Even My Kid Hates Me

The following is an ACTUAL conversation that took place in my home today:

Turtle: I don't like you.
Me: That's not very nice, Buddy. Why don't you like me?
Turtle: I just need Daddy.

I'm thinking this perhaps has something to do with the shots. Turtle, having gotten his wish and having been to the doctor on Tuesday, was dismayed to find out that the doctor was not just going to look at his owies and give him a prescription for intensive Mommy-love, but was also going to try to catch him up on his immunizations at the same time. Four little syringes. Four little needles. Two little legs. You do the math.

Of course, he was over the insult and the agony of it all not even ten minutes later and was happily bouncing through rain puddles, but deep in his subconscious, I'm sure he's planning exactly what he's going to say to his therapist in another 20 years. Still, I feel the need to remind him that when he woke up from his nap, complaining that he just couldn't walk ever again, ever, and could I please carry him? because O, dear God, the PAIN!!!, I did, in fact, pick his heavy butt up and tote him around wherever he wanted to go. (Granted, "wherever he wanted to go" mostly translated to "the couch," where he leaned back into the cushions with the back of his hand upon his forehead, moaning pitifully about his fate. But still. I made an effort. I think that should count for something.)

What really concerns me is that we have another appointment in August, during which the doctor will be giving him one more round of shots to get him completely caught up. If he already doesn't like me, I can't imagine the degree of loathing he will have for me after that appointment. I'm finding myself kind of grateful that he's still a little too young for Harry Potter right now, because I'm not sure I could handle being known as "She Who Shall Not Be Named" for the next 15 years.

Turtle: The New Face Of Starbucks

Like most little boys, Turtle has a whole army of toy cars with which he plays (and often leaves lying around on the floor, in the hopes that Mommy will step on one in bare feet and treat him to a lesson of "very special words" that he can use the next time he's hanging with his grandparents.) Most days, he asks me to put on Cars (a movie we watch at least 3 times a day) while he uses the coffee table as a race track, walking around it over and over again while pushing a few of his cars in a simulated race. Sometimes, he even asks me to help race with him, which gets really exciting, particularly when he wants me to go "faster!!!" and I end up getting dizzy and nauseated and quitting early while he's crowing about winning the race. (Note to self: discuss the concept of "good sportsmanship" with Turtle.) Today, however, was a little different.

Today, he walked over to his shelf on our entertainment center and grabbed one of his larger books, plopping it in the middle of the coffee table. He lined up all of his cars on one edge of the book. Then, he pulled one of the cars to the corner of the book, drove around that corner, and pulled it up to the middle of the other side. And then:

"I want a venni decaf nah-fat carmuhl nacchiato." *pause* "Yep, that's it!"

Having placed his order, he pulled his car forward, and grabbed the next car in line to pull it around the corner, pull up to the middle of the book and order. Remarkably, all of the cars ordered the same thing.

Two things are now abundantly clear to me. First, I need to be very, very careful what I say around my child, because he is obviously listening to every word (which also means I need to pay attention where I'm stepping so his car-shaped land mines don't cause a verbal explosion.) And second, I'm in a Starbucks rut and really need to try something new.

Just Call Me A Terrible Mother And Get It Over With

I have a confession to make. I haven't taken Turtle to see the doctor in over 2 years. He's behind on his vaccinations and I have NO idea where he falls in the height/weight percentiles. And while part of that is because we did not have insurance for a long stretch between his birth and now, I can't really use that excuse now that we've had health insurance for going on a year. No, the reason he hasn't been to the doctor lately has more to do with me than it has to do with insurance.

I haven't wanted to take him in to see the doctor in the last year because I didn't want to have to deal with the "Why has it been so long since your last appointment?" questions. We did not have a great relationship with Turtle's first pediatrician and had JUST found a new pediatrician when we started having insurance issues. So I don't have that trusting relationship with my child's doctor, yet, that gives me the confidence to walk in with my kid, who is majorly overdue for his vaccines, and NOT feel like the Worst. Mother. EVER! I have a hard enough time admitting to a bunch of virtual strangers that my child has not been to the doctor because I'm selfish enough to not want to deal with potential (not certain, but potential) judgment and I don't even have to look you guys in the eyes.

(Gawd, I suck.)

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided that I needed to stop hiding from this, because despite the fact that my kid has been (thankfully!) very healthy, at some point I AM going to want to ship him off to school and his little immunization record will need to be filled out appropriately. So Oscar and I had the "we, at some point, or maybe I should say 'you' because I'm not sure I want to be the one to make this call, should probably consider making Turtle a doctor's appointment for some future date when I can maybe handle this a little better" conversation. And because I'm an idiot, of course Turtle heard this whole conversation, which led to another whole conversation with Turtle.

"Who's going to the doctor, Mommy? Who's going?"
"You are, buddy. Mommy needs to take you to see the doctor."
"Is he going to look at my owies?"
(Thinking that if that's the way he best understands it, this might just be the easiest conversation ever:) "Yes."
"Oh BOY!"

Since then, Turtle has periodically reminded me that he was going to the doctor so the doctor could look at his owies. Of course, this naturally resulted in my feeling pressured by my THREE YEAR OLD to do the right thing, suck it up, and make the damn call to get him an appointment. But I still resisted. I am apparently not so great a mom that my child's needs supercede my own yet.

(Gawd, I really really suck.)

Then, today, I was sitting at the dining room table, babysitting a print job for Oscar when Turtle walked into the kitchen, picked up his phone and had the following conversation:

"Doctor? I have owies. You come over tonight and look at them? Oh yeah? Okay. Thanks. You're the best, best ever."

He has an appointment for next Tuesday morning.

Current Conditions: 89 Degrees and 42% Humidity

I was commenting recently to Snark's Mistress that I seem to be living my life in ALL CAPS lately, because some kind of exciting things have been happening. Not exciting enough to report on, clearly, but exciting enough that while IMing Snark's Mistress during the day, I would put the caps lock on to convey my news. However, because I am Karma's bitch, I am today living my life in ALL CAPS for another reason. That reason being:

MY AIR CONDITIONING IS OUT AGAIN!!!!! IT'S 109 DEGREES OUTSIDE!!!! ARE YOU FRICKIN' KIDDING ME WITH THIS?????

So yeah, apparently the guy who came out on Saturday to fix my air conditioner was overly optimistic in his appraisal of how long the charge would last in my unit. Either that, or he was seriously deluded as to the size of the leak in my unit. Either way, I'm singing the "It's 90 degrees in my house" blues. (Oh, and while we're on that subject, and please forgive me for sidetracking but I have to get this out, I was on the phone with Mama Jo earlier, discussing the situation and she asked how warm it was. At that point, the thermostat was reading 86 degrees. So she says "Oh, that's not bad at all." To which I responded, "Not unless you're sitting in it." Because while, yes, 86 degrees outside, with the birds chirping and the water babbling in the brook and the breeze blowing, is a perfectly acceptable temperature, 86 degrees INSIDE, with the stuffy and the yucky and the "nowhere to go because it's only worse OUTSIDE" is NOT not bad. In fact, it sucks. A lot. So I love you Mama Jo, but I am sticking out my tongue in your general direction because WHO SAYS that 86 degrees isn't bad to a person whose a/c is out in 110 degree weather? GAH!) (Okay, thank you. I'm better now.)

On the bright side, when I realized this morning that our air was having problems again, I called Snark's Mistress and pleaded the pleas of the desperate for her to babysit my kid until the a/c tech could get there at some point between 9:00am and 1:00pm to fix my air and make my house liveable again, and she said "But of course!" And then, when the a/c tech called and said he was finishing up another job and would probably be here closer to 2:00pm, Snark's Mistress felt my pain and reassured me that Turtle was doing just fine there with her. And then, when the a/c tech called and said he had to go get a part to finish up the other job and would probably be leaving that location at 3:15pm, Snark's Mistress joined me in a bitchfest of epic proportions, but was still happy to keep Turtle with her instead of subjecting him to the torture I am currently enduring.

So at least there's that.

Anyway, it looks like the leak was easily identified this time around and the a/c tech will soon be able to fix it. Of course, that means that we completely wasted a few hundred dollars on Saturday by charging it again in the first place, but on the other hand, we don't need a new compressor, so we'll be thanking our deity of choice for that. And now I think Oscar and I are about due for a serious discussion as to why it is, exactly, that we live here and what kind of brain damage we might be suffering from that is preventing us from making the perfectly logical decision to get the hell out of here. I'm thinking at least one of us must have a tumor.

Apparently, Karma Has Caught Up To Me

I am going to say this as calmly as I can, because I know that if I am not deliberate about it, I will completely lose my mind: My. Air. Conditioner. Is. Broken. Oh dear. I think I'm going to hyperventilate now.

Depending on which weather authority you believe, the temperature outside ranges between 101 degrees and 104 degrees. But in my house, there is no doubt: it is 89 degrees and climbing. I would like to think that the fine gentleman who is currently on his way to my home to poke around at the inner workings of my air conditioner will be able to quickly ascertain the problem with it and fix it post haste. However, I am considerably more practical (not to mention realistic) and therefore I am sure that after poking around the inner workings of my air conditioner, the fine gentleman sent by the repair company will instead tell me that I need a brand spanking new air conditioner and/or some part that is obscure and will need to be back-ordered. In other words, I completely expect to be told that optimal living conditions will not be restored for at least a week. GAH!

If anyone needs me, I will be in the corner, alternately whimpering and mumbling crazed prayers to the ice cream gods.

My Life Is Apparently A Seinfeld Episode

I'm kind of done feeling crappy about the fact that I haven't been posting here with anything even vaguely approaching regularity lately. Which is to say that I'd LIKE to be done feeling crappy about it, but my hyperactive guilt complex won't let me be completely done with it, so I just keep trying to tell myself I'm done with it in the hopes one day that will actually be the case. And since that's not working out so well, I'm also trying to remind myself of my daily successes, thinking that maybe if I focus on the things I'm doing well, not only will I be able to distract myself from the crushing failure of my complete inability to write anything of substance lately, I will also find some nugget of inspiration therein.

Of course, reminding myself of my daily successes would be a lot more productive if I could think of anything at which I was succeeding that is more significant than "showered before 6:00pm." Unfortunately, I think the problem at the root of my writer's block is the same problem at the root of my lack of significant accomplishments: I am boring.

I floated this theory past my Blogger Brother a month or so ago, and he tried to persuade me that it's not that I'm boring; it's that, as a stay at home mom, the intellectual stimulation and attendant social outlets of the workplace are not as available to me. So, it's not ME. It's the fact that I see the same four walls, day in and day out, and I have very little in the way of adult conversation to remind me how my brain works. It's a comforting thought, I suppose, but while I do agree with him to an extent, the fact remains that I'm pretty boring too.

Or maybe I should say that I'm boring in the sense that the things I find interesting are not things that lend themselves easily to clever discussion. At least, not in this forum. Because while I could chat about Stargate SG-1, my views on Stargate SG-1, and my relationship with Stargate SG-1 for hours on end (and have in the recent past), these are subjects I prefer to reserve for my future LJ project with Snark's Mistress. And while I would have no problem riffing on the problems of my favorite trainwreck blogger, there are other people who have started their own pages specifically devoted to his complete and total ineptitude, and who are therefore doing a better job than I could ever do.

As for my usual fall-back topics of conversation? Well, Turtle has been in a mood lately, so I find myself more likely to put him in time-out until he turns 35 than I am to find something he does amusing enough to write about it. And as for my diet - well - I tend to think I have exhausted that discussion, particularly since I seem to be at a plateau at the moment. A plateau I like to call "too much ice cream in a one-week period because McMama is a very very very very very very very very very bad influence and I am weak. WEAK, I SAY!" Maybe when I have sufficiently recovered from my crappy food binge, I will have more to say on that subject, but for now, let's just agree to let that one go, shall we?

So where does that leave us? Well, apparently, it leaves us with yet another post about absolutely nothing. Aren't you glad you checked in for that? Yeah. Me too. I guess that means it's just about time I declare a summer hiatus, which seems to be what a lot of my other favorite blog people have done already, but with 150% less guilt on their parts. I will, of course, check in periodically, if I have something of actual interest to say. But otherwise, I think I will surrender to the fact that my tendency to stay indoors when the temperature climbs over 100 degrees, while a smart move on my part in terms of survival, nonetheless makes it much more difficult for interesting things to happen to me. And therefore, gives me virtually nothing to talk about. (And I still manage to use more than 700 words to get around to that point. Ahh, the irony.)

I can only hope that come fall, when I start venturing out of doors with slightly more regularity, I will again find clever and witty things to say. Or at least fake it better. A girl can dream, anyway.

It Made Me Gain Four Pounds, Too

Okay, do you know what I hate? I hate that feeling of wanting nothing more than to write something cute and funny and entertaining but at the same time feeling like I have absolutely nothing to say. You would think that I would have a lot to talk about right now, having just come back from the LEAST vacation-y vacation I have ever taken, and then throwing a party less than 48 hours later, but instead, all I can do is stare at the blank computer screen and curse the little hilbilly in my mind who has one hand down his pants, scratching himself, while the other hand feeds beer into his face on a schedule that includes adequate time for belching and staring blankly at the walls. WHY IS THAT GUY STUCK IN MY HEAD? Why can't it be the sophisticated urban-dweller who gets invited to all the best cocktail parties and always has something to say? My brain is betraying me.

I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that I think I ate ice cream EVERY DAY of the last week of my vacation. And not just little scoops of ice cream, either. The ones that you eat just to make the people you are with feel better about the fact that they are pigs? No. I WAS the pig. Two really big scoops of ice cream on a sugar cone, and when I was feeling REALLY disgusting, I piled on the hot fudge. This is why I try to only visit McMama once a year. I swear that woman sprays "Diet B Gone" in her home before she leaves for the airport to pick me up. (Then again, she kind of has to, because if I was able to retain any of my culinary standards while visiting, I would never eat on the nights she cooked.) (To be fair, though, she did, in fact, make chicken one night and it was, believe it or not, edible. She used a lot of soup, so it was not as dry as the Sahara. Viva Campbells!) (Why, yes, she did make me promise that I would post about that one time that she actually made food that I could eat without suppressing my gag reflex. How did you know?) (She also wanted me to post about her potatoes au gratin, which were excellent if you are a fan of potatoes au gratin. I am not, normally. But hers were quite good. If you like potatoes au gratin. Which I normally do not.)

What was I saying? Oh yes, I think the ice cream rotted my brain out and made me incapable of writing anything worthwhile. Then again, it was worth it. Dark chocolate ice cream with chunks of mint bark running through it on top of a scoop of French roast coffee ice cream, all on top of a sugar cone? For someone who had spent the previous four months on a diet, that was an orgasm on a stick right there. And if masturbation is supposed to make you go blind, I would think ice cream induced orgasms would be enough to short circuit your brain a little bit, don't you?

I just hope things start to balance back out soon. Because while I have appreciated my time away from Teh Internets, I would very much like to get back into the swing of things so I can start posting witty and clever things that inspire people to send me appreciative comments. I am all about anonymous adoration, after all.