HEELS

I tried to start reading "V for Vendetta" (graphic novel) last night, but I just couldn't get into it. It's not that I dislike the story- in fact, it made me want to go watch the movie. No, I just have a really difficult time with the graphic novel format. There's too much too look at, the "type" is hard for me to read, and I get all turned around when trying to follow the little boxes of dialogue. If the story catches me enough, I suffer the ocular discomfort and read anyway, but "V" was just not doing it.

But perhaps the thing that stopped me the most is that I read the introduction, which said something to the effect of "if you are the kind of person who turns off the news, this book is not for you." I am that kind of person. I hate the news, and live happily without it. If that excludes me, so be it. I have better things to do, anyway.

I love the song Dona Nobis Pacem. I always have. Though it is a hymn, and was originally a separate, final movement of Bach's Mass in B Minor, I find nothing religious about it. It's a beautiful, simple sentiment sung to a beautiful, simple melody, and, sung as a round, is somehow more than the sum of its parts.

It's interesting to me that it is a hymn and was originally in a religious context, because I have always felt, as I sang it, that it was like a mantra or, for lack of a better word, a prayer. But it's a humanist prayer when I sing it- a wish for Peace for all beings in the world, and a Peace that we can give to each other, not one handed down from a god.

When I sing it, I feel as if I'm singing a protective blanket into being, as if no un-peaceful thing can happen in the time that I am singing to those who can hear my song. It's a beautiful feeling, and I often sing to myself in times of stress or discomfort. It is both the prayer and the answer to it in one.

But, as I sang it to Cole the night before last (as it is his favorite night time song), something happened that made the song more beautiful to me than any song has ever been; made my "prayer" stronger than I've ever felt it. It was so strong, in fact, that it almost took my breath away and made it difficult for me to continue singing.

Cole sang with me.

He did not sing well, but he sang earnestly, and it was one of the most wonderful and glorious things I have ever heard. And I'd like to believe that, for those few moments anyway, all was right with the world.




(Not great, because she doesn't sing all the parts, but the strings should give you an idea of this song, if you didn't know it before. Maybe one day I'll record myself and Cole.)

So, in my vanity, I posted a picture of myself on FaceStat. I know it's vain because they told me so. I think it's fascinating. As for the facts, there's only one that I know for sure they got wrong. My political affiliation is NOT moderate and would never be described as such. I am a flaming liberal, pretty much full-stop. However, I am married, my weight is average, I am 28, white, female, and was sober still at that point in the evening (it was early), so they weren't all wrong. Go check it out- it's pretty damn amusing.

We've been sidling toward toilet training with Cole, somewhat as one would if one was trying to collar a potentially rabid dog. We are nervous about making too big a deal about it and calling attention to our efforts but, at the same time, it needs to happen. I'm looking forward to the days of no more diapers, though I realize the days of expecting no accidents and competent and thorough ass wiping are still years hence.

To this end, we've been pushing our luck and letting him be in "big-boy" underpants for a time before bed. So far, we've had a couple of pee accidents and one poo- no more than we really expected. The last couple of times he's stayed dry the whole time, which I don't know if I should attribute to his greater awareness or dehydration (he's not REALLY dehydrated, just sometimes doesn't drink that much in the evening).

On the suggestion of our daycare provider, we have not purchased a potty, and instead invite Cole to sit on the normal toilet (her reasoning is that they won't get a potty anywhere but at home, so they should get used to a normal toilet as soon as possible, which is logical, I suppose). The problem with this is that Cole is totally uncomfortable on the toilet, and has yet to actually pee or poop while there. Ever. This leaves me wandering around after him in the house, watching for signs that he may have to go and regularly feeling the front of his undies to check for pee. Such fun! Or... not.

So tell me- in your experience, do kids figure it out eventually (like, before kindergarten?) or should we break down and buy a damn potty already? Any tips?

...You need to see the shoes!!

We have a VERY firm policy of not hitting/spanking Cole. Ever. John and I were both spanked as children and we feel that it did nothing to make us better behaved, and everything to make us feel like hitting is a way to solve problems. We both had trouble with fighting as kids (though only when provoked), and I wonder if it had anything to do with the hitting we saw demonstrated at home. The ONLY time I see it as an acceptable measure is if the child's actions would have led to serious harm coming to themselves or to another. Only then it is a logical consequence.

But yesterday... ooohh boy, yesterday tried my resolve.

Cole has a supernumerary tooth, which I believe I've mentioned in the past. Because of this, we have to take him to a special pediatric dentist. However, because we also live in the middle of Senior Citizen/Nowheresville, we have to travel over an hour to get to his dentist. Which sucks. As if having to pay for a special dentist wasn't enough, I also have to take half a day off work to go...

Anyway.

We had to leave before Cole's normal lunch (breaking routine), and, though I can vouch for the fact that his bean/cheese/rice burrito was especially delicious, he was having just about none of it, instead insisting to me every 5 seconds that he MUST have apple juice and NOW please. So, no lunch was ingested - at least, not enough to make a difference.

So he slept on the way down, had his juice (SUGAR!!), and was a precious doll for the Dentist. He even made it through a full cleaning, which shocked the hell out of the Technician. He collected his toy and sticker prizes and we went on our merry way.

And then I had the GALL to go into a store to look at shoes.

He was happy enough at first, trying on all the ladies' shoes (too funny to watch him trying to walk in open-back heels with the plastic security tie still connecting them), but when he wouldn't hold my hand or stay next to me in the line to pay, the shit hit. And by 'shit' I mean Cole.

He screamed and screeched in my arms, first hitting and kicking me, then head-butting me when I pinned his arms. There was no way to put him in time out, there was no way I could just walk away. I had to hold him, pinned and pissed, until I completed my transaction and could walk out. And I wanted, at that moment, to slap him back, just to show him how it felt.

But I didn't, and he had calmed down by the time we got to the car. We had a chat about his horrible behavior and we went on with our day, which turned out pretty nicely afterall. And I felt better because all I had to endure was the embarrassment of having "that toddler" for a little while in front of people I don't know and will probably never see again, instead of the crushing guilt I would have felt for hitting him.

And it was worth it, because I also came away with a pair of bright red, patent, slingback, wedge-heel Kenneth Cole heels. And shiny red shoes make everything a little better.

I have a delicious love/hate relationship with Tom Waits (or, at least, his music and persona, seeing as I don't ACTUALLY know Tom Waits and I'm not sure I'd want to) that I think is exactly the kind of relationship one should have with Tom Waits. But whatever my feelings about him may be, there is no denying his brilliance, or how fantastically wonderful this video is:


You have to watch it and bow to him just a little, even if you think he's the most wretched being on earth (though, how could you? I mean- there's always the President, for example, who will win the 'Most Awful Human' award before many others, dear Tom included). Watch it. Really.

I don't think I've EVER fallen in love with a purse before in my whole life. Until now. Holy jeebus- I WANT THAT PURSE!!

We're back.

Wheee!!

If you've followed my twitterings, you already know that my blog done got broked by being moved to a new host. HOWEVER! It is now back and shinier than ever thanks to my brothafromanothamutha, Elex. Word.

It was good timing and bad. I was gone so he didn't have to listen to me bitch (my husband had that pleasure), but it was broken still when I got back so I had no place to say "Hi! I'm back!" and have nobody care.
...

I have been busily PhotoShopping my travel photos so that they look on screen like they did in my head when I took them (goddamn non-mind-reading camera). Except I was gone for a week and a half and work kinda didn't stop while I was away, so I still have catching up to do. So this is all you get for today.




Well, except I can't NOT show you an example of the big, beautiful c0ck action that was happening there.


He may have been hot, too. I didn't ask.

I keep thinking of things to write about while I'm in the shower, but by the time I get to a place where I could write anything down, I've forgotten them.

I woke up singing Huey Lewis songs the other morning. I haven't heard Huey Lewis in YEARS, and my clock radio is set on a mariachi station (I have told you about Cole's fascination with Mariachi music and the Spanish stations in general, haven't I?) so I truly don't know where it came from. Perhaps I just really wanted a new drug...?

I still like Huey Lewis, despite every reason why I shouldn't. It is, like D&D and The Gummi Bears, nostalgic.

I just slammed out a meeting agenda outline in, like, 5 minutes. Go me.

I was supposed to have done it... ummm... a while ago.

Mmmm... Three Musketeers Bar...

Ughh... Three Musketeers Bar...

Perhaps I don't look terribly "cool," (yeah- when DO I?!) but I prefer the full-ear headphones (I mean the REALLY big ones) to ear-buds. I feel like ear-buds stretch out my ears. They hurt! And, somehow, I manage to destroy them in about a second.

I have SO much to do in the next 4.5 working days (OMG! 4.5!!) before I leave for vacation, yet I can't seem to settle into actually doing it. My brain is already on the beach eating Thai curry leftovers from dinner the night before and watching Cole stuff sand down his bathing suit. Ahhh... Good times...

I'm now on Twitter (though I prefer to think of my messages as "twitterings" rather than "tweets." "Tweets" is somehow too reminiscent of "queefs," which, if you do not understand, I recommend not looking up. If you DO understand, my Mom's the one who taught me, so you can't effectively tattle, AND it probably explains A LOT about me. AT ANY RATE! "Twitterings" just sounds more delicate. Like me. For I am a delicate flower. Or a little fluttering bird.) and I feel like a freshman in high school- awkward, stupid, and lost. Where's the band room again?

But it's fun, too. Y'all are hilarious NON-STOP. When do you breathe? On your pee breaks? Do you even take time out of the hilarity to pee? Is that my problem? Too many pee breaks to effectively be funny? Because I'm really working on getting it down to one pee per day.

Or something.

All this tea doesn't help.

Fat dog with gravy veins is very sad. No more treats! She couldn't even get her butt back into the car when we left the vet. I had to lift her hind-end in.

(No, I'm not talking about myself!!) (Yet!!) (OMG- More Three Musketeers Bars? For me?!)

Everyone at the vet kept saying that she's an "old dog," yet I don't think of her as old. Perhaps it's one of those things where you're too close to it to see it happening because it happens by degree, kind of like kids growing up or baldness. I guess, now that I've really looked at her again, she IS getting rather old. She's got white all over her face and her eye condition makes her look blind (and it nearly makes her blind, so I guess that's appropriate). She's roughly 9 years old now, though we don't know for sure seeing as we adopted her as an adult. While we were at the vet, a woman came in and gave her a scritch on her ears before going to the desk and breaking down in tears. When she left she was holding a small wooden box. When will the day come when I'll leave holding a similar box? The damn dog bugs the shit out of me, but I somehow still love her to pieces. Stupid animals- making you care about them and shit.

*sniff*

Does anybody have more Three Musketeers Bars?