Internet, do you read (or have you ever read) the comic strip For Better or For Worse? Because I do (or did, before Lynn Johnston went into semi-retirement and started drawing old retro versions of her own shit). Why did I read it? Well, Sarah Brown says it better than me:
“I will freely admit to you that every morning, I check my email, Flickr, and then I read For Better or For Worse, Mary Worth, and Apartment 3G online…. It’s the non-toxic version of reading blogs of people you secretly hate. Mary Worth is a meddling bitch. Come, loathe her with me.”
Sarah Brown’s caption for this made me laugh so hard I nearly Worthed in my pants.
Because sharing interests is what married people do, Brad joined me in mocking the strangely repulsive Patterson family. I mean, this is a comic strip that featured a twentysomething woman falling in love with twentysomething man who was drawn WITH A FUCKING 1972 PORNSTACHE:
Man, don’t you just want to get on that? He looks like a middle-aged science teacher. And just ignore what she’s saying — the story behind it is so fucking lame you’ll be sorry you asked.
(It’s about her grandfather, who’s recovering from a stroke. I know, right? Is this a fucking comic strip or what? HAR HAR HAR I LOVE THE FUNNIES.)
One of our longest lasting FBOFW hate-jokes is based on the infuriating way Lynn Johnston would write sound effects. Observe:
I’m not exactly sure what Lynn Johnston is like in real life, but I’m reasonably sure I’d never want to share a meal with her.
Anyhoo, at some point she came up with a ridiculous caption for someone who was snoring, and she used the non-word “SNOZZ.” And, well, now we say it all the time. DAMN YOU, JOHNSTON!
What you’ve just witnessed is me taking the extremely long route to tell you that HOLY ASS, I’m kind of worn out up in this bitch. I’m sorry for bringing this up yet again, because I know blogging about how tired you are is about as compelling as blogging about your hammertoes or some shit…
DO NOT GOOGLE HAMMERTOES. And, for the record, the only thing I find more disturbing than hammertoes are hammerhead sharks. Look at it! Those bastards are unnatural, I tell you.
…but I feel like I owe you an explanation as to why I have been so scarce around these parts lately. And that explanation is simple: TIRED. AND BUSY.
Work is still busier than a motherfucker, and life outside of work is clipping along at a similar pace, as life in the summer months always seems to do. It’s a good kind of busy, though: weekend getaways, family visits, parties, evenings with friends. But those things all but gobble up every slice of my free time and leave me completely out of energy when it comes to, say, washing my child’s laundry so that she can wear something halfway decent to daycare without looking like she belongs in the official Broadway touring company of Annie.
Just FYI, I looked at this photo and felt slightly jealous of Miss Hannigan’s hair. I don’t know what that means, but I think it tells you everything you need to know about my mental state these days.
Oh! Daycare! Sadie started in a new room at daycare this week: the “Young Toddlers” room. Might not sound like a huge deal (this is her third room since she started), but the transition this time around has been HUGE. Meals at tables with chairs (and utensils!) naps on mats — not a high chair or a crib in sight. Playtime means going out to the playground or spending time in the gymnasium, not merely pacing around in the same room all day long or being taken for walks in the ginormous plastic bus of a stroller. And Internet, Sadie loves it. LOVES IT. When we walk her into her new room in the morning, the other shorties immediately swarm her, handing her toys and chanting “SADIE!” They smile at her, she smiles back, and I feel a little less empty when I kiss her and turn to leave.
When you’re happy, I’m happy. Resisting the urge to run back into the room to kiss your little forehead 38 more times, but happy.
Pretty much the only trapping from her infanthood that still remains is the fact that she still insists on taking her morning milk in a bottle. She will happily drink from cups the entire rest of the day, but bitch, if you even try bringing a sippy cup of milk up in here first thing in the morning? Well, I hope you brought earplugs. And an athletic cup. She will kind of lose her shit, is what I’m saying. We’d also been bringing a bottle or two to daycare, because the teachers told us that Sadie sometimes wanted a only bottle (NOT A CUP) of milk when she saw the other babies taking theirs. So on Tuesday morning, I put a bottle in the Spongebob bag that I always hang on her designated hook. And that afternoon, her teacher handed the bottle back to me. “Here you go,” she said. “We don’t use bottles in this room — only cups.”
She’s taken the no-bottle transition just fine, of course, since she doesn’t see any of the other kids using bottles (we are still doing the morning bottle, but perhaps we can make the change soon — with less trauma this time around). I’ve already retired most of her bottles on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet, along with the tiny beginner sippy cups and some stray breastmilk receptacles (ah, the days where a feeding meant a measly TWO OUNCES, WHAT?!), and each time I look up there, I get a little pang in my heart. WHO IS this little girl eating pancakes with a fork at a table like a real person? Since when did you learn how to tell me you’re hungry, you want more, you’re ready for bed, you just laid a major stank in your diaper? Since when can you say “turtle” in a little voice so sweet I need a drink of water afterwards?!
And I may not ever get over this picture of you in a bathing suit, because there is nothing better on this earth, my friend.
So, anyway. Them’s the haps. We took a Memorial Day weekend trip to see the grandparents (where a pool was waiting for Her Paleness to enjoy), and she was a total fucking rockstar the entire trip. It was a great visit, despite the fact that my father took the opportunity to ONCE AGAIN needle me about how Sadie “needs a little brother or sister.” Which, fine: be my guest and go gestate her one, Grandpa. The weird thing is, my Dad never even once prodded me about having kids before I got pregnant with Sadie, but now it seems the floodgates have opened. I’m not sure why he seems hellbent on me going all Duggar up in this bitch, but rest assured that is not happening anytime soon.
Mmmmm…rest. That sounds just lovely. And something I’d surely never know should we decide to have another baby.
Although you sure do know how to tempt a lady, kid.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.