Vomit

I had six boxes carefully packed and ready to ship sitting on the floor of my spacious 10 sq ft office when Lenny jumped up from his carpeted cat perch and upchucked the equivalent of 5 cans of fancy feast (tuna & shrimp) all over the place.

So here's the thing: cardboard? Not the ideal surface for the cat to puke on. For one thing, it gets super soggy if you attempt to clean it with liquids. For another, it kind of soaks the smell in--like a big brown sponge--so that even if the vomit only hit the corner of a box, the whole 16 inches of it will start to smell as well as whatever is inside of it.

It's kind of like that Cat in the Hat book when he comes back and the snow goes pink, and the more they try to clean it up the more it spreads. The tiny spot in the bathtub, on mother's dress, becomes a whole back yard of pink snow. That was me and the cat vomit.

It even managed to find its way deep inside one of my boots that I had taken off in a Mr. Rogers kind of mood today--thinking they would be safe while I walked around in my sneaks. Now one of my boots smells like the Fulton Street Fish Market. Strangely enough, I think the other one does too.

And here's another thing: I kind of felt that this was oddly karmactic anyway. Not that anyone spiritually deserves to have a cat wretch, gag and projectile vomit all over every square inch of their personal space. But this has been the kind of week where lots of cathartic upchucking has been happening in my realm--even writing this, I have a hard time with the bitter taste that remains in my own mouth.

And so begins the process of cleaning up the stink. To do it properly, I will need to empty the room of practically everything and then scour it multiple times -going back over and over again areas where something lingers. Everything that was packed and planned will need to be unpacked and repacked.

When we first had children, Kip and I divided bodily fluids. He is the poop and vomit guy--I am the go to girl for pee and blood. I should have negotiated a better deal.

yes this website is broken

In response to the many emails I have received; yes--this website is truly broken. I have tried doing what the children do, and begged Kip to just fix it-FIX IT DADDY PLEASE DADDY DADDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEE-but it seems way beyond repair-damn you, paypal gateway.

We will have a completely brand spanking new website in about two weeks. The elves are hard at work on it in Chekoslovakia. Which is where websites come from, dontcha know.

With spell czech.

One compelling monologue

Here is a link to a fabulous monologue by Craig Ferguson. It's a bit long, but very heartfelt and compelling-worth your time on you tube. So grab a sandwich and listen up:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bbaRyDLMvA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Flinkateria%2Eblogspot%2Ecom%2F

Stick a Fork in Me

My cousin Deb has arrived from Detroit with her two boys aged 2 and 6 and her husband Jim. My cousin-who immediately following a six hour journey complete with missing luggage and various other obstacles says "let's go to the Empire State Building!!" And when I look at her all slanty eyed thinking ARE YOU CRAZY she says "we are get up and go people."

So today we were all GET UP AND GO PEOPLE and we started out by hitting the American Museum of Natural History. We began in the butterfly conservatory--well, actually, first I had to spend 15 minutes convincing Annie and Jesse to enter the butterfly conservatory: THEY'RE GOING TO LAND ON ME MOMMY-DON'T LET THEM LAND ON ME!! Demonstrating butterfly kiss after butterfly kiss-never mind the Maybelline Great Lash mascara. I was rewarded by the look on Jesse's face as a monarch perched on his index finger; pure wonder and amazement. Annie chose to see each winged creature as an opportunity to make a wish: I WISH THE WHOLE WORLD WAS FULL OF LEOPARDS.

All the better to make coats with my darling.

Then off to the dinosaurs, the Native American indian exhibition Jesse insisted on seeing ( I think because there are ample opportunities to snicker and say -NAKED BUTT) lunch at a crowded cafe, more dinosuars, amphibeans, an attempt to get into the GOLD exhibition, some lame movie narrated by Meryl Streep and, of course, THE GIFT SHOP.

Following THE GIFT SHOP we chose the next obvious stop: TOYS R US. which, if nothing else, is a great place to visit if your child is constipated-which Annie often is.

Annie and Jesse both claimed that they were about to throw up in the cab ride there--so we got out in the rain and limped to the Toys R Us.

The boys hung by the lego, Annie and I headed for Barbie, Disney Princesses, and Polly Pocket-but not Bratz, because they "don't look like nice girls." And later in the bathroom (which, like I said, was inevitable) she said to me: "Mommy- I am not going to get a toy for myself. I am going to get a toy for you because you never get toys."

MY SWEET SELFLESS GIRL.

"And I am going to get you an Ariel purse Mommy because I know it is what you really really really want and also that if you did not want to use it sometimes you would let ME use it-right Mommy?"

We left my cousin and her brood soon after-intent on exploring Times Square and perhaps jetting over to 30 Rock. Tomorrow we will hit Chelsea Piers, Canal Street, and perhaps some sort of boat ride around Manhattan. I'm hoping at some point Annie will let me borrow back the Ariel purse.

Tooth or Consequences

Part of being a MOM is dealing with a vast reportoire of gross bodily emissions--which I will not list here because starting out a paragraph with the word vomit never bodes well. However; there is one physical phenomenon that causes my blood to run cold, my innards to freeze up, and a sensation not unlike the itsy bitsy spider running up my back.

The loose, wiggly tooth.

Jesse has had two now; LOOK MOM! LOOK! WATCH ME WIGGLE IT! YOU'RE NOT LOOKING MOM! I CAN ALMOST TURN IT COMPLETELY AROUND WITH MY TONGUE! LOOK-I CAN MAKE IT WAVE TO YOU! MOM-WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY?

I shudder at the thought-grow faint while being forced to watch him place his grubby finger in his mouth and show the flexibility of his tiny tooth. Flash back to first grade: to a metallic taste in my mouth, an odd crunching sound when I realize that my own tooth has become wrapped in wonderbread and O MY GAWD IF I SWALLOW MY TOOTH HOW GROSS WILL THAT BE. Because everyone knows that chewing gum stays in your stomache for seven years--so swallowing a tooth would be really, really bad-not to mention getting stiffed by The Fairy. And though the memory is hazy and much has been supressed, I do believe at some point in my life string and pulling became involved--but I could be remembering an old episode of The Waltons in which Jim Bob gets a clever idea about barn door dentistry.

Kip was away on a business trip when Jesse lost his first one. Jesse announced that his lower front tooth was now turned completely sideways and ISN'T THIS COOL MOM? LOOK AT THIS MOM! OH MOM-THIS KIND OF HURTS MOM-A LITTLE HELP HERE, MOM....MOM? So I opened the fridge, pulled out a bag of red delicious apples, and had him bite into apple after apple until finally his teeny tooth remained embedded in the apple core. And then we jumped hysterically around the kitchen for ten minutes--Jesse triumphant at this first rite of passage--me giddy with relief that the damn thing was out. Then Annie came in the kitchen HOW COME I DON'T GET TO LOSE ANY TOOTH MOM? HOW COME ONLY JESSE GETS TO LOSE A TOOTH? I WANNA LOSE MY TOOTH RIGHT NOW! WAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA.

After Jesse has looked at the tiny tooth 10,000 times I put it in an envelope--which he makes me open at least 3 more times so he can look at it again, between trips to the bathroom mirror where he stares at the hole in his mouth and begins to figure out ways of making his tongue do tricks within the gap. My big boy. Wasn't it yesterday Kip and I were anxiously scanning his gumline for this same tooth to make its first appearance--because it had to be teething that was causing all that crying and fussing--it couldn't be Jesse's personality--no way--just the pain of those damn teeth coming in, right honey? RIGHT? PLEASE STOP CRYING! O MY GOD I HATE TEETHING!

The Tooth Fairy brings a gold dollar coin--the one with the woman Indian that never caught on with society. Jesse is impressed until he goes to school the next day and learns that the going rate for first teeth is $10.00. Plus, he realizes the mythology of the Tooth Fairy is not as well thought out as that of Santa- and where is the merchandise? The DVD, the doll? And he was a little freaked at the idea of a buzzing creature coming to him in the middle of the night--he actually requests that Santa leaves his stocking in the hallway at Christmas.

It is a hard moment when you take the envelope you have gently removed from underneath the pillow of your sleeping child and realize you have to do something with it. I know many people who save these baby teeth like precious gems. I am not one of those people--apartment dwellers seldom have room to store body parts that aren't essential. I threw it away.

The next morning, Jesse announced that yet another tooth was loose.

Random Thoughts: The Naked Brothers Band

For those of you not lucky enough to have a five year old in the house who demands the television be kept on Nick Jr, THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is a show about a rock band fronted by 9 year old Nat Wolfe. His six year old brother Alex is the drummer and looks like one of the guys in a Van Halen video from the 80s. There are other kids who round out the band; one is fat, one is a minority, and one has glasses. Oh and there is A GIRL- Rosalinda--who is the 13 year old Bratz look-alike who plays bass and is Nat's love interest. They've set the show up to reflect a kind of Sam Malone-Diane Chambers sexual chemistry between Nat and Rosalinda which is disturbing on many levels. Shame on Nat's father-who plays--you guessed it--the goofy father--- for executive producing a show that should celebrate his son's amazing musical and vocal talents but instead tries to exploit his 9 year old hotness. Because if I were between the ages of 7 and 13 I would be writing Mrs. Nat Wolfe on my notebook right this second. 6 year old Alex was asked in an interview what he liked best about being in the band. His answer: "The chicks."

Jesse is obsessed with this show. He chooses his clothing based on weather he feels Nat would wear it; meaning he has been wearing a camouflage shirt with camouflage pants lately (much to Kip's embarrassment, who worries other parents will consider our child pro-Bush, pro-military spawn. So he loudly proclaims when we are in public "I DID NOT DRESS MY CHILD TODAY! I HAD NO SAY IN WHAT MY CHILD IS WEARING!) Alex "rocks the tattoos" and so Jesse used sharpie marker to draw a six inch rocket on the inside of his right forearm. We expect it will wear off by the time he is old enough to sneak into a real tattoo parlor and get Tweety Bird on his shoulder.

Jesse has decided he wants to be in his own rock band (for the chicks, of course.) He has begun lobbying heavily for an electric guitar, a drum set, and keeps trying to make his dad and I agree to become roadies. He is convinced if we would just get him the instruments he needs and if we could make his little sister get the heck out of his room, he could be famous.

As any good mother would do, I put my dream crushing combat boots on and tried to discuss the reality of fronting a rock band. "Becoming famous is hard. Look at Dan" I told Jesse: "He's been in a band for many, many years but he is still working for MUD and allowing me to find fault with his facial hair on a daily basis. Rocket Scientists get a lot of chicks. And you won't have to change the tattoo."

THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is on Teen Nick Saturday nights. You can download the single "Crazy Car" on itunes right now.

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

It has been more than a year since I added to this blog--it will not surprise me if no one notices that I am back at work on it. The inspiration? An amazing blog at www.dooce.com Sort of like a day at the art museum that finds you later splattering paint chanting "Hey, I can do that..." PLUS: I located the file which I had cleverly labeled "HOW TO." In it-how to add a number to my cell phone, send an attachment, sell something on eBay, call for a messenger etc...all things I can't do unless I have written it all out-step by simple step. When Kip goes away he has to leave piles of papers; how to work the television, how to work the stove, how to play a dvd for the kids. He learned to leave these instructions after the last trip when he returned to find I had mutilated the answering machine with a steak knife. Stabbed it brutally at least eleven times, then choked it. Technology makes me tap into my inner rage for some reason.

So-anyway-I have decided to blog again. We'll be changing this website soon and I don't think keeping my musings front and center are at the top of the priority list for revamping-so perhaps my words will disappear into cyberspace in the near future. In the meantime, stalkers and haters be damned, I will continue to share pictures of my children and my rambling thoughts.