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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2005-03-10 ... 10:10 a.m.

You know your life is reaching some sort of Critical Boredom Point when you look to the local Jewel ad for amusement. This week's grocery store circular contained the following gems: GIVE YOUR KIDS A "HEALTHY" START WITH NATURALLY DELICIOUS AND EASY TO EAT FRUITS AND VEGETABLES. "Healthy" with ironic quotation marks...because they are actually covered in toxic wax? Because the vitamins have been siphoned off by the big agribusiness companies and injected directly into their CEOs' wrinkly jowls? Also, "easy to eat" is a weird thing to say about any food.

On the very next page, Jewel proclaimed that they had LATINO FAVORITES FOR YOUR LENTEN NEEDS. (Or was it LENTEN FAVORITES FOR YOUR LATINO NEEDS?) Because last time I checked, Lent was all about two-for-one specials on mole. I hate the ghettoization of certain foods in the grocery anyway---just because this can of pinto beans has Spanish on the label, it has to go in a separate aisle, away from our gringo pinto beans?


Despite her odd casseroles and animatronic holiday crap, LT's stepmother is not that bad an egg. Most everything she does, even when it is teeth-grindingly tacky or inappropriate, can be summed up with the phrase, "she means well." And she does.

However, well-meaning or not, some of her shit has got to stop, and I need to find a polite, non-disinheriting way to say so the next time it (meaning the shit) goes down. Last week we were all having lunch and she went on a little riff of saying things about Nora's adoption, such as "Do you ever think about the birthparents?" and "How could anyone give that sweet baby up?"

The fact that Nora is adopted is no secret. But do we have to discuss it at lunch? Do we, in fact, have to discuss it in front of Nora, who is just trying to eat her pizza without hearing all this not-very-well-informed speculation about her family of origin? If you were (for instance) transsexual, Christian Scientist, and blind, I bet you would get pretty sick of answering detailed questions about gender identity, under what conditions you would see a physician, and whether or not you dream in color. Those things would just be some of the facts of you, the way that being adopted is one of the facts of Nora.

I was a chickenshit and did not say anything to the stepmother, but next time I won't just sit there, but rather bust a move. And then I will possibly bust an additional move and request that non-Nora-initiated discussions of adoption issues be restricted to immediate family.

(Here's a place where you can point out that I am being a total bitch. I have been getting some weird emails lately, so I thought I would helpfully flag each point in the entry where people might disagree with me, so that those people have a starting topic when they get all hot and frothy* and decide to write me a nastygram.)

*Like a cappuccino! A cappuccino of hate!


1. Nathaniel Hawthorne once served as the editor of the American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge. I really love that name. The year 1740 also saw the debut of a periodical called the Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure, which once published this engraving of a not-at-all-gay science club meeting.

2. If you Google the made-up word "chimposter," all of the hits are pages that use it as a derogatory term for G. W. Bush. Which is funny, in its own way. But I wish "Chimposter" was instead a brand name for a type of fake chimpanzee-meat product, along the lines of "Not Dogs." Mmmm, is this chimp? No! It's Chimposter!


Monday I celebrated the life and times of Revolutionary War Hero Casimir Pulaski by taking the day off to play at being a stay-at-home mom to Miss Nora. And while it was 95% fun and good times, it kind of reinforced my sneaking suspicion that I could not be her One And Only 24/7, at least without drinking a lot more. It's not the actual duties of housework + baby care that wear me out, it's the constant talking. Nora has some stuff to say. And she says it. Does she ever.

That morning we went to Trader Joe's for no real reason, as one never really NEEDS anything at Trader Joe's, and as I pushed her around the store we had many detailed conversations about exotic squash varieties and the difference between two types of frozen pad thai; sampled mini-pita breads and mango juice; received a balloon (which I probably should not have let her have, as they are EXTREMELY DANGEROUS! but we all know how slack I am with the whole grapes and everything); and then we got back in the car (yes! I drove!) and headed for home. At some point the string detached from Nora's balloon and it floated around the car, which did not help my already shaky driving skills. Nora was awed by the latest development in her Balloon Saga and delivered a dramatic monologue, like so:

Oh my goodness! Balloon flying! Oh my goodness! Mommy catch it! [Me: I can't, Nora, I am driving the car.] Mommy can't catch it, no no. Mommy driving car. Oh my goodness! There it goes! Balloon! Come back here, balloon! Oh that silly balloon. Oh my goodness. Daddy fix it. Daddy fix it, at home. [Me: Mommy can fix it at home, too. It's not that I'm incapable, it's just that I'm driving the car.] Daddy fix it. Oh my goodness. Balloon string! Balloon string came off! Okay. That happens sometimes. Fix it later. Daddy fix it. Mommy can't do it.

We repeat this sort of thing all day long, about every little event. She sees a squirrel! There is a forgotten goldfish cracker on the floor! It's time to bake a pretend pie in the pretend oven! This is why, besides the whole roof-over-our-heads thing and the personal-career-satisfaction thing, I have no plans to quit my full-time job. I would like to work less, because time with Nora is fun, but if I stayed home with her all day every day I think I might be hitting the wine by lunchtime.

(It should go without saying that here's another point at which you can take a big sip of your cappuccino of hate and email me! Since if you read between the lines, I obviously hate all stay-at-home moms! And I have no patience for my kid's adorable monologues! And I have a serious drinking problem, and should be stoned in the public square!)


1. Nora Neologisms you might enjoy: "applepine" for the fruit that is mas macho, and "mine's." Which makes perfect grammatical sense if you use ToddlerLogic: Mommy's, Nora's, yours, mine's.

2. I asked Nora if she wanted to poop in the potty (continuing my slacktastic "Hey! Poop In The Potty? Just A Suggestion, Yo" approach to toilet training), and she said, "No. Nora poop potty next week." Um, okay. I will enter that into Outlook and send a notification email to the toilet right away.

---mimi smartypants kept on trucking.


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