all the single mamas

My husband is here:



here, being Florence, Italy. Where it is a respectable two degrees Celsius, instead of minus fucking silly. Which it is here, in the land of barely starting cars and marshmallow children. Marshmallow children being extremely difficult to strap into car seats of barely starting cars. Especially when doing so in the singular.

So I'm all single momming it, which would be totally easy except for the screaming into pillows and the crying in the shower. And also the single parenting part.

And then she came.

She who is known in these parts as picker upper of heart broken daughters, buyer of spirit lifting shoes and yeller of "you're not getting an epidural I can see the head for gawd's sake". Or as I call her, Mom.

And after I hit Publish Post, I will close my laptop, crawl across the floor and I will put my head in her lap, tired from dealing with other people's kids that keep me from my own, it not being strange at all. A thirty-two year old woman laying her head in her mother's lap, having done so for decades now. We being bonded thus, during her own time as a single mother.

And she will play with my hair and I will sigh, thankful for single mamas.

first world problems

Which is more douchey?


Being upset because I was hit with a wretched ass stomach flu after lunching on homemade seafood chowder (that's $20 dollars worth of lobster now glazed in my own bile, floating surreptitiously against the porcelain veneer of my ensuite toilet)?

Or that I was struck with said wretched ass stomach flu mere hours after a monthly visit from our marriage saving cleaning person, in whose wake is left a pristine house usually enjoyed and kept in close to pristine condition for at least 24 hours post visit or until someone throws food on the floor, steps in it and then tracks it through the rest of the house (I'm actually paying her a fee equal to that of a moderately successful divorce lawyer, that's how good she is), leaving me with 3 toilets to clean post-flu (I'll probably need a hazmat suit and a lot of steel wool)?

It's tough to call in this Gravol haze.

2010 parenting fails

Limiting Exposure To Television Fail



They're watching t.v. but it was G rated...I think.


Discouraging Aggressive Toys and Brands Fail


Yep, he was Iron Man for Halloween, despite never having actually seen Iron Man in motion... and he's 3. But he's totally ripped and will kick your ass (probably from all the aggressive toys he plays with).



Dressing Up As A Cowboy or Santa Claus Fail


She's indecisive that way.


Whisking Fail


My ladles were all in the sandbox.


Protective Headgear Fail


They were clean... I think.



Seeing A Camel Fail

Well we saw the camel, just not it's face.



Using A Spoon Fail


Nothing has changed. -sigh-


Not Shrinking My Son And Making Him Perch On My Shoulder Fail


He's easier to keep track of that way.

this year I'll probably get my sanity back...I think (also if you have no prior knowledge of Facebook then this will mean nothing to you)

On Facebook, (I've just watched the Social Network and have had an epiphany on how much Facebook has infiltrated our daily lives, becoming this ever growing entity of time wasting and stalking of husbands' ex-girlfriends to make sure they're less pretty than you. Most people, after having come to such an appalling realization would probably wrap it up into some cliche New Year's resolution like 'I'm going to simplify my life and get off Facebook' (if that is your resolution its totally not cliche because its you, its only cliche if someone else does it because you are incredibly awesome and original) (as an aside I'm only feeling a little anxious of how many parenthesis I've started and am unsure of how to back out of this parenthesis predicament I've gotten myself in to and the plural of parenthesis is lost to me right now so...

That's better.

Back to how everything comes down to Facebook, and how parents of toddlers, who work outside the home don't have the luxury of simplifying their lives as a New Year's Resolution and how I'm prettier than most of my husband's ex-girlfriends, I was reflecting on 2010, and all that it was and what that year meant, blah blah blah.

And I remembered last year (2009, keep up with me people)Facebook had this application that presented your year in review as the most frequently used words from your status updates, for the whole year). And I also remember thinking in December 2009 of what my year (still 2009) would have been, having had a baby in April of that year (haven't gotten past 2009). Then, it would have went a little like this:

I love being pregnant, I could have 10 kids, my boobs look great, I hate being pregnant, my boobs hurt, is it over yet, had a baby, am breastfeeding, still breastfeeding, just breastfeeding, gotta go breastfeed

(and that was only the first six months)

This year (2010 not 2011) would probably go more like this:


I thought motherhood was supposed to be all glamorous, potty training sucks, well at least I try, I need to get curtains for my kitchen windows, still no glamour, my vagina is royalty, still potty training, well at least it wasn't on the hardwood floors, victory is mine, motherhood fucks with your head, I dread going back to work, but there could be pretty panties, the grass is always greener, this is pretty much my life now but without the glamour of houndstooth.

2011 you're looking pretty sexy, standing over there like that.