to finish the job when I get either bored or frustrated, and one or the other is sure to happen sooner or later.
I think you can all get a good mental picture of what kind of old lady I'll be... one of those ones who has to be rescued from her piles of shoe boxes and empty egg crates b/c she can't get out of her kitchen.

My mum

made me a family of cabbage patch dolls when I was 7 years old. Sewing not being one of my mother's strong suits, these dolls - especially the first doll she made, Cecelia - were kind of funny looking - but I loved those dolls. I still do, in fact - they're in my bedroom. Cecelia, Margie, Katie Baby, Emily, Mark, Julie & Gary (the preemie twins) - she made me a little doll family, and on Christmas morning I came down to the living room and it was set up like a nursery, with each dolly in it's own bed and each w/ birth certificates - it was the best Christmas ever. Margie had a face made out of nylon, and eventually her face got a run in it. So Mum set up our kitchen like an operating room, with toilet paper tubes for IVs and surgical masks and everything, and we operated on Margie and gave her a brand new pale pink face, she was so pretty. My mum would sing me lullabyes every single night, until I was about 12 - yes, I was a strange kid - and she understood my neediness but didn't let it overcome me. When I was a horrible, nasty, asshole teenager and said something mean to her she sang 'I don't like you, but I love you... seems like I'm always thinking of you...' you know that song? It's an oldie - anyway, it was the perfect thing at the perfect moment that made me just stop and remember who I was, and who she was. (it only lasted a minute I'm sure, and then teenageriness overtook me again) When my mum went to field camp for a few weeks when I was young I would sleep with her sneakers (???) in my bed, wearing her t-shirt every night.
When I was 19 she stayed up all night with me while I cried when my boyfriend, my first love - that she hated - broke up with me and I thought my heart was broken. She has been a constant source of support and love and wisdom and humor and strength my whole life, if I am a good mother - a good person - at all it is because of her and all she has given me emotionally.
To have the shadow of a possibility cross in front of my sunshine mother is a hard thing, one we all go through eventually as we get older - but one that I am not remotely prepared to face, and hope with all my heart I don't have to. I don't know how to be a person without my parents, both of them.

Neighbor fireworks

SUCK. I wish these assholes would stop this baby-waking shit and go to bed. So what if it's only 10:25 on a Friday night? I have a toddler that I would like very much to sleep through the night, so take your damn stupid noisy ass fireworks and shove them up your butts. They aren't pretty or sparkly or colorful, they are just fucking noisy. What fun is that??
The fourth of July is like New Year's Eve. I always have great expectations for it, I think I'm going to do all sorts of fun things and really enjoy myself and instead pretty much the opposite happens. Stupid holiday... stupid neighbors. Stupid explosive noisy things.

Our neighborhood

seems to be in a constant state of construction. We live on a fairly quiet street in a very small town, so you'd think that sitting outside would be an enjoyable experience. Right now I am listening to no less than 5 different types of power tools, a lawnmower, a leaf blower, and a fucking annoying barking dog that is going to take a dirt nap if he doesn't shut the fuck up soon. It sucks. I can smell paint or stain or something, the old man w/ the yard bordering ours is out watching his son mow the lawn and bellowing instructions at him, the dudes working on the house across the street are chattering to each other in a language I don't understand - but somehow it all sounds crude and vulgar - and the mean gray cat next door is yowling.
See people? This is why I was inside, minding my own business.
There are 2 houses across the street from us, multi-families - the Dirt Houses, we call them. The people who live there are always ALWAYS outside on the front stoop, smoking, drinking cheap beer out of cans, and throwing some sort of ball around in the street, shirtless, barefoot, and dirty. The guy who lives there that is seriously always out there has been shirtless and barefoot since March, no joke. Seems like a nice enough guy, I suppose... but don't they have to go to work at some point?
Anyway, it's strange - the rest of the neighborhood is nice and well kept and tidy, until you come to the Dirt Houses. Apparently in the eighties the 2 houses were occupied by Hells Angels, and the cops refused to come up to this neighborhood b/c it was too dangerous. This is coming from the Dirt Grandmother though, so who knows how true it is - she was well into her third paper bag when the story was told so it may be a bit embelished.
What a boring blog. Sorry.

I am so lazy.

I can hear Alex in the office doing something that involves ripping and squeals of delight, and am I getting up to see what he's doing? No. Instead I am watching Elmo.
What is wrong with this picture? So many things...
It's hot out, so I am using that as an excuse. I hate the heat. I don't care that a few short months ago I was complaining about the cold, it really doesn't matter - I will complain about absolutely anything and everything. It's a hobby, almost an occupation. I can complain for you, if you let me know what needs complaining about.
Uh-oh, now I hear the sounds of rage... I don't hear tears yet, should I get up? Oh there he is. All is well.
I don't like seeing Elmo's feet, they freak me out - you don't usually see Elmo's feet, just his upper body. And that is how it should be - oh God, there's Elmo w/ no clothes on, and his legs look like red furry chicken legs. Creepy.

What is it about Elmo?

Why do kids go nuts for this redheaded monster? I don't get it. And why the hell does Elmo refer to himself in the third person? Elmo is an egocentric little bastard, according to my husband. I responded to that statement by saying that children in general are egocentric little bastards, so they must be able to relate to him well.
Anyway, Elmo - yeah, he is annoying as hell. BUT he he sure is a lifesaver when you have a grouchy kid. Alex can be tossing himself on the floor, kicking his feet, being a nasty little specimen and if he hears that squeaky voice he'll freeze and then race to the source eyes wide and smiling.
We went to a strawberry festival this weekend, and Elmo was there - well, not the real Elmo, I'm assuming he isn't as tall, and probably talks more than this one did - and Alex was HORRIFIED. I mean, clawing at our legs to be picked up, eyes wide, mouth open - apparently Elmo has his place in Alex's reality, and that place is 2 dimensional and surrounded by black plastic.
Can you imagine how freaky that must be for kids, to see these characters from tv out and about? Personally I am not a fan of people in costume, even Santa - it's just not right. Some things belong only in my imagination, assisted by electronics - when those lines are blurred all hell could break loose. One day I could be walking along minding my own business and suddenly see a gigantic man-sized purple teddy bear covered in spikes, smoking a cigarette sitting on the front steps and swearing at me or something - you never know where it stops.
Okay, I've gotten off track here... what was I talking about? What a bunch of nonsense.

Kids and dogs

do all kids enjoy animal torture, or is mine a budding serial killer? I just caught a glimpse of him running after the dog w/ a toy golf club in his hand, swinging maniacally and laughing with glee.
Poor Scout jumps when the wind blows now... Alex seems to really enjoy the feel of Scout's flesh being twisted in his hands, and his ears - oh so tuggable. Scout is a good dog - he takes it, for the most part, with a doggy smile, content to receive any kind of attention - even abuse.
Of course Scout is always where Alex is, and vice versa - I think Scout just trails the baby waiting for random snacks, and Alex thinks Scout is just the best thing ever. A stress reliever, a toy, a friend, all in one compact little furry body. How great is that?
Probably 2 or 3 times a day we have to separate them, let Scout go decompress somewhere like a veteran returning from a war, one where attacks are swift and come out of the blue and are delivered via unexpected and imaginative items. A roll of toilet paper - would you think that could be a weapon? Well it can. Just ask Scout. Hand to hand combat is hard when you don't have thumbs, so Scout is just screwed all around.
If I want Alex to leave someplace he doesn't feel like leaving, all I have to say is 'do you want to go see your doggy?' and he'll leave willingly. If he's cranky waking up from a nap I can bring Scoutie in his room with me and there's a smile.
And seriously - my hoover has nothing on Scout. What fabulous, previously undiscovered cleaning skills this dog has.
We love our doggy.

Packing to leave the house

I am a serious over-packer. Like, bad. We could be going to the supermarket and I'll bring food and clothing and entertainment for 2 days, minimum. When we go up to my parents for the day I bring this massive bag that I got from LL Bean - easily the biggest bag I've ever seen - and it is crammed full of things. Now this isn't all Alex's fault. I like to blame it on him, but I've always been this way.
We're going away for a week at the beginning of August - mind you, it's still 5 weeks away - and I've already started my list. There are things I want to buy - hang on, I just remembered something else - things I want to not use until then, things I need to order, you get the idea... we're going to need to rent a u-haul to go. We'll need to rent a trailer for Glenn's books alone, then you add mine, Alex's...
oh, and Scout can't come with us. So I'll need to pack his bags too, so he can go stay with auntie for the week. It'll be a nice vacation for him too.
Back to my list... I love lists.

I had a request

from a friend to discuss what an asshole fat-free dressing is. Until she pointed it out, I had never given it a lot of thought - but since my friend's diet consists largely of these big huge obscene salads covered in everything you could ever dream of on a salad (which, coincidentally, renders said salad completely unhealthy and in fact quite fattening), I consider her something of an expert.
Fat-free salad dressing: you are a mother fucker. You tout yourself as a tasty, more healthy version of your cholesterol and saturated fat laden cousin when in fact you are a shadow of flavor, a sort of salad glaze rather than a proper dressing. I think the worst offender may be bleu cheese - fat free bleu cheese is certainly a joke played on us health-conscious consumers, perpetrated by advertising assholes who realize that the majority of us are willing to buy into the myth.
Fuck you fat free dressing, I hate you. Don't waste my time.
And for that matter, I'm all set with sugar free candy too - that is some bullshit if I've ever seen bullshit.

WTF

Somebody recently asked me how often I vacuum the inside of my couch. What the fuck? Why would I do something asinine like that? If NOTHING else, that is my go-to place for change and pens. Where would I store my quarters and barrettes and small toys? And why the hell would I waste precious time out of my life vacuuming something that never ever sees the light of day?
Now, don't get me wrong - I'm not a total slob. I'm maybe 35% slob. (which has decreased from like 60% slob 4 years ago) But seriously, what a colossal waste of time. That, in my mind, is akin to washing walls (walls - why??) on a regular basis, or cleaning underneath my obnoxiously heavy couch.
I should also mention that my son has a pathological fear of the vacuum cleaner, and my dog is convinced it is something that needs to be torn to bloody shreds of rubber and plastic. It's really a big ordeal that involves getting everyone out of the house to avoid major trauma.
I can live with 35% slob - if you can't, then don't come to my house. But look at it this way: I am spending 25% more of my time doing other, less menial things than a 10%-er. I have more fun than really clean people, in other words.

By the way,

not all crayola markers have washable ink.
Just thought I'd share that.

Monday - BAHHHHH

Why do Mondays suck so bad? They suck almost as bad as Sundays. I hate Sundays too - they're depressing, and I can't figure out why. Last night I was ready for the weekend to be over by dinner time, ready for my week to start. That doesn't make any sense to me. I can't seem to enjoy myself in the moment, I'm always thinking - whether it's dread or excitment - about what is coming. Such a waste.
Anyway, today Alex and I are going to walk to the supermarket and I have decided I am going to perfect making Chicken Marsala this week. If I have to make this shit 5 times, I am going to - I need a specialty. We'll probaby go and check out the cool kids fountain at Bradley Palmer later on, I want to organize our bedroom today... in other words, I'm not really doing anything today.
I had a dream the other night that I had graduated from Veterinary School and gotten a job I was really excited about, and I woke up bummed out. It's odd little glimpses into my subconscious like this that makes me wonder when I am going to freak out at the lack of personal direction my life has. Maybe I won't - who knows. I love staying home with Alex, I feel lucky - both that I get to raise him personally rather than partially by proxy, and that I just don't have to get up and go to work. There is no time like summer to be psyched I don't have to wrestle my thighs into dressy clothes and go sit behind a desk all day, other than fall and winter and spring that is.
It's just that my brain is getting bored. And I do not care what anyone says, toddlers - aside from being cute and fun - are pretty intellectually boring. Yeah yeah yeah, discovering new things, viewing the world through the eyes of a child - that shit is lovely. We all know that. However it doesn't replace an adult's need for adult pursuits, unfettered by diaper bags and nap times. So we'll see. If I weren't so goddamned lazy I'd write, or do something creative that I absolutely have time for.
But I am, so instead I'll organize closets and watch time slip by so quickly...
Mondays suck.