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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

2005-09-22 ... 3:42 p.m.


Nora is big on getting me to spell stuff for her lately. Yesterday I was sitting at the kitchen table keeping her company while she ate some yogurt and apple slices. There was a pen and paper nearby. "Write YOGURT and then I will spell it," said Nora. I did, and she did, stopping only to insist that I point to each letter while she said it aloud.

"You can point to the letters yourself," I said, thinking maybe I would instill a learning-to-read study habit or some crap like that. Which only led to Nora saying, "No, Mommy, YOU do it. I am busy with eating!" (Of course. Pardon me.)

Next: "Write APPLE and then I will spell it." Okay. I get the pointing thing right this time. "A-P-P..." says Nora, and then stops dead. "P-P! PEE-PEE!"

Oh, the hilarity. No really, you don't get it. That is the funniest joke in toddler history to date. I had to reach over and keep her from falling off the chair at one point, she was laughing so hard. We have a whole routine now where we start to spell "apple" and then look confused, repeating, "P-P? Pee-pee! No way, man! Pee-pee goes in the potty!" It kills. It may be coming soon to an open mic night near you.


1. Nora did not cry at preschool dropoff today. Rock!

2. Tomorrow is the six-year anniversary of my first diary entry here at my creaky little never-redesigned subdomain. Six years of overexplaining! Six years of preemptive hair-trigger self-justification! Six years of private jokes, so private that I am the only one laughing! I should really get a hobby or something.

3. I have purchased my first high heels. There may have been a slightly elevated boot heel in my past, but I have never until now owned anything that could be construed as a "pump" or a "high-heeled dress shoe." I practiced walking around in them the other day and every time I passed a mirror I was slightly shocked at the sight of my own ass. Oh hello ass! So that's what you look like all elevated and pushed out!


1. I have used puppets during sex. Although technically it wasn't a puppet but a sock gorilla, and technically it wasn't during sex but immediately afterwards. I was doing something to LT while he sat in a chair and when I finished the sock gorilla just happened to be right there next to me and I could not stop myself from poking the sock gorilla up over the arm of the chair and making him say, "Dude, what'd I miss?" It was a lot funnier to me than it was to LT, but maybe humor has a refractory period, just like other things.

2. This morning I was first awakened by a thunderstorm, and then by Nora crying. It is strange how I can be so patient and loving in the middle of the night when she is spooked by a nightmare or just some nameless little-kid dread, and so irritable when she is scared of natural phenomena like a thunderstorm. Even as I say the soothing words part of my brain is thinking damn it, I EXPLAINED thunder to you, plus it's outside, plus oh never mind. There was no getting her back to sleep and it was starting to become a legitimate "morning" time, so I did what I have said I will never do and asked her if she wanted to come sleep in our bed. Of course there was no "sleeping" done at all, just a lot of wiggling and whispers, but it allowed me to remain horizontal for a little while longer and stopped the spaz attack.

3. I have purchased a swimsuit. I have not worn a swimsuit since grade school. The swimsuit is fairly covered up---I purposely bought the bottom part a size too large and the top part goes all the way down to meet it, so it really is more like a "swim shirt and swim pants" than a swimsuit, but it is still a long way from the swim-burka or swim-hijaab that I want to wear. To make a long story short, Kat and her husband have some timeshare deal that sounds completely migraine-inducing in its complexity, there is this huge list of available resorts and lots of arcane rules about when you are allowed to visit the property that you fake-own. I don't pretend to understand, but the end result is that they asked us to go along to vacation in some random beachy place for a week in October. Although that is so not my normal kind of vacation, a poolside cocktail while we watch our kids splash about does sort of appeal, plus it would probably be prudent to wait a year or two before I start hauling Nora around to Thailand or India as I am jonesing to do. We are going to west Florida, if you really must know (although Disneyworld is a NO-GO ZONE, I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE), and although Kat and I harbor secret fantasies of teasing our hair and getting all decked out in espadrilles and ice-cream-colored capri pants like Sopranos extras on vacation, I think the swimsuit is just about the extent of what I can handle.

These developments, minor as they are, are giving me a mini-breakdown of sorts. You all know that I don't really believe in a "self" (just about the only thing me and the Buddhists agree on, actually.) But I still can't help thinking, "fuckarooni, who am I?" Who is this Mimi? High heels? A swimsuit? Puppet sex? (Well okay, the puppet sex makes sense.) Perhaps I can embark on a new entertainment career, where I strut around in my sensible high heels and not-very-revealing swimsuit while carrying a lewd puppet sidekick.

---mimi smartypants gathers no moss.


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