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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

2006-05-19 ... 5:19 p.m.


Last Friday, Nora went to preschool, which may be only 2.5 hours long but which always tires her out. Then we got right in the car and went to Grandma's, where she was played with and fussed over. Then we made her get dressed up in foofy girl clothes and go to an evening wedding. She had to be quiet during the church part (and I said silent thanks for the invention of tic-tac-toe and that adding-machine-paper globs-of-sugar candy. We had brought the Viewmaster, thinking that would be a quiet toy, but it is not a quiet toy if you insist on adding your own commentary to each slide, so that went back in the bag real quick).

I am an idiot and did not bring snacks other than the Shut Your Trap In Church candy, so by the time we got to the reception Nora was not doing well. She has never been the kind of kid to whine about or even mention being hungry: she would rather make me guess what is going on by just making her behavior turn to shit, and then I deliver one of those stupid whisper-hiss lectures in a public place about how we do NOT do that, and then I finally remember about, you know, food. And by the way, nothing makes you feel more like Joan Crawford, in a bad way, than handing out preschooler discipline while wearing a full-skirt-with-crinoline halter-neck dress and holding a cocktail. Finally the passed hors d'oeuvres began and Nora proceeded to eat three huge servings of chicken satay, perched on a window ledge and not speaking except to hand me her denuded skewers and say, "More please." It was frightening and I made a very large mental note that said BRING SNACKS FROM NOW ON OR RISK NORA'S FERAL MONSTERHOOD. Ever since we dumped the diaper bag I can never remember shit like that.

Then the reception, and dinner, and running around in circles on the dance floor (the 3-year-old equivalent of tequila shooters), and staying up until almost midnight (bad mommy!), then sleeping all in one king-sized bed with Nora's feet in my goddamn stomach all night (why must she be horizontal?), then the kid woke up at 6 in the morning (OH MY GOD), then Grandma and Grandpa toke her off our hungover hands and to the hotel's indoor pool, where she splashed happily until she slipped on the side of the pool and bonked her head, which was fixed with icepacks and orange juice and lots of hovering "You Won't Sue Us, Will You?" attention from the very nice Hilton staff. Then breakfast, where the girl who has not gained any weight in six months ate three hard-boiled eggs, two pieces of bacon, a banana, and a mini-box of Cheerios, and then we strapped her into the carseat and drove home and that was IT. I have never seen a child more asleep than my child. I kept creeping in the room and checking on her, on account of the head injury, but after a few times of confirmed normal breathing I decided to just leave the poor thing alone.


In other Nora news, she kind of won't shut up about Mongolia. I blame Grover the globe-trotting Muppet, who has some segment on Sesame Street where he introduces short films of children in other countries. The Mongolia clip is about how apparently there is nothing of entertainment value in Mongolia, so girls there do a traditional dance where they stack rice bowls on their heads and move their arms in a sort of gothy way. Does it prove that the girls have nice flat heads and are thus sexy and marriageable? Or are they really just that bored? Nora loves this bit and can often be seen trying to stack Tupperware on her head, or heard talking incessantly about how we should go to Mongolia. She likes to shout it: MON...GOLIA! Let's go to MONGOLIA! (The parental cliché "not right now" actually becomes kind of awesome in this context.) I did get curious and price it out, and Chicago --- Los Angeles --- Beijing --- Ulaanbataar is about 30 hours flying time and $2K per person. But the opportunity to balance bowls on your head in a featureless landscape? Priceless. Let's go!


So many mouth-to-genitals Google searches showing up in my stats lately. Some of my favorites were "Fellatio Gratitude" (sounds like a Pynchon character name), "1980s blowjob" (watch out for the pointy bangs), and the long-winded "how to get her to suck your dick at the end of one night."


I don't mind the emails from angry homeschoolers---and frankly, I don't really care what you do with regard to your kids' education. I may think your reasons for homeschooling are silly or downright retarded, particularly if they center around the strict avoidance of evil curriculum items such as the timeline of dinosaurs or how some people are gay. But whatever. What I do mind is hate mail on Mother's Day about how I am a fake mom because of adoption, and that if I had pushed Nora out of my own personal vagina I would not be joking around on the Internet about parenthood. Because apparently it is NOTHING TO JOKE ABOUT, and only an adoptive parent would dare be so glib. Shout-out to the fake-mom hatemailer: I hope you get a fungus.


I spent about ten minutes agog at this symptom diary on a parasite "cleansing" forum. You should too.


At the beginning of a meeting today, someone interrupted the main speaker to say, "I'm not sure everybody knows why we're here today." (Don't you love it when shit gets all existential at work?) And the speaker said, "Sure, I can level-set that." Level-set? This is new. Check check check. Can I get a little more bass in my monitor? Can I get a little more dumb-assery in my meeting-speak? Thanks.

---mimi smartypants wants to grow, up to be, be a debaser.


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