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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

2007-04-24 ... 11:23 a.m.


Thanks for all the nice emails regarding my last post. I got antibiotics and am mostly better now. Banana is still dead, of course, but we feel okay knowing that we did the best we could for her. Lately I also spend more time on Petfinder than is probably good for me. There must be something about the quick shock as opposed to the slow loss that makes me so eager to cat up my life again. Nora sometimes mentions being sad, and she had a fairly hard week at school with a bit of playground shoving and Superman-related bickering, so she's probably doing the usual Nora Thing and sublimating her sadness into rage.

Speaking of, I got a hilarious pansy-assed anonymous email from someone who said I should take Nora to a therapist, that it seems like she has "anger issues," and that these are undoubtedly related to her adoption. A handful of mentions of aggressive preschool behavior and Anonymous Emailer can make a diagnosis! Her or she must truly be a omniscient fountain of child-development wisdom, and an expert on adoption issues besides.

Sarcasm aside, I honestly don't think of Nora as an angry or aggressive child. Nora does GET angry, of course. She is very competitive. She has been known to push other kids out of her way, or bonk them one if they try and take something from her. None of it seems out of the normal range to me or to any of her teachers.

Three more thoughts:

1. I know I am one of those crazy feminists and all, but would people have the same reaction if I had a son?
2. In many ways I am glad that Nora has the "problem" of extroversion and assertiveness rather than its opposite. Because the kids who never take their turn or stick up for themselves tend to drive me sort of crazy.
3. Adoption related? Maybe, maybe not. I am the relentlessly pragmatic sort and I tend to focus on the facts on the ground. If we had a problem, we'd do everything in our power to fix it, regardless of its cause. If you get a cold, you work on treating the symptoms and not wondering if it was the door handle or your coworker that passed along the germs. Sloppy analogy, but there you go.

Nora has loopy, elliptical personality to spare. She has never once put the features into the correct slots in her Mister Potato Head but works exclusively in sideways surreal tuber-face arrangements. She is extremely driven to accomplish whatever lunatic goal she has in her mind, and she loves to negotiate and discuss and Explain. Her angriest moments are when, for whatever reason (safety, expediency, simple fed-up-ness), I cut off further Explanation and insist on (my course of) action.


I took last Friday as a personal day for no real reason---toured a Chicago Public School kindergarten possibility, hit the playground with Nora, did laundry, read some books, took a nap. A friend learned of my planned day off and said "4/20, huh huh huh" while making bubbling-bong noises. Truthfully, that had not occurred to me, but please go ahead and picture me and Snoop riding around in a smoke-filled limo. [Red-Eyed] Mommy and Me. Gin and [Organic Apple] Juice. Five-oh on my back/gotta get a snack/heading to the library to take these books back!

While back in the day I spent whole dorm-room and prairie-hillside afternoons getting herbally stupid, these days I am likely to turn down the chronic unless I am in serious Party Mode or hanging with people who know me well. Really, I'm a drunk at heart. I don't need smokable help to get introspective, digressive, or make weird leaps of logic. Of course, one could argue that I don't need much liquid help to get motormouthy, expansive, or flirtatious either, and yet I continue to imbibe.

Preschoolers often have stoner conversations without even realizing it. Nora was complaining to me about an argument she had with her classmate Peter, about how much they like Superman. Isn't that a great fight to have with your friends? Not how maybe he kind of blew you off on the phone last Thursday, or how she always makes plans and then flakes out at the last minute. The burning, contentious, possibly-friendship-destroying issue is who likes Superman more.

Nora [very in media res]: So who was right?
Me: About what?
Nora: I said I like Superman a million million million, and Peter said he liked him one one one. Who was right?
Me: Well, neither of you is making any sense. On any level. But I guess a million [or three million? or a million cubed?] is more than one. [Or three? Or one hundred and eleven?]

[Aquaman is better anyway. Here is a persuasive essay to that effect.]

Also on Friday, in between chicken wings and mary jaaaaaane, I suggested to Nora that we go to the playground. She pumped her fists in the air and yelled, "SCIENTIFIC!" This is excellent happy-exclamation slang and we should all start using it immediately. Scientific is the new kick ass.


I recently read a book about transgendered teenagers on the West Coast, and one of the chapters gives some superficial background on transgender history, mentioning the "Pope Joan" myth specifically. It also states as fact that Popes used to sit on an open-seated chair during their elevation while a cardinal felt around for testicles. You do not know how sad it makes me that this is probably not true. However, in the course of my fact-finding I did learn that the Camerlengo used to have to job of hitting a dead Pope in the head with a special ceremonial hammer. Which is so awesome it almost makes up for the lack of papal ball-handling.

---mimi smartypants: how public, like a frog.


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