That Damn Show II
It is lurking on the TiVo, I can't bring myself to watch it. So the kid cooked some dude's head. So what, who cares? I don't. Stupid show. Ok, i do want to watch it, but goddamn, it is painfull. I just can't muster the strength.
The little boy got a pair of Dewey the Dragon mittens this afternoon, thanks to his having very small hands, and being ever so easy to knit. He and i listened to the audio book of The Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiller and watched the mittens come along. Then we stitched them together, and blocked em, and viiii-ola! mittens. He wore them today and made them speak in very squeaky voices to the bus driver and the cafe gals. It was not mitten weather, and he kept taking them off. I don't blame him. They are made from very nice soft wool, which he picked out at the last yarnatorium I discovered, just up the road in Orinda. They have no website, otherwise i'd post it.
As usual, last night at nearly one am i was filled with ideas of what to write, and now i am getting very nearly to the point where i will just be coppying out lyrics to songs or spelling numerals up to one hundred or something equally ridiculous and space consuming. just to say that i wrote today. Hardly counts.
The husband wants a picture of the boy and myself for his desk at work, and i find the idea undoable. I'd never accept such a situation if our roles were reversed. I'm broken, so classically, stupidly, broken. So stereotypical. Fat housewife neurosis 101. Don't take my picture i look fat/ugly/poxy/derranged. Does my butt look fat/huge/meteoric/planetary in these jeans? What should i cook you for dinner? Oh, no, i don't want to go out, ever....ever again. that's for people who aren't moms. I can't appear in public without the boy, how will people know what i am? Oh, please go to the party without me, it's no point paying for a babysitter when i don't own clothing without bizzare stains on it any longer, or shoes that have any bit of a 'not homeless person' look to them. I only cut my hair in the bathroom sink, and it looks it! Even if it is pink. Very pink these days, that last red i did washed out so quickly, and it was not the fuscia the box lied to me! lied! I swear i'm going to wind up one of those women who only names themselves after their kids....XXXXX's mom, will be my only description. I used to find it horrible, repugnent! Now it just is what it is. I sing the music my kid likes, which are sea shanties, so really, that's quite cool. I dress like my kid, in thsirts and cargo pants and chuck taylors. I always dressed that way before, so i don't know why i have this sudden depression about it. somehow it just doesn't seem like that's how i am supposed to be. But i can't give myself over to total 'mom jeans' from JC Penny either. Gawd. what senseless fretting.
That's quite enough bitching for one day.
I'll most deffinately delete this in the morning.
The little boy got a pair of Dewey the Dragon mittens this afternoon, thanks to his having very small hands, and being ever so easy to knit. He and i listened to the audio book of The Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiller and watched the mittens come along. Then we stitched them together, and blocked em, and viiii-ola! mittens. He wore them today and made them speak in very squeaky voices to the bus driver and the cafe gals. It was not mitten weather, and he kept taking them off. I don't blame him. They are made from very nice soft wool, which he picked out at the last yarnatorium I discovered, just up the road in Orinda. They have no website, otherwise i'd post it.
As usual, last night at nearly one am i was filled with ideas of what to write, and now i am getting very nearly to the point where i will just be coppying out lyrics to songs or spelling numerals up to one hundred or something equally ridiculous and space consuming. just to say that i wrote today. Hardly counts.
The husband wants a picture of the boy and myself for his desk at work, and i find the idea undoable. I'd never accept such a situation if our roles were reversed. I'm broken, so classically, stupidly, broken. So stereotypical. Fat housewife neurosis 101. Don't take my picture i look fat/ugly/poxy/derranged. Does my butt look fat/huge/meteoric/planetary in these jeans? What should i cook you for dinner? Oh, no, i don't want to go out, ever....ever again. that's for people who aren't moms. I can't appear in public without the boy, how will people know what i am? Oh, please go to the party without me, it's no point paying for a babysitter when i don't own clothing without bizzare stains on it any longer, or shoes that have any bit of a 'not homeless person' look to them. I only cut my hair in the bathroom sink, and it looks it! Even if it is pink. Very pink these days, that last red i did washed out so quickly, and it was not the fuscia the box lied to me! lied! I swear i'm going to wind up one of those women who only names themselves after their kids....XXXXX's mom, will be my only description. I used to find it horrible, repugnent! Now it just is what it is. I sing the music my kid likes, which are sea shanties, so really, that's quite cool. I dress like my kid, in thsirts and cargo pants and chuck taylors. I always dressed that way before, so i don't know why i have this sudden depression about it. somehow it just doesn't seem like that's how i am supposed to be. But i can't give myself over to total 'mom jeans' from JC Penny either. Gawd. what senseless fretting.
That's quite enough bitching for one day.
I'll most deffinately delete this in the morning.
posted by roccermom at 5:04 PM
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