Just Eat the Sammich.

Twelve-year olds have a very special way of pointing out all the ways that you are forcing them to live in an unbearable hovel the likes of which must (must!) be considered child abuse in some states. In front of grandparents, they say things like, "Am I allowed to turn the heat on today? My room is like 40 degrees, and....well, I'm...cold. So cold."

After her dad spent all weekend losing round 2 in the battle to fit the chimney with a liner, Erin comes home from her mom's and says very innocently, "Do you know when we are getting the fireplace fixed?" After he spends half the day replacing all the pipes under the sink, you (inevitably) find her examining a glass of tap water, nose wrinkled, proclaiming with disgust, "what we really need is a hard-water filter." Damn science teacher and his fancy water unit. All tellin kids stuff.

"The carpet smells. How old is it anyway?"
"The bathtub tiles are moldy."
"This mayonnaise is expired."

Pfft. Not any more "expired" than it was in your sammich yesterday. Didn't seem to bother you then.

Life Lessons

Back in June, when I was last substitute teaching, kids often asked me questions like, "How old are you, anyway?" and "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Now it's "Are you haveing a boy or a girl?" and "Have you picked out a name yet?" It's fun to see how tenth graders react when I blink, act confused and say, "what do you mean? I'm not having a baby!"

My favorite, though, is "Are you married?" Teenagers are not shy at all about delving into your personal life and finding out whether you are a good, upstanding Christian citizen, or a naughty, dirty sinful whore. So I'm usually not shy about replying, "Nope. Living in sin is a lot more fun."

Teaching the next generation life lessons is an important job that I take very seriously.

Two Kicks Means "More Pickles"

The reigning sovereign Aqualass is running out of room in there.

My insides feel less like someone walking gently around and upside-down in the 2001 Space Oddysey ship, and more like a rottweiler unexpectedly zipped into a kiddie sleeping bag. A disgruntled rottweiler. Who is hungry. And demands curry.

I hope she knows that I will need my spleen and liver and lungs intact once she's done batting them around. I mean, I'm not going to be able to feed her or torture our captured enemies for her amusement if she keeps wedging her cute little #!&*ing toesies through my squiggly-spooch any time she feels like it. (Especially while I'm trying to go to sleep. She definitely feels like it then.)

Running Over The Same Old Ground

My mom had the idea planted deep in her head that we were all to go to the shore while my sister and my nephew were in town. Did it matter that it is now October and there was coastal flooding warnings in effect from Friday til Sunday morning? This is my mom, so no. Not really. And lo, we had a very nice time despite my bad dreams filled with tidal waves and being trapped on the roof of the motel. Our particular two-year old is even very pleasant, especially when he has a lot of different people to play with him. Actually, the same applies to our particular twelve-year old.

I forgot my camera, so the pictures of the dog's first romp on the beach (vigerous, joyfull, wet), the pictures of baby Eddie shoplifting for the first time (a happy Buddah figurine), and the pictures of the bunch of us wind-whipped but still having fun on the boardwalk; those pictures are all in my head.

I am melancholy because I don't want them to leave in two days. I want them to stay and live in my house (or next door would do) and have tea with me every morning. I want my sister to be here when I have my baby, so we can trade sometimes, or parade them around in rediculous matching bunny outfits.


I want to drive with them to Vermont (live free or die!) instead of driving them to the airport on Wednesday.

Shower Me 2

There was cheesecake. I got to take the leftover cheesecake home. I will probably have some as soon as I get up from this keyboard.

Other than the cheescake, for which every one of my senses suddenly alligned in an extreme and frightening moment of focus, it was all a blur. I know I had fun, and I think others had fun too, but the details are a little fuzzy just now. I remember driving up to my mom's house with Joy, who came down from NY with Mark (you crazy crackers, you). I also remember walking in and being greeted by almost every woman I know all at once. Then there was the hail ("shower" my ass) of onesies, binkies, blankies and teddies, carseats, monitors, a slew of other infant acoutrements, CHEESECAKE, driving, and then Carl standing in the driveway at home saying "Holy Fuck, you made out like a bandit!"

How much can I possibly say thank you to my mom and my sister and everyone? Not. Enough.