The Trivial Pursuit of Happiness

Can we talk about this kid’s hair for a minute?

For months (nay, years) I have been waiting for the day that I could put her hair in little pig tails, or maybe a plastic poodle clip. She was born with a peach fuzz, and though her hair never fell out, it also never grew. At a year old you could barely make a bathtub mohawk, and I was getting tired of correcting people when they commented how handsome my little boy was. My little Alvin. Then overnight she had hair, and I thought, Hey, I have a daughter!

What I forgot was that she is my daughter, and thus will not sit still long enough to brush it, let alone tame it. When I do manage to clip-while-running, she scowls at me and shakes her head, which is enough to dislodge anything I try to put in her super fine hair. Most days I wait until she is strapped down in her carseat to try and make it all go in one direction (namely toward her head) but yesterday I didn’t want to fight her, so we went out with crazy Einstein hair (I didn’t want to fight with my hair either.)

My mom called me her “little ragamuffin” as a pet name, and I am seeing some of that in my daughter. Let’s hope she is a bit better than me though, and I never have to cut a fist-sized dread out of her hair because she would not let me brush it for weeks.

Oh my little bloggy blog. I come here, type up a sentence or two, save as a draft and walk away. It’s been.. one of those weeks. Or I guess I should say another of those weeks. You know the ones – where all of your thoughts seem rotten and miserable, everything you touch catches on fire, and you don’t really care. Eh, I’ll deal with the ashes later.

Kerflop wrote a post this week that makes me wonder if a haze is floating over Idaho and Washington this week, because yeah – that’s just about right. I also get to pull the Pregnancy card, but feel like it is a sham – This blahness? Is me. Every so often I get all mumbly and sure that if I try I will just fail, so why try? Thus, I am almost certainly failing one of my (required to graduate in a month) classes. We have a plan to replace the grade later, and just walk at graduation (but not get a diploma until later) but failing for lack of effort is not really who I see myself as, so it’s a blow to the gut.

Add to that wedding stress, toddler stress, money stress and I-fail-at-life stress, and you get me, zoning out on celebrity trash sites and eating contraband ice cream.

As soon as Ella is up from her nap I will take her to the park, chase some squirrels and see if some sunshine will help. I feel like a jerk for being so morose in the spring.

Things I had hoped we could avoid when we had kids:

•  Calling poison control (because someone likes to eat anything colorful, including strange flowers.)
•  Having to explain to the 911 operator that my toddler had called her and that everything was fine (and then having to explain it to the cop who came by also.)
• Wiping my child’s snotty nose on my shirt (on the inside so that no one will see it)(though, of course, it is then touching my SKIN.)
• Having a small child shake her finger at me and say “No nono!” (while I am trying control my morning sickness and change a poopy diaper. It is child abuse if I say “She told me not to!”)
• Throwing a little fit because someone is always touching my things (because I am 4.)
• Considering pricing my child out to the gypsies (especially Minnie Driver.)

With all the wedding stress we have been having, there is still a bright spot: crafts. When Tom and I decided on actually having a wedding
(rather than a court house shindig, which in hindsight…) I was so excited because that meant I had an excuse to buy a bunch of craft stuff, hole up in my room and come out with a million awesome projects that people will ooo and awww over. Right? Well, it turns out I am also in my last quarter of school, mothering a toddler, and wiped out by pregnancy fatigue, so there have been very little crafting going on around here, other than nighttime knitting in front of the TV. Pair that with the fact that every time I have ‘finished’ a project it has turned out to be wrong wrong wrong, I have been discouraged. Today I finally finished the first of two leotards for the girls, and decided to see how the whole outfit goes together.

The leotard is actually a size four (for my little sister) and I will make one for Ella later this week.  There are little things still to be done (tights, flower petal sleeves, shoes) but all in all, this is what Ella and Tillie will be wearing. A little cream leotard, a purple and green tutu, and satin flower petals, with ballet slippers, and Easter baskets with purple and green petals.

I REALLY wish I could wear it too. I am thinking a daisy chain crown, and a flower wand for after they are done with the petals, but those are the kind of details that if they get done – awesome. If not, eh, we’ll live.

My little forest fairy.

Being a motherless daughter is hard on Mother’s Day. In fact, it sucks. The last few years have certainly been brighter, since I have this little person to remind me of the joys of motherhood, but it doesn’t make my heart ache any less for my own mother. In fact, it makes me even angrier that she is not here to help me be a better mom. I am angry that she is not here to be the mother-of-the-bride and throw her weight around, because I need someone else in my corner. I am angry that Ella sometimes calls Pam “Nana” and I do not have the guts to tell Pam that it was supposed to be MY mom’s name. I’m angry that I haven’t learned to talk about her as if she is dead. I’m angry that I am still angry, because I want to be healed. Sometimes I feel close, but today I am angry that I can only whisper “Thank you” into my shaking hands and hope that next year will be easier.

__________

One of the last pictures I have of the two of us, around 1999. I know others were taken later, but I’m not sure where they ended up.

Occasionally Tom or I will just turn to each other and ask “What about the big foot?!” No, not Bigfoot, but the big foot. The one with four toes (like my sister!) The one on the island?

Oh wait, do you not watch LOST? Umm.. I can’t explain what it is, because 3 seasons later Tom and I are still clueless. Our latest theory is that The Others are Greek gods, banished for some reason, but the term ‘theory’ is used loosely, since we came up with that at 2am, when we were trying to decide why Jacob is invisible. It still doesn’t explain WHERE THE HELL Walt and Michael are (they couldn’t have gone home, everyone was accounted for dead on the plane and you can’t just show up alive when they have already found your body), but whatever. What about the big foot?!

What are you all doing for Mother’s Day? Yet another holiday that screams of commercialism, but that I buy whole hog. This year I get double the presents, right? RIGHT?

Did anyone else catch Bill Bradley‘s interview on the Colbert Report? Did you hear him say that if we had the same emission standards as Europe (only about 45mpg), we would not have to import ANY oil from OPEC? Why aren’t all the national security people on this? We hear about needing less dependence on foreign oil all the time, AND about how global warming is going to eat us alive, so…. I am having a hard time seeing why the jump is not made. Hell, if Ford put out cars with European standards, their profits may actually go up, since they would sell in the parts of the world where people can afford to buy a new car. Being raised by the hippies I was, my mind automatically jumps to the fact that some people in government have made a pretty penny off oil, and may not be as keen to break away from oil dependence as they say they are, but then again – actions speak louder than words. I’d be thrilled to be proved wrong.

Along those hippie lines, I am excited that this car is going to be available in 2008. No, we can’t afford to buy it, but hey – guess what? 40mpg isn’t insane. I can see them taking over California.

And to end on a less harpy note, a picture of a lady bug on our craptastic peeling deck:

In my capstone class, we are writing cover letters and personal statements, depending on which direction we are going from here. Cover letters for the people looking for work, personal statements for the people looking to stay in school and write a few more years. I am wondering which category “Be a mom and eat ice cream all day” falls into. Or better yet “Work sporadically for your mother in law, in a field completely unrelated to your major, while juggling two small children and trying to remember what a verb is.” Would I need a cover letter for that?

The assignment is due tomorrow evening, and I really should have it done yesterday since I have no time during the beginning of the week to do much else the bare necessities to stay alive. Breathing? Do I really have time for yet another inhale? Okay fine, but if I am late to pick up Ella, it is your fault.

Speaking of Ella, she has started communicating like a little human the last few days, out of nowhere. A few months ago she had 10 words or so down, with a handful or two more in the wings to surprise us with, and then one day just decided that talking was for the birds.  But then yesterday she said Mama, up, please, and dog, with signs for 20 other words including book, food, cup and stinky diaper (she made this one up – it’s waving her right hand like a mad woman and then slapping her diaper front hard, repeated until I am able to wrangle her down on the table.) So, when I ask her “Ella, what do you want?” she can TELL ME. This is a vast improvement over the whiny kid I was pricing out to the gypsies. The system is not fool proof yet, but it’s a start.

She picked the right time to give me a break too, since I forgot how impatient pregnancy makes me. I have never had a problem being patient with her until recently, and I am trying not to feel like a jerk every time I walk away from her in frustration because it’s either that or pull out my angry mom voice. My mom had a gravely, threatening angry mom voice, and I hear it in my throat, ready to snap “In or out young lady, make up your mind!” Except ours would be “Up or down Ella, you can’t take the ninny with you!” in a loud, angry voice that should not be used on small animals or children. Husbands, maybe. But not kids – it echoes in their minds.

It’s 11:41 at night and Tom just got home from putting together the paper. I’m thinking we both need to veg on the couch. I’m not even going to proofread this thing, so don’t hate me if my there’s are wrong, ok?

I’ve noticed quite a few people searching for “wedding at Manito Garden” or similar and finding me. Tom and I were considering a wedding at the gardens, but unfortunately they are having their huge plant sale that day, and the gardens are overrun with people. Here is the information sheet they sent me when I called. Hopefully they do not mind it being online (and I will obviously take it down if they ask.) Basically it’s $300, for pictures or ceremony (or both.) It sounds like a great deal, and I am still wishing we had lucked out.

Link to photos of the parks on Flickr 

It’s my birthday! Yay for me!  Of the 4 years I’ve been old enough to celebrate my birthday (Cinco de Mayo!) with cheap margarita’s, I’ve been pregnant for two of them. Booooo. Tom and I are going out to diner tonight, despite the fact that it is Saturday night, Cinco de Mayo, AND there are 60 thousand people in town this weekend for the Bloomsday run. Hey, it’s my birthday, I want creme brulee.