I started at a new office this week, and with that comes a whole new set of ways to embarass myself, it’s fabulous. Yesterday, I went to the bathroom, and although this is too much information, while I was in the stall, I heard a faint noise. Almost like a balloon deflating. You know the sound. Of course, I thought it was someone three stalls over that was trying to control whatever was happening in her respective stall. Then I realized, it was the sound of the door of my stall….SLOOOOOOOOWLY creeeeeeeeping open. Because the lock was broken. What’s even better about that is I had drank about 16 gallons of water before I went in. What adds to the already great greatness of this story is how far the stall door is from the toilet. So when you’ve taken in about 16 gallons of water, and you have to leeeeean over to grab the door so it doesn’t open in your new office space, it makes the experience sliiiiiiighly more painful. Was everyone else in the bathroom (full house, 5 stalls) listening to the RIDICULOUSLY extensive sound of me going to the bathroom? Could they see my fintertips desparately grabbing onto the bottom of the stall, wondering if I was going to fall off the seat? It’s unknowable. What is knowable is that it took me about 7 minutes too long to get in and out of that stall. I only suspect that some of my lovely coworkers caught sight of my red heels and knew it was me, but thank goodness, since I took 4 HOURS to go, by the time I was able to let go of the door and let it swing WIDE OPEN, I was alone.
Sometimes when we have a long car ride, Anna and I play two games 1) what’s in your belly and 2) let’s call each other names that rhyme and make no sense. While we’re doing this we’re usually laughing pretty hard. Here’s how Friday’s round of this on the way to my folks went:
A: Your belly is full of worms
E: Your belly is full of toes
A: Your belly is full of snails
E: Your belly is full of slugs
A: Your belly is full of beetles
E: Your belly is full of hair
A: You’re a shovable tugable
E: You’re a lovable dugable
A: You’re a looney tooney
E: You’re a mooney cooney
A: You’re a mooshey cooshey
E: You’re a nooshey botooshey
A: You’re douchey
E: Uh, Let’s play something else.
So although we’ve moved into our new apartment in Auburndale, Banana has to finish school in Northampton, so we’re in a company apartment in Easthampton right now for the week, and heading back to Auburndale on the weekends for a few weeks. When we got here today and started unpacking, Banana set off to check it out. It didn’t take long, because it’s a loft apartment and it’s pretty small, so she hauled it upstairs while I put stuff away downstairs in the fridge. After a few minutes, she leaned over the railing – “Momma?” E: Yah. A: There’s only one bed up here. E: Yah I know. A: Well, isn’t this my room? E: Yah. A: Well if this is my room, and that’s the living room, where’s your room? E: Well we’re going to share a room honey. A: You mean you’re going to sleep in the same bed with me? E: Yah. A, looks around the room upstairs, then looks downstairs at me and says, totally stonefaced, “That’s bullshit.”
I didn’t laugh. Well, I laughed on the inside, and on the outside, we talked about words you shoudn’t use. I’m not a big fan of bullshit, I’m more of a JC kind of cusser, and although I’m sure I’ve said it in her presence, I don’t think she gets what it means. She kind of nailed it though. It is bullshit. But it’s just for a few weeks. And really, I hear her feet padding into my room at least once a week to crawl into bed with me, so I don’t think she really thinks it’s bullshit.
Right now I’m sitting downstairs typing this, and she’s laying on the floor of the loft, peeking through the railings, and thinking I can’t see her. I can’t bring myself to bust her, because it’s too cute.
A long time ago, when we lived in Northampton, B and I decided to go for a walk to the park. When we were about halfway there, we saw a dead rabbit in the road. Banana wanted to save it, although literally, the thing could not have been more dead. It’s insides were outside, and there was blood everywhere, and a few crows were circling the body.
So Banana told me to call an ambulance to come save the rabbit. And instead of just talking through why I knew the rabbit was dead, because her little face was so sweet, I called the police. As anyone could imagine, the police, fish and game, the department of public works or anyone else who may care about a dead rabbit, does not care about a dead rabbit, especially on a Saturday afternoon, so although the woman at NPD did express her sympathy and tell me I was of course free to pick it up myself and bury it, there was nothing she could do. I told her that I was standing in front of my devastated 4 year old, and she stayed on the phone with me long enough that allowed B to think things were being done. Doctors were being called. People were on their way.
Although dead animals don’t gross me out – or freak me out – I would have been happy to take care of the poor little rabbit – I didn’t think I could swing picking it up given its location, and state, in the middle of the road, and since I was with B – my inability to do anything with it once I had. I was pretty sure she’d want to take it home, and clearly, was not ready to figure that one out. I also couldn’t tell B that we were just going to leave it there, so I told her help was on the way. I honestly figured by the time we walked this way again it would have been gone, or I could walk out later that night and take care of it while B was sleeping.
So we walked back home and got in the car to go run some errands, and while we were pulling out of my driveway we passed two firetrucks, an ambulance, and a police car, lights flashing, sirens blaring, and B looked up and said, “PHEW! Thank GOD you called them Momma. They’re going to take care of our rabbit!”
Me: laying on Anna’s bed. A, on the floor. A: Can I go get some raisins? E: Yah go ahead. I listen to her run into the kitchen, grab a chair, climb up on the counter, and hear the familiar sound of the fluff container being opened. She sits there for a few minutes, I only assuming grabbing it with her fingers. Then she runs by me into the bathroom and I hear the water running. E: What are you doing Anna? A: Washing my hands, they were dirty. Then she comes back into the room, face COVERED in fluff. E: What were you doing? A, looking at her hands: Why, what can you see?
So Anna stayed with my folks a few weeks ago because I was apartment hunting. For those of you that don’t know, my folks live on a golf course, and an also interesting tidbit, Anna is OBSESSED with the animals of the Littlest Pet Shop. So my dad decided to make Banana walk the course to get her all tired for bed (stupeeed Papa!) and after they’d walked about a mile and a half, here we go: A: PAPA! I lost my littlest pet shop puppy. Papa: Where? A: I DON’T KNOW PAPA, I LOST IT, YOU HAVE TO FIND IT! Papa, of course, with patience: Well Anna do you remember where you lost it? A, now crying: NO PAPA BUT I LOVE IT YOU HAVE TO FIND IT!!!! Pause here, picture my father walking the entire course for Anna while she relaxes with my mother, poor, poor, Papa, for like an hour……when he returns…..Papa: Anna, I looked all over the course, I couldn’t find it. A: Ok Papa. Hmmm. My foot hurts. OH! I PUT MY LITTLEST PET SHOP IN MY SHOE SO I WOULDN’T LOSE IT! YAAAY! Papa: Insert I-need-a-drink-so-I-don’t-throw-my-granddaughter-out-the-window-look.
A: Why do you always make me get Tinkerbell? E: I don’t MAKE you get Tinkerbell, I just like Tinkerbell, I think it’s a good cartoon. A: Tinkerbell is not a cartoon. E: What do you mean? Yes it is. A: No no no, cartoons are not people. E: But Tinkerbell is a cartoon. A: No it isn’t, Tinkerbell is made of people parts, and that means she’s not a cartoon, and I only like cartoons. E: Ok, so what are cartoons made out of? A: Well they’re not made of people parts. They’re made of cartoon. E: Laughing, because I can’t help it. A: No I’m serious. E: Still laughing, kind of harder… A: No really momma I’m serious. E: I know you’re serious Anna (laughing) so what happens if you touch a cartoon, what do they feel like? A: You get SHOCKED if you touch a cartoon Momma, that’s dangerous, you should only WATCH cartoons not touch them. Why are you laughing Momma? I’m SERIOUS.
SUNDAY… E: What’s that on your finger sweetie? A: Oh, ummm, today at school we made rings! E: Really? What did you make them with? A: Oh, Crislla (real name: Priscilla) thought it was a good idea to make them out of gum. E: So you made rings with gum that people had chewed? A: Yes! Do you like mine? E: Anna, you didn’t have school today. A: Um (small pause for her realization) Ooook, I’ll throw it out. MONDAY… A: Momma, I did not pick up anyone else’s gum today! E: That’s great sweetie. TUESDAY… A: Momma, can we get some gum? E: No sweetie. A: Yah, I didn’t want any anyway. WEDNESDAY… A: Hey Momma, I don’t want any gum. E: Ok. A: Yah, I don’t even like it. E: Great.
The first posting of the E/A blog. I suppose it might be easier to post the day to day E/A conversations on here because it has to be a concious choice for readers to head to the blog rather than being forced to view the running feed of Facebook, so I feel more comfortable posting things like poop bubbles and such. The week before Banana and I went on vacation I was in the Needham office when I got a frantic call from her school saying that she was not herself, she had a very bad headache and was crying and I needed to pick her up. The message she gave as to why she wasn’t feeling well is because I made her eat a lunchable. (this is where everyone judges me for allowing my child to eat a lunchable). Since I had to go to the Needham office and had to leave early, I told Anna we could take a trip to the grocery store and she could pick out whatever she wanted for lunch, and she picked a lunchable. Anything in the packaged meat section is good for kids right? Anyway when I finally got home she seemed to be okay, had eaten, slept a bit and was right back to bouncing off the walls as she normally does. The next day, however, I got the download from her teachers. Apparently, when they were setting up for lunch, Anna forgot all about our exciting trip to the grocery store, and the fact that her lunchable was actually in the fridge at school instead of her cubby, so when Ava, her lunch buddy, took a trip to the bathroom, Anna ate her lunch. Ava, none the wiser, came back and didn’t know where her lunch was, so the teachers went to the kitchen and prepared another lunch for her. Later on, when the teachers found the lunchable in the fridge marked ANNA, they put the pieces together. Meanwhile, Anna’s telling everyone and their moms – literally, that I’m making her eat lunchables and they are making her sick. What’s amazing is that she taught herself her own lesson, don’t eat someone else’s lunch, it’ll make you sick. Stick to processed meat with a capri-sun.