Click here to view the embedded video.

I mean, it’s the best when it decides to ACT like June instead of giving us unseasonably cool days and weeks-long stretches of rain, but whatever. It’s not snowing and the days are long and I can smell honeysuckle when I’m driving down the highway with the windows down, and WHY CAN’T IT BE EARLY SUMMER FOREVER?

Damn you and your orbit!

I’ve hit a small lull in activity between the hectic first days of June and what is shaping up to be an eventful summer, so this seems like a good a time as any for a few (lazy) bullet points to get you up to speed on life at JT Headquarters:

• I still really hate it when people say “preggo.”
• I made it through a very deadline-heavy week in late May-early June that threatened to swallow me (and my evenings) whole, and every night after the kid is in bed I brace myself for all the writing and preparation that must be done…and there isn’t any…and it is GLORIOUS. (For the time being.)
• I have been craving a good read lately, but I no longer work down the street from the liberry, and their online selection for the Kindle is ASS, unless I feel like reading a whole slew of Nora Roberts novels, which…I do not. I am kind of a pain in the ass when it comes to my reading material (these days, I want something light but engaging and not too sad or else I’ll have weird dreams and dwell on it), so finding a book that fits the bill can be tough, and…wow. This is the lamest problem I have ever had.
• We attended two weddings over Memorial Day weekend—one with Sadie and one without—and they were so much fun. The first wedding was that of my former college roommate, so we drove to Cincinnati with a very excited 4-year-old who ATE UP everything about the trip, from the ceremony (“WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO KISS?!”) to the reception (“WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DANCE?!”) to the hotel stay (she inherited her parents’ unnatural excitement for this) to primping for the wedding, which, OH MAN, she was reaching astronomical levels of cute that evening. I had packed her white dress shoes in their (tiny) box before putting them in my bag, and while I was busy getting the rest of my own clothes together, she filled the shoebox TO THE BRIM with costume jewelry, and she pretty much wanted to wear all of it. At once. To the relatively fancy evening wedding. Brad looked at me when we got a glimpse of our, uh, generously accessorized child, and for a moment I considered talking her into a more simplified look, but Internet, she was just so excited. “Do you feel pretty?” I asked her. “Yes!” she beamed. And that was that. My kid attended her first fancy evening wedding wearing a Rapunzel bracelet, a sparkly puppy ring, and a few strands of costume beads, and no one fainted from the scandal. (Oh, and she never did make it to the dancing, which started around 10pm. Poor kid was half asleep and had to be whisked upstairs to bed. Don’t worry, my dear – you have the whole rest of your life to Electric Slide.)
• We completed another road trip over the weekend, this one to WV for a family reunion. That makes about 6 round trips to WV in as many months, which equals roughly 24 hours in the car. Yes, I have spent an entire day of 2013 driving. But! Road trips are off the docket for the while, now that Brad is beginning rehearsals for a show & Sadie’s Saturday ballet classes start up next weekend. Speaking of Sadie, I was hoping one of you could tell me when she looked like she does in this short video we ran across, because I don’t remember it and IT BLOWS MY MIND:

This video also made me momentarily crave another baby for, like, five very intense seconds (DON’T WORRY, BRAD, IT PASSED).

Also, did we ever discuss the rad (and by rad I mean terrible) purple paint in our old house’s guest room? Yeah. It was freshly painted when we moved in (INCLUDING THE CEILING, THEY PAINTED THE CEILING), so we let it go while we got everything else painted…and then it remained that way for the rest of the 5 years we were there. But we spent a lot of time in that room when Sadie was little because it was next to her room (ours was upstairs in the former attic), so I have a lot of fond memories tied to that awful shade of purple. Also, a lady died in that room. YAYYYYYY.

• In geeky theatre news, so far this summer I have auditioned for and did not get a role, but I am auditioning for another on Wednesday. I have some pretty mixed feelings about this, because this show would start rehearsing during Brad’s final week of shows, meaning that our summer would be entirely tied up in rehearsal and performance schedules, leaving little-to-no time for weekend trips to see the fam or, you know, for actual VACATION purposes. Thing is, the role I’m reading for on Wednesday is 1) relatively small, and 2) with a theatre company I haven’t worked for yet (which pays well), and DAMMIT, I really want to add this particular feather to my cap. My gut is telling me BITCH, THIS SHOW WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE CRAZY, and my guilt is telling me YOU ARE RUINING YOUR CHILD’S SUMMER FOR SELFISH REASONS, and…I honestly don’t know what to do. I think it also rehearses during the day, which would be challenging (but not impossible) to pull off with my work schedule, and…well, I’ve been driving myself mental about this all day. Wheee!
• I’ve been pretty hit-and-miss when it comes to keeping up with all the blogs I used to read religiously, but I randomly clicked on this link when it popped up on Twitter, and holy shit. Started crying at work. Bad news bears.
• I had the most enormous slice of lemon meringue pie at my parents’ house on Sunday. It was epic, and I would like to re-live the entire experience right now.
• In related news, we all started talking about our favorite summer desserts WHILE we were eating lemon meringue pie (see: DOIN IT RITE), and Internet, there are so many summery desserts I hold near and dear to my Cool Whip-loving heart. Rounding out the top five are:

1. Jell-O pretzel salad (GOOD GOD)
2. Lemon Lush (FUCK YES)
3. Poke cake (TRUST ME)
4. Whipped ice cream and Jell-O concoction that my grandmother used to make, no idea what she called it (ACCORDING TO THE INTERNET, THIS IS VERY POPULAR HERE IN PITTSBURGH AND OH MY GOD GET IT IN ME)
5. Cherry pie, as in she’s my (ALL DAY EVERY DAY WITH THAT CANNED FILLING)

• SPEAKING OF grandmothers (which I was speaking of very briefly a few bullet points ago in my love letter to all things Jell-O), I had to go to my grandmother’s old house–where, as of a few weeks ago, my uncle had been living–to basically take anything I wanted before the place was hoovered out in preparation to sell it. My uncle is now in an assisted living facility, so it’s time to get rid of the old row house that my dad and his brothers grew up in and where I spent many a Christmas Day and summer evening. I haven’t been back there much since my grandmother passed away in 1997, after which most of her stuff was cleaned out, so it was both SO WEIRD to poke around the house with Sadie, and pretty sad since most of the stuff that really reminded me of HER (the candy dish that was constantly stocked with M’n'Ms and Brach’s hard candy, the telephone table that a cousin snagged, the loose powder canister with a pink plastic deer on top) was gone. I did take all of her dishes, though — nothing fancy, just regular old cream-colored dishes with pink flowers and matching pink coffee cups. There were roughly ten ZILLION place settings, so I kind of didn’t know what I was committing to when I decided to take the dishes…but some of them are cracked & chipped, so I figure I’ll only keep maybe half of them. I just wanted to keep the dishes I remember using during so many holiday meals — holidays where we had nearly 15 people crammed into that tiny house, which seemed even TINIER during this visit. My dad thinks that whoever buys the place will probably just have to knock it down and start anew — it’s an over-100-year-old frame house with seriously busted foundation/structural problems, so that makes sense, but MAN, it’s weird to think of that place being leveled.
• I wish I was a more relaxed person. It takes (wastes) a lot of energy being anxious and neurotic. BOO.
• I literally have no TV shows to watch anymore. 30 Rock and The Office are gone, Parks & Rec is on summer break, Game of Thrones’ season is over. I think the final season of Dexter is coming on soon, though, so I can supplement my evenings with some grotesque violence, like a good American.
•  Oh! Our CSA (farm share) began last week, and I was way too excited about it. This was the first year we’ve done something like this, having finally come to terms with the fact that any and all vegetables/fruits/herbs I plant will be immediately devoured by deer/groundhogs/bunnies/and—most recently—a fucking CAT who we’ve caught nomming on one of our perennials out front, WTF. The first CSA haul contained mostly greens: chard, kale, asian greens, salad greens, scallions, radishes. I blew my CSA wad a bit that first night and ate about four out of those five items in one sitting (IT WAS DELICIOUS) and am very much looking forward to this week, when we might get some home-grown strawberries. If you have ever had the pleasure of eating organic, home-grown strawberries, then you will agree with me when I say that the experience is on par with the birth of your first child, and they make those giant, hard, white-centered grocery store strawberries look like rat poison by comparison.
• So! Work! Can’t really talk about work (WANT TO), but I will tell you that Brad got a new job and it’s awesome and he’s awesome and we’re all really excited for him. Best part? His new office is Dairy Queen-adjacent.

AW YISS.

• Sadie continues to be the sweetest, funniest, most-difficult-to-leave-at-school-each-morning person I’ve ever met. I’ve been working on picking my battles with her (Yes, you can wear your Easter dress to school (it wasn’t that expensive, you’ll outgrow it in another two months anyway), yes, you can stay up til 10pm when we’re visiting your adoring relatives, NO, YOU CANNOT RUN FULL SPEED TOWARD THE ROAD EVEN THOUGH YOU’VE PROMISED US YOU WILL STOP ONCE YOU HIT THE CURB GOOD GOD, CHILD), and there really aren’t that many battles to fight anyway. I won the lottery with this kid.

Pictured here wearing Easter dress and petting her new favorite cat, Baby Boy, who is 100% deaf and 100% adored by Sadie. She followed him around for nearly 45 minutes, talking to him and gently petting him. THIS KID.

Well, that’s a not-so-quick update about what’s been going on around here. Man, that felt good. Blogging more often than once every three weeks — apparently I enjoy it?

Until next time, stay sassy, Internet.

Too soon?

Mr. Cheese started acting a little funny last week sometime, and we attributed it to the wildly fluctuating temperatures outside that were making our house freezing cold one minute and stifling with humidity the next. He was hanging out at the bottom of the bowl a lot, which was unusual for him (and unusual for Bettas in general), and once Brad determined via Google that the poor little guy was probably a little chilly, he raced out to the pet store and spent an undisclosed amount (i.e. TOO MUCH) on a bigger bowl with a heater. Mac seemed invigorated by the change…until yesterday morning, when he refused to eat. “He might be constipated,” Brad said to me, when I was still fighting through my morning haze, “And it says to blanch a green pea and try to get him to eat it.”

Internet, my husband tried to get a Betta fish to eat a blanched pea at 7:30am on a Wednesday morning because he was worried for its digestive health. I am aware that you are all in love with him now.

Poor Mac had no taste for greens, but seemed to be somewhat active, so we figured we’d leave him some food for the day in case he got hungry. When we came home last night, he was peppy and looked normal, so I figured he was fine. Turns out, I was a little too optimistic.

“I’m afraid Mac N. Cheese is dying and I don’t know how to save him,” was the first thing Brad said to me this morning, and once Sadie was dressed and happily munching on her morning cereal, we went into her room to investigate. He was at the bottom of the bowl, face pointed into the hot pink gravel. We moved his bowl, and he stirred a bit, then paused and floated gently down to one side. He didn’t move again after that. Brad broke the news to Sadie, who was fine (“I want to get another fish and name him Mac N. Cheese”), and once she had a chance to tell him goodbye, Sir Cheese made his final exit stage left…where “left” = “the turlet.”

I tell you this story in dramatic fashion not to elicit sympathy for our “loss” (of a FISH, who was our pet for THREE MONTHS, for CHRISSAKES), but to honor the actions of Brad, World Class Softie and Champion of Fish. And to mark the passage a childhood milestone: a pet’s death.

Fare thee well, Mac N. Cheese. We rest easy tonight knowing that you spent your final days surrounded by love, concern, and the most expensive damn set-up any Betta fish has ever had.

Brad:  hey -

Pidgie was talking about Mother’s Day in the car…

and she said “Oh Daddy, tomorrow we’re making mama a present for mudder’s day”

and i said “really?! are you excited?”

and she said “yes, because i love mama SO much”

me:  she’s the best in the world

Brad:  i know.

i told her that when we go to bed, we talk about how awesome she is…

and after she was putting you to bed last night [a game we were playing in which she'd put me to bed in her room and then pretend to go to sleep in our bed, and I'd have to keep asking her for another blanket, a glass of water, etc.], every time we climbed into bed she’d say “she’s so awesome”

me:  haha

i was cracking up at her sighing when i’d ask for something

i love exasperated Pidge

Brad:  one time she sighed and said “she’s the worst.”

pause

“but she’s awesome”

she pretty much has parenting nailed

me:  i want this all written down

…or cartoon baseball bats, which are really worthy of their own website.

No, my friends, this is a post about O.P.K.: Other People’s Kids. And how I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THEM.

Please allow me to ‘splain.

Before Sadie, I was straight-up terrified of other people’s kids. I mean, it was cool once I got to know them (and I was constantly a-nannyin’ and a-sittin’ throughout high school and college, and those kids always really liked me), but to interact with a kid I didn’t know sent me into a weird mental spiral of thinking they would be scared of/bored with me, not knowing what the hell I was supposed to say to them, and worrying that I was talking down to them and, like, OH MY GOD, SO OUT OF TOUCH, GO TO BED OLD LADY.

(OK, so that last part deals pretty much exclusively with my more recent fear of teenagers.)

Something about having Sadie flipped a switch, though, and now I can chat with any kids you happen to have handy. Not a problem. The situation I do have a problem with, however, is when I am suddenly tasked with parenting/supervising O.P.K. in public, and

FUCK.

THAT.

SHIT.

Outdoor playground season breeds these situations like crazy, and this past weekend—in all its gorgeous, sunny, 74-degree glory—was no exception. I don’t know if I have some kind of Unattended Child magnet in my chest, but I have started to dread taking Sadie to the playground because HOLY BALLS, PEOPLE, WILL YOU FUCKING PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR KIDS?!

On Saturday, we took Sadie and her bike to my favorite Pittsburgh park while Brad went for a run. This park is within walking distance to our old house, and is also the thing I miss most about living in that neighborhood.

What I don’t miss: the bald next door neighbor whose lawn was carpeted in dog shit and was also pretty obviously dealing drugs.

Sadie rode her bike for a while before we ended up at the giant playground, complete with giant wooden playground structure, a.k.a. Yellowjacket’s Paradise. The place was teeming with kids, and since the playground structure is one of those involved dealies with all kinds of tunnels and turrets and whatnot, it makes me very nervous whenever Sadie ducks out of view. So I tried my best to keep an eye on her while manning her very pink and very sparkly and very attractive-to-anyone-under-10-years-old bicycle. This never goes well.

Within two minutes, I was being chatted up by an unattended little girl of maybe 4 or 5 who said she also had a bike, and it was pink, and blah blah blah I stopped listening because I suddenly couldn’t see Sadie anymore. I abandoned the bike to walk around the structure and locate the brewsterfruit, and once I did (and recovered from that really fun sick feeling you get when you lose sight of your child in a crowded public place, YAY), I returned to my spot to find the little girl atop Sadie’s bike, primed to pedal away.

FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

So what the fuck do I do now? Yank her off the bike? I don’t really like the idea of touching someone else’s kid, but GODDAMMIT, WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE, NEGLIGENT PARENTS OF THE WORLD?! As it turns out, I didn’t have to do anything: the girl’s mother appeared out of nowhere, grabbed her off the bike and told her she was going to “beat her ass.” It was really touching.

SO THEN, not 30 seconds later, cue the (UNATTENDED) two-year-old girl who comes wandering up to the bicycle, obviously drawn in by its pink sparkly pinkness. As I’m trying to keep an eye on Sadie, the girl attempts to mount the bike, and succeeds in almost pulling the damn thing over on top of herself…which means I have to STOP watching my own kid so I can stop Strange Kid from burying herself under 20 lbs of Huffy, and I HAVE HAD IT at this point. But because the universe loves a joke, a lone two-year-old BOY suddenly joins the mix, taking a handful of the shiny streamers flowing from the handlebars and yanking them clean off. Internet, if Sadie had seen that, she’d still be hyperventilating.

Of course, by the time this circus was in full swing, I had lost track of Sadie again. I had to leave the two-year-olds WHO DID NOT EMERGE FROM MY VAGINA to fend for themselves against the bike while I ensured that my actual child was still OK. Right around this time, Brad returned from his run and was able to rescue the bike from the onslaught of random, unsupervised toddlers while I located Sadie.

Then, on Sunday, pretty much the same situation happened all over again, minus the bike, and plus an 8-year-old girl who followed us around and kept asking me to push her on the swings despite the fact that SHE WAS TOO OLD TO NEED PUSHING and HER VERY OWN MOTHER WAS NEARBY, TOTALLY IGNORING HER.

Like, I get it – sometimes kids just want adult attention, and they see me paying attention to Sadie, so, hey, might as well hit me up to see if I have any extra for them. And that makes me sad and all, because I guess they’re not getting any attention from their own parents? And I don’t want to be the asshole shutting down a kid who just wants a little face time. On the other hand, I AM NOT A FAMILY COUNSELOR. I am also not your child’s teacher/babysitter/legal guardian, so WHAT THE FUCK Playground Parents?! I run the risk of you getting offended if I have to parent and/or physically remove your children from my personal property/a dangerous situation, so how’s about we avoid the situation altogether and you fucking pay attention to your own damn kids? HERE, LET ME CONSULT A BOOK I HAVE ON THIS VERY TOPIC.

Damn.

Plus, the Internet has stuff like this, making it the best therapist ever.

I have wanted to sit down and blog here roughly ten thousand times over the past month, but there never seems to be time. There never seems to be time for fucking ANYTHING, honestly, besides going to work and generating dirty laundry (THAT THERE IS NO TIME TO WASH), and that gets me down. I’m just feeling a little down in general/have the urge to empty my brain today, so I’m gonna whine about the stuff that’s bumming me out here. Lucky you!

• I wish I could blog more. I have so much to say about so many things, but mostly I want to document all the normal, awesome life stuff so I don’t forget about it in six months. There was a very lively sleepover/girls’ weekend during which my mom, sister, and niece all slept over (Sadie was MORE THAN THRILLED, as you can guess), the many iterations of Sadie’s 4^th Birthday Celebration with all sides of the family, and the always lovely onset of spring and all the cool shit that comes with it (cool shit = eating ice cream outside and leaving the windows open all night). I am also writing a script for a theatre event for kids (MUST REMEMBER TO GO LIGHT ON THE F-WORD) and I have an audition coming up in the middle of the month. Yay.

Well, writing about all those things cheered me up. Alas, I shall persevere and talk about what’s bumming me out. ONWARD.

• I am so fucking tired at night. I mean, I’m sure everyone is, but it fucking angers me like nothing else. I pretty much want to crawl into bed immediately after dinner (sometimes before) and sleep ‘til I can’t sleep no more (I’m thinking 24-48 hours?). This makes me so angry because the evening is my prime Sadie/family togetherness time during the week, and also my prime getting-personal-shit-done time. So when I’m just too wiped out to do/enjoy either (both of which are super important to me & also essential to my happiness), I GET SO MAD. And I feel like I do everything I can to ensure optimal evening awake-ability (I get a decent amount of sleep, I keep the caffeine coming at a reasonable pace, I exercise), but still: 7pm hits and I WANT TO DIE. I don’t know if this is just getting older or what, but it makes me annnngrrrryyy.

• Work-y stuff. Some specific things I’m not going to talk about, and also some broader thoughts on happiness and fulfillment and trade-offs. Plus, the whole being-a-working-parent thing. It’s hard. I’ve mentioned here a few thousand times that I know I’m not cut out to be a full time stay-at-homer, but I just wish I was with Sadie an extra day or two during the week. That would be rad. And I get bummed when I realize how long I’ve been pining for just that…without actually being able to accomplish it. So maybe the problem is just with me not being proactive enough to get what I want…but, you know, there’s also the small issue of my full-time job being able to provide income and health, vision & dental insurance for the whole family. And I am so terribly fond of getting PAP smears and dental cleanings on the reg.

• My stomach. It’s been acting up lately, so in an effort to stop feeling miserable each day, I cut back drastically on dairy and gluten. I still have some cream in my coffee (and you’re nuts if you think I’m giving up my delicious, expensive Friday morning latte from this place) and I’ll treat myself to a TINY bit of cheese here and there, but other than that, no dairy up in this bitch for over a week now, and it is 1) SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD, and 2) MAKING ME FEEL BETTER, GODDAMMIT. Do you know how sad it was to get fucking sherbet (the word is even more ridiculous than the food) when I took Sadie out for ice cream last week?! SAD. VERY SAD.

• Mother’s Day. Well, this is going to be a selfish whine-fest, so buckle up: As you know, we in the JT household are often on the road for major holidays, for purposes of wanting to celebrate with family and, also, guilt. Mother’s Day has also become one of these holidays, which is especially tricky because there are three mothers involved (my mom, Brad’s mom, ME), each of whom want to spend the holiday their own way. Because we cannot be three places at once, we have to do the best we can to make everyone happy (which, as you know, pretty much means NO ONE is happy), and—long story short—I will be spending my Mother’s Day this year driving all over the fucking place when I just want to sleep in, cuddle with Sadie, and be taken out to dinner because IT’S MY HOLIDAY TOO, GODDAMMIT.  I mean, yeah, I could decide to do this, but because of other plans this month/early summer, we’re not going to get another chance to go to WV any time soon, so I’m being a big ol’ martyr and dedicating my mother’s day weekend to, well, seeing our mothers & families. So we’re celebrating MY mother’s day this Sunday, and I know it’s not that big of a deal and I’m being kind of Peppermint Petty about it, but…yeah, it kind of irritates me. I PUSHED A CHILE OUT THE BREWSTER, ISN’T THIS MY HOLIDAY TOO?!?!

There. Felt good to get that out.

Honestly, though, my friends, I feel like a giant jackass complaining about things. And because I am annoying and can’t resist seeking out the silver linings, I must also tell you that:

• I found the time to blog now, so there’s that;
• It’s OK to be tired after a long day at work, and some nights if I just kick back for 30 minutes after dinner, I find a second wind for the rest of the evening;
• Work is, overall, still cool (and still providing me with money and insurance), and I turned the  dissatisfaction(s) I have into a plan of action for the future;
• My sadness about leaving cheese in the dust (ew, dusty cheese) is outweighed by my relief and happiness over feeling better;
• I’m going to have an awesome Mother’s Day this weekend, and I will get to spend actual Mother’s Day with the people I love most (and the people Sadie loves most).
• FUCK YEAH POSITIVITY

Thanks for reading. I feel better. Do you feel crummy? Need a silver lining? I’ll do my best for you if you wanna bitch/unload (not like that) in the comments. It’s Friday, my friends. No time to be a sad clown.

Looked like this kid:

It’s weird how our brains do that: how the most current version of a person becomes the version we immediately accept as Who They Are. And that’s accurate, for the time being anyway. But it’s strange to look at Sadie now, at four years old, and try to remember a time when she wasn’t peppering dinnertime conversation with “Hey, mama…did you know? That Tootsie’s ears are triangles?”

At four years old, Sadie seems so impossibly grown up to me. I’m sure Me of the Future will roll her eyes good and long at that one, but it’s so true, relatively speaking. Small things that would send her into hysterics a year ago are shrugged off, her questions have taken on a whole different dimension of complexity (“I want you to tell me EVERYTHING YOU KNOW about how babies get in your belly”), and (OW MY HEART) I can no longer get away with random kisses and cuddles if she’s not in the mood.

(Luckily for me, she is usually in the mood.)

Some things about her have not changed at all: she is still gentle, she is still shy around new people, and she still requested s strawberry frosted birthday cake. She’s kept her good sleeping habits and healthy appetite, and any promise of spaghetti will be met with sheer delight. She still calls me Mama. She is still 100% BFFs with her cousins Jon and Abby.

But my LORD, has she ever changed over these past 365+ days — and it’s not like I didn’t expect her to, so why does it continue to be so shocking and bittersweet?

One thing that definitely surfaced between ages 3 and 4 was a more developed sense of humor, which has been completely awesome. Her favorite joke? “Hey, mama, you’re pretty…STINKY!”

One guess who taught her that.

Of course, humor and sarcasm live right next door to sass, and girlfriend sometimes walks a fine line. She will often answer my oh-so-tiresome questions with a put-upon, very teenage-sounding “YEEEESSSS,” or “NOOOOO” (all that’s missing is a “GOD, MOM!” at the end), and if I tell her something she already knows, I get the “I already know that!” or “Daddy already told me that!” I know she likes to assert the fact that she is BIG and KNOWS THINGS, but when little Miss gets a bit too sassafras…

But man, she is a bright little thing, and I don’t care if you think I’m bragging (I AM), I am so proud of how much she loves to learn.

She is still in love with all things Rapunzel and is looking forward to taking ballet classes again this summer, but when it comes to everyday attire, she very much prefers jeans and t-shirts. Cats continue to reign supreme as far as animals are concerned…although the other day she randomly told me she wanted a guinea pig, and…

NO.

(Am I the only one who cannot stand this show?!)

There’s pretty much no baby or toddler left in her, although she still pronounces “animal” as “aminal.” She can say words like “chrysalis” with perfect clarity, but for some reason* “aminal” is sticking around.

*My sanity. It’s sticking around for my sanity. Because when she stops saying “aminal,” I’ll have to take a week off work for intensive weeping.

She loves music, and is often moved to dance in sweeping ballet moves when a song strikes her fancy. This one is her current favorite. She smiles and closes her eyes at the part that happens right around 0:50 (it’s my favorite part, too).

Sadie is amazing, loving, gentle, intelligent, sensitive, funny, and—as far as I’m concerned—absolutely perfect. Sadie is four.

I’m not going to say anything that hasn’t been said before, and I hesitate to talk about it at all out of fear that I’ll make it ALL ABOUT ME and MY REACTION and ME ME ME ME MEEEEE. I’m going to talk about it anyway, though, because, well, this is my blog. Where I talk about my LIFE and my FEELINGS, and dammit, yesterday something happened in life that made me feel feelings, so here we are.

The very small company I work for had two runners in the marathon yesterday, one of them the girl who sits next to me every day and therefore must bear the burden of listening to my intermittent rambling about Sadie/current events/movies/life in general whenever I’m feeling more chatty and less work-y. She’s a seasoned marathoner and probably the nicest person I’ve ever met, which is why it was exciting to track her progress along with my other coworker (a dude) as they made their way along the marathon route yesterday morning. It was my job to track them and post updates on our multiple social media platforms, since their run was tied to a marketing initiative/fundraiser/brand launch/blah blah blah POINT IS, I got to live vicariously through their massive physical undertaking as they steadily (and impressively) made their way to the finish line.

My dude coworker finished first, with almost his entire run comprised of seven-minute miles. Can we just talk for a second about seven-minute miles? And how much shorter they are than the embarrassingly long miles I run? OK, we’re done talking about it.

My boss was at the finish line and got to see Dude Coworker cross, which was thrilling. Dude Coworker continued on to cool down and do other post-marathon things like, I don’t know, yell BOOM! MARATHON, MOTHERFUCKERS! at anyone nearby? Because that’s what I’d do if I ever ran 26.2 seven-minute miles, I tell you what.

My boss walked a little bit back from the finish line to try to catch my lady coworker, who was about a mile out. I was texting him to let him know that she should be passing him soon when my phone buzzed with his incoming call. “We’re all running away and I don’t know why,” he said. “Can you turn on the news and see what’s going on?”

Well, the news had nothing, but Twitter had plenty. And it was very, very bad. And very, very graphic. And you all know all about that.

My boss managed to find my lady coworker (and her sister, who was watching as well), and dude coworker—who was on his way back to the finish line to cheer on lady coworker—thankfully missed the explosions by a few minutes. We were finally able to get confirmation that all four of them were physically OK, even though dude coworker had apparently walked right into the aftermath and saw some pretty horrific things.

So, that’s what happened over in my corner of the world yesterday. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell this story, but I do. I’m not trying to get attention or draw sympathy (believe me, I’m not the one who needs it)(and it’s GROSS that I feel the need to qualify this, but people will tear you a new one on the Internet for ‘making it about you,’ and it’s got me paranoid), it’s just a simple matter of ‘this was what I was doing when a horrible thing happened, and holy fucking shit, I’m so glad everyone I knew who was there is safe and sound and unharmed. Anyway. As you all know, there were many, many people who didn’t make it through safe and unharmed yesterday. And while we may not be able to help them, we can at least be kinder in our corners of the world, can we not? I think we can. And I think that helps.

Know what else helps? THIS. My lord but it does.

We hardly knew ye, and that was pretty OK with us.

Of course, I posted this smart-ass tribute at roughly the same time that Roger Ebert’s death was announced, so…yeah. Lookin’ like a dick more than usual today. But it’s a funny coincidence that I heard about Sears while I was actually in the process of booking an appointment at the Target Portrait Studio. Family pressure for studio photos: I bow to you once again.

We are, however, hoping to book another one of these sessions later in the spring, and I can’t wait. Also, does anyone know who that tiny chile is? I do not.

In other news, warmer weather seems to finally be thinking about coming to stay in Pittsburgh, with today hovering in the high 40s, and temps in the 50s and 60s for the foreseeable future. Pardon me while I take a moment to bite my fist in anticipatory excitement.

Also exciting is the fact that I’m writing two (TWO!) ten-minute plays in the next six days: one for this company’s event, and one for THIS company’s fundraiser – which I’ve done a few times in the past. It’s the one where I have to ride public transportation for an hour for inspiration, pick a bunch of actors around whom to craft a story, then stay up all night writing a play to be produced the next evening. Me and my Mountain Dew are very excited.

(And nervous. This is a lot of pressure, my friends.)

Oh! And another thing! I just recorded an episode of the Lunch Break podcast with Brad & Joe. It’ll be posted on April 16^th, I believe, in case you’re curious to HEAR my inappropriate jokes instead of merely READING them. I have to admit that I feel kind of weird about you guys actually hearing my voice. I mean, I’m cool with sharing totally intimate details of my life with you, but letting you hear my VOICE?! What if it doesn’t match up with the voice you’ve created for me in your head? I mean, I do sound an awful lot like Eunice from Mama’s Family, so I suppose it’ll be jarring either way.

I don’t really sound like her. At least I don’t think I do. GREAT, NOW I’M SELF-CONSCIOUS.

And then! Last night Brad and I were finally able to enjoy our Christmas gift to each other: tickets to see the official Broadway tour of The Book of Mormon.

So, let me just put it to you plain: if you like this blog, you will love this show. For realsies. And don’t take your mom to it unless she’s cool with scrotum jokes and words like “cunt” being sung by classically trained professionals. My only complaint about the entire thing was that I did not write it first. It. Was. Glorious.

In short, I’m busy, I love spring, I think my voice will sound totally weird to you, and guess who has a birthday in exactly one week?

That would be one Sadie Rose, seen here last Sunday at our combination Easter dinner/early birthday party for my side of the fam. Three-year-old bershon? NAILED IT.

“When is it going to be MY turn to play Lady Macbeth?!”

I consider myself a pretty emotional person (I can shed quite a few crocodile tears at the movies with the best of them), but as far as real, honest-to-goodness public displays of weeping, I’ve had maybe five to seven. If that sounds like a lot to you, then you’ve OBVIOUSLY never been 19 years old with a broken heart AND unfettered access to boxed wine.

HEY FRANZIA ARE YOU SINGLE

I had two really spectacular public displays of weeping in New York, both as a result of When Good Auditions Go Bad (creaky old empty subway cars jostling through dark tunnels are a particularly dramatic way to feel sorry for oneself, I highly recommend), and, like I said, I enjoy a good cry at the movies (or while drunk and watching a musical, holla), but for the most part I can keep it together. Especially for the movie/live theatre weepfests. The rule there is you gotta look presentable by the time the lights come up.

Well, I broke my own rule this weekend SUPERBIGTIME at this event, for which I was asked to write a ten minute play this year. That part was the awesome part: my play was in the hands of an amazing director and a ridiculously talented cast who brought about 100 new dimensions to what I’d written. All the jokes killed and all the moments came off perfectly — I couldn’t have asked for more. And it was pretty spectacularly awesome to sit in the back of a darkened theatre and watch hundreds of people enjoy what I had written. TOP NOTCH LIFE MOMENT.

OK, so, then, in the second act, when I was two glasses of wine and two flutes of champagne in (why yes, I DID swallow a pile of Advil along with an ocean of coffee the next morning). A duo came out and sang a sweet little song about the first day of Kindergarten. It was from a little girl’s perspective — watching her mother make breakfast, entering the new classroom, locking eyes with another little girl who would become her first real best friend. Somewhere along the line, a couple things hit me:

• Wow, Sadie will be going to Kindergarten, like, NEXT YEAR
• And then she’ll be surrounded by kids who are all around the same age
• And then she’ll probably make her first real best friend
• I mean, yeah, she has friends now, but it’s different
• She doesn’t see them every day because she all go to daycare on different schedules, and some of them are a lot younger and she just doesn’t click with them like she will with a kid of her own age
• So when she makes a friend in Kindergarten (I STILL REMEMBER MAKING FRIENDS IN KINDERGARTEN) they will be real friends
• And when you make a real friend, you have inside jokes and special secrets and you save up things to tell them the next time you see them (and you can’t WAIT to see them), and hey, who fills that role in her life now?
• I AM GOING TO BE REPLACED
• I AM GOING TO BE REPLACED NEXT YEAR INSTEAD OF, LIKE, IN TEN YEARS, WHICH IS WHAT I WAS PREPARED FOR
• THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST MY BABYYYYYY

Yeah, so, that’s pretty much where the thinking stopped and the weeping began. And the thinking was in no way this clear — I probably got to the fourth bullet before the tears started and then all the other thoughts came flooding into my head at once. Before I knew it, the top of my shirt was drenched in tears, and when Brad happened to look over at me, I could tell by the look on his face that I had crossed waaayyy over into CrazyTown.

And Internet, I COULDN’T STOP. The booze had somehow disabled my Emotional Kill Switch (a coping mechanism I highly recommend, especially for the workplace), and every time I thought I was nearing equilibrium, I’d think about BEING REPLACED AS HER BFF and my shit would be lost anew. Finally–fucking FINALLY–that awful song ended and I thought I’d be able to regain my sanity…but it was followed up by a short film about mothers and daughters, and–oh great–a clip of a teenager talking about how much she appreciated her mom sticking by her through all the challenges and arguments of young adulthood and then SHE started getting emotional and WELL FUCK, I might as well accept that puffy eyes and mascara streaks are part of my ensemble this fine evening.

In short: I lost my shit, never really got it back, managed to say goodbye to friends after the show in areas of dim lighting so to hide my tear-stained face, went home, cried in the shower for 15 additional minutes, THE END.

Things seemed brighter–if not more headache-y–in the morning, of course, and I was able to rationalize that although Sadie will certainly make friends soon (and I want her to! I want her to have amazing friends who will fill that BFF-shaped hole that a parent just can’t, no matter what), she will never REPLACE me, not really. I’ll still be her friend, even her BFF in a very specific kind of way. I know that this is just another step in the great exercise of letting go known as parenting.

]]> http://www.jiveturkeyjives.com/?feed=rss2&p=6027 10 http://www.jiveturkeyjives.com/?p=6022 http://www.jiveturkeyjives.com/?p=6022#comments Wed, 20 Mar 2013 17:43:34 +0000 Jive Turkey http://www.jiveturkeyjives.com/?p=6022 Continue reading →]]> Sadie is only three years old, but she has already mastered so much. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this a time or twelve in my previous bouts of excessive bragging, but she’s a bright little cookie, and dammit, I’m overwhelmingly proud of her.

Did I mention she’s also a magician’s apprentice?

One thing that Sadie struggles with, however, is independence and self-reliance, especially when she’s around me, the Giant Sucker, and especially when it comes to entertaining herself for a few minutes here and there.

Please allow to me explain, and then please flood my comments with reassurances that all of this is normal and won’t last forever.

Although I don’t really have much to compare it to, I think Brad and I are very involved parents. We both work full-time, but every evening is dedicated Sadie Time. Any and all time between dinner and Sadie’s bedtime is spent with her, doing whatever she wants to do. Sometimes we switch off (Brad hangs with her while I hang with Rodney Yee and his weird man braid and get my yoga on, I hang with her while Brad finishes up some freelance work, etc…), but for all intents and purposes, our evenings are 100% hers.

The weekends, of course, aren’t so indulgent. They can’t be. We got two days to buy groceries and clean house and procure haircuts and run errands, fool! Some weekends are more loosey-goosey than others and we ignore our chores in favor of an impromptu trip to the museum or visit with friends, but at least ONE of the two days has to contain some shit gettin’ done. THIS BEING SAID: the quickest way to get shit done—specifically when it comes to shit around the house—is for Brad and me to do it while Sadie entertains herself. THEREIN LIES THE PROBLEM.

It’s not that she can’t entertain herself (and she has done it on plenty of occasions, usually when I’m trying to get her into the bath/out the door to school), it’s that SHE DON’T WANNA. And she’s old enough now for me to explain that LOOK, I just need, like, 30 minutes to throw in some laundry and clean the kitchen, CAN YOU PLEASE play with something from your MOUNTAIN OF TOYS?! And she does…for a minute…before wandering back over to me and asking me to ‘pretend I’m a kitty-cat and you don’t know who I am and you have to find a toy for me…” and I’m like KID. KID. I NEED 30 MINUTES. And then she looks dejected and walks away, and I wonder what I should wear when I accept my award for Worst Mother Ever.

And sometimes it’s not even about getting necessary chores done! We usually enjoy leisurely breakfasts on weekend mornings…after we set the kiddo up with her breakfast first, of course (girlfriend can be a BEAST if her blood sugar drops too low first thing in the AM), and she is usually done and ready to play before we’ve finished our eggs, and WAY before we’re through sipping coffee and reading the paper. She’ll come sidling up to my chair and say—in the sweetest voice possible—“Can you play wif me?” and DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT what am I supposed to do?!?!

THIS FACE.

I try to explain that I’ll play when I’m done with breakfast, she looks sad and tells me she doesn’t know what to do in the meantime. Everything I suggest is a bad idea; she mopes aimlessly around the house stopping only to ask if I’m ready to play yet. And, you know, it’s hard to enjoy a leisurely morning while you’re being TORN TO SHREDS BY GUILT.

I don’t mean to come off all “This person I brought into the world who I love more than anything is really harshing my morning coffee buzz!” but guys, I need to know I’m not being unreasonable in asking her to entertain herself, and I also need to know that this stuff will pass and she’ll get better at chilling the hell out from time to time.

Thing is, I remember begging my mom to play with me in a similar fashion (and I even had a sibling to play with), and while that should make me feel better because YAY! THIS IS NORMAL! it makes me feel worse because OH GREAT, NOW SHE’LL REMEMBER BEGGING ME TO PLAY WITH HER TOO. Not that I blame my mom for, you know, having to cook my dinner and launder my clothing—God, that monster!—but as parents (and in my case, as a crazy person), we all want our kids to think nothing but glowing thoughts of us and their childhood, right down to the last little tiny detail.

Of course, I’m not sure how helpful it would be for her to remember that I always, ALWAYS played with her when she asked if, you know, she never had clean underpants to wear to school.

So, that’s where I am these days: torn between the need to get shit done/the desire to chill out for a bit on weekends and the exxxtreme guilt of asking the kid to entertain herself. I’m sure part of this is just her playing us a little – I mean, as an only child, Sadie gets all the attention. ALL OF IT. That’s two adults’ worth of attention, and that’s a lot. It’s not like girlfriend is neglected. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND, we work 40 hours every week, which is time lost with her, and goddammit, the least I can do is play with her when she asks. SHE WANTS TO SPEND TIME WITH ME, and here I am bitching about it. Before I know it, she’ll be 14 and slamming her bedroom door in my face, choosing just about any other activity over spending time with me. Fuck.

So, uh…any of you guys ever struggle with this? It’s lonely over here in TerribleMotherburgh.

[OK, so, when I titled this post, I was thinking in pretty literal terms about the concept of self-reliance, but when I went back (...to Wikipedia, what of it) and refreshed myself on Emerson's Self-Reliance essay, I was reminded that it was more about avoiding conformity and being an individual in terms of developing your own ideas and opinions, and less about being able to rely on yourself and, say, ENTERTAIN YOURSELF FOR TEN MINUTES WHILE YOUR MOTHER CLEANS THE BATHTUB, OMG. So, sorry, Ralph Waldo Emerson, for kinda sorta purposely misinterpreting you on the Internet. I hope you'll forgive me, though, because I'll forever admire you for coining the phrase "check thyself." Methinks Ice Cube owes you some royalties.]