Let me tell you about myself

In the course of investigating this freelancing stuff and seeing what kind of writing is out there, I've become rather demoralized and depressed. There is no way I can write for publication. Am I kidding myself? After reading a most hilarious (and true) piece about baby sleep (in American Baby, August 07, by Heather Swain, which I cannot find anywhere online, curses!), I put my trusty laptop aside to weep.

I can't even bring myself to continue my horribly dull and painfully vapid posts re: new momness HERE. If I do not want to bore the American Public, I certainly do not want to bore my beloved Internet. And yet, I am somewhat of a Compulsive Blog Poster (definition being: someone who really really hates whatever she last put up on her website, and is compelled to post something else immediately, just so the last post can disappear into the archives.)

So instead of waxing un-rhapsodic about my darling boy for the 497th time, I've decided to tell you a few things I haven't told you. About myself. Because that is not horribly dull or painfully vapid AT ALL.

Seriously. Random. Things. Flee! While you still can!

Here is a picture of the things I bring with me to my parents house every week.

Are you as concerned about my propensity towards Pink and Flowery as my husband? The first bag is one of my [many] Hawaii souvenirs. I needed it to carry home all my tropical Hello Kitty dolls (which comprise the rest of my Hawaii souvenirs). That one is my "work" bag. It contains my laptop, my reference books and forty-seven copies of magazines that will never consider publishing the likes of me. The second bag is a gigando floppy cotton bag I picked up at the Gap one summer on clearance. I'm not sure what appealed to me, other than the Pink and Flowery (or, in this case, paisley). I used it in Hawaii as a beach bag and now it's my Sleep Bag. It contains the three different blankets Jackson needs for sleep (swaddling blanket, top blanket, soft blanket he sleeps on even though the doctors say babies shouldn't sleep on anything softer than a cold slab of marble). I also use it to hold the toys we shuffle back and forth to Grandma's house and anything that won't fit in the diaper bag. Which is the next bag and, quite possibly, my favorite bag ever. This bag has the diapers and the fifteen extra outfits and the Cetaphil cream and the nail clippers and all the other accouterments I haul around only to justify the crazy number of pockets inside that diaper bag. The last bag is a new one. It holds one box of rice cereal, one can of formula, one Born Free bottle (I just ditched all my Avent bottles in the interest of protecting my family from leaching chemicals in plastic, because I am paranoid and one of those obnoxious kinds of people) and a coated spoon. This picture does not include my purse and the Bumbo seat, which are also schlepped back and forth once a week. Getting out of the house is a twenty-minute process, people.

By the way, here is what Jackson thinks about rice cereal.

My parents' house is very cold. This is because the thermostat is broken and also because my parents' like their living room at a temperature sufficient for keeping meat. It's funny, then, that my grandmother is now kind of sort of living with them, as her house is warm enough to grow tomatoes in January. My relatives wear shorts to Christmas Eve dinner at Grandma's house. My parents' house is also very loud. This is because my family is loud and also because certain members of my family seem to be going deaf. But even before the onset of deafness, yelling was a way of life. I know, because my bedroom used to be right next to the kitchen, the living room and the telephone table in the hall. Hell is being sixteen years old and having to wake up at 5 am because your mother is calling the United States to talk to your hard of hearing grandmother. There's really nothing you can do about it, except put the baby to sleep as far away from the kitchen as possible.

I can count to ten in Tagalog. I'm sure I've told you that before, but is IS my best party trick.

The biggest fight Phillip and I have ever had took place in the parking lot of our university's fitness center- a very large fitness center with a very large parking lot. We weren't married then. It was at night and I believe there was some teenage girl-like throwing of car keys on the ground and stomping away while shrieking that someone would just "WALK HOME!" It's funny now, but it was ugly then and probably what made us decide to get married, seeing as how if THAT fight didn't break us up, the power of inertia was obviously very strong and we might as well make it official.

I won my television at a work event raffle. Then it lived in its gigantic box in Phillip's rental house shed until he nervously asked me if he and his roommates could put it in their living room. I love that television. Once we buy our flat screen (oh yes, it will happen), my television will become a family heirloom, to be passed down through the generations.

I regret the fact that I didn't glam up for my wedding. My cousin did my hair, which immediately fell out after the ceremony and looked awful. I put my makeup on in the car using the rear view mirror, I swear, right before pictures. I didn't wear any jewelry, although I probably wouldn't wear any jewelry now either. I didn't bother with these things because I wanted to feel like myself. I thought I would feel silly with a ton of makeup and hairspray. Phillip and I were very nervous about being the center of attention and I didn't want to be a "bride" necessarily. I wanted to get married, have a big party and quickly escape. I didn't think I could be a gorgeous bride so I didn't try. I loved my wedding, but I wish now I'd tried to make myself beautiful, just once.

If I think really hard about Kid Number Two and when I want him or her to arrive, my only concern is that he or she doesn't show up until I've lost all the baby weight. How shallow is that? The newborn period? Bring it on! Manipulating two naptimes? I can do it! Figuring out a budget with two kids and probably having to move out of our house? Awesome! Just let me lose the Jackson weight first.

I am already obsessing about my Christmas party. What we'll do, what we'll eat, how I'll decorate. In a few weeks I'll start obsessing over the fact that no one will want to come and the few that do will have work parties scheduled for the same night. I do this every year. I think people only come to make me feel better.

If I could write like anyone in the entire world, I would write like Lois Lowry. Because she can write books like Number The Stars and The Giver, and also write books like the Anastasia Krupnik series, which were my absolute favorite books for YEARS. (Possibly still. Do not judge.) I suppose I could wish to write like JK Rowling and make zillions of dollars, or Margaret Atwood, who is powerful and freaky, or Jane Austen, who is Important, or Meg Cabot, who is funny and marketable, or Edna St. Vincent Millay, my favorite poet, or Carson McCullers who wrote my favorite high school book, The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, but no. I pick Lois Lowry. Her characters are real. Her humor is real. Her stories are either every day and amazing or out of this world and amazing.

I think Jackson is the cutest baby of all the moms group babies. I'm sure all the other mothers think their kid is the cutest, but they are wrong.

 

Comments

[Lisa]

Boy, Jackson is really growing. He and Fat look like total pals now. Pretty soon, though, Fat is gonna have to watch out...Jackson's already towering over him. Funny to think that the reverse was true only a few short months ago.

They grow up so fast...*sniff*.

Don't despair...there's a writer in you...you just have to have the confidence to let her out in a "professional" capacity. We've all been entertained by her several times a week on this blog, so I know she exists.

[Tara]

That's about the same face Shea made the first time we tried rice. I told her she was Chinese and that it was required that she like it. Maybe that'd work for you too, I don't know.

Oh, and Anastasia Krupnik rocked my 12 year old world.

[Nessa]

Dude, I would totally come to your christmas party! I think drinking wine and eating food with you and your red couch would be divine, will you come to mine too? Man, that kid is getting so big! I cannot believe how small Fat is getting.

[Laura]

Give yourself a break...you will write..you just need to start and it will build. We all believe in you!

Girl..just wait, one day you will be able to just run out the door with your keys and cell phone again like I do now. : )

Watch out Fat...oh, he is definitely the cutest baby in the group..I don't even need to see the others to know that! Can we come to your Christmas party? Of course then Jackson will have to share his "cutest crown" with Annslee

[carrie]

Hey, I have a request. When do you we get to see all of Fat and Baby posts in one post, altogether, for comparison?

And you are WAAAAY to hard on yourself. Look at all your loyal readers who keep comin' back for more!

[Angela]

First, I think your writing is wonderful and touching and hilarious, so don't be so hard on yourself. Proof: the sentence, "doctors say babies shouldn't sleep on anything softer than a cold slab of marble" made me actually laugh out loud which is the HIGHEST level of praise, because while I often smirk or snort through blog posts, I rarely actually guffaw.

And second, I think since you didn't glam up for your wedding that's what you should do for your next anniversary--treat it like you're going to be a bride. Go get your hair and makeup done, get a facial and a mani-pedi, and then go to a swanky restaurant with Phillip in an amazing dress. You owe it to yourself at least one day of divadom in your lifetime!

[Christina]

How is it you can write such a random post and I am just riveted and entertained? Not fair, not fair I say. You are Talented. I am quite certain I will be buying your books someday. And then I can say I "knew" you when.... (and we just won't tell people that I only know you from your blog, K?)

[kris]

Did you fall and crack your head on that cold slab of marble your kiddo was supposed to be sleeping on? Cuz woman. You need to pull that laptop back out and start submitting.

DO IT. Yours is the ONLY blog that I read word for word, even when the post is 10 pages long, no what I mean? Cuz you're that good of a read.

DO IT.

[kris]

ps. I think you're right too. 'Bout that boy of yours. Cutest.

[Rosemary]

The other moms in the playgroup are simply mistaken.