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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

2006-07-03 ... 10:31 a.m.

Time for some eerie, plate-of-shrimp, karma-karma-chameleon stuff. Remember when I was all busy thinking about Nebraska? Then I got busy, right after getting busy,* thinking about the Kool-Aid guy (hey, Kool-Aid!). I soon got a-Googling and learned that Kool-Aid is the official soft drink of Nebraska. Nebraska is hot. Nebraska is thirsty. Nebraska needs Kool-Aid! And then Kool-Aid Guy comes crashing through the prairie to deliver refreshment. Do you think the Kool-Aid guy carried any sort of personal liability insurance, since he always seemed to be destroying people's load-bearing walls in the commercials? Or would your homeowner's coverage take care of that?

*Sometimes I think of very specific things during sex---these are not fantasies but just strong images, almost like hallucinations, that pop into my head, usually at crucial moments. They neither distract nor inspire, but I always feel compelled to share them afterwards with LT ("I saw a picture of the Canadian flag when I came!"). You may now pity my husband.


Nora appears at my bedside at 1:30 in the morning, stage-whispering "Mommy" over and over again and scaring me half to death because she is not so much a get-out-of-bed kid as she is a lie-there-and-yell-for-assistance kid. What could the problem be? "I have to go potty," she whispers dramatically. She has to go potty. She got out of bed and walked past two toilets in order to tell me this.

Me: Uhhhh great, then go. That's why you are a big girl with a big-girl bed.
Nora: Do you want to keep me company?
Me: Not really!
Nora: Okay. I will come back and tell you how it went.
Me [some noise that roughly translates to oh my fucking god]

A few minutes later she is back with the compelling news that she had lots of pee-pee, probably because she had been sleeping all night! And the milk from dinner got turned into pee-pee! This happens inside your body! And then she's all like, "Mommy, move over a little so I can lie down and talk to you" and I lay down the law about going back to her own bed, NOW, because I am not really in the mood for a small person's chatty midnight monologue. Okay.

In the morning she is back in bed with me, which actually is allowed on weekends, and we are snuggling for a bit while I doze. Suddenly Nora says, "Mommy? I don't want to grow up and have a baby in my tummy." I tell her that she does not have to have a baby in her tummy if she doesn't want one, and I probably even slip a little "your body/your choice" propaganda in there, because why not? And she says, "But babies come!" and I explain that you can make them not come, and she says "How?" and I am so damn sleepy. So I say, "uhhhh, you can take a pill" which is kind of lame and mechanistic of me, but will have to do for now. And I guess it is a better answer than a cheerful "Why, just do it in the butt!" or an exhaustive discussion of birth control methods, at a point when Nora is not even entirely clear on basic sex/conception details.

It is starting to dawn on me that we really should not be whispering all this while I am not fully awake, so I get up with her and fetch cereal and Richard Scarry books and we have some further discussion about baby-making. She is still adamant about not wanting a baby, and dubious about the no-baby option, so we talk about the fact that all three of her aunts are grown-up women without babies, which leads to how me and LT had a baby and it was Nora, so then I have to remind her (again) that she did not grow in my tummy [sic] but in the tummy of some other lady in China. And she seems satisfied with all that, so I leave her to her soymilk and Oswald, and head off to make myself some tea and JESUS. It is not even 7 am. We have already had sex-ed and adoption talk and can I get a shot of Jameson for my Earl Grey? Thanks.

Happy Independence Day, if you are of the American ilk. We are "eh" about fireworks (outside AND crowded? no thanks), but we are serious about watermelon. So that is one point in the Norman Rockwell column, I guess.

---mimi smartypants stuck a feather in her hat.


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