My Dear Watson

Mommy = Lamest Lame Ass Around

Starting to talk & write in Twitter shorthand all the time now.  Concerned that every conversation has only 140 character limit.  Cannot have normal discussion.  Most likely music to BeBop's ears b/c I can't ramble on like usual.

I mean, how many times can we have the same fight about when he watches the twins he has to WATCH THEM.  WITH HIS EYES.  His x-ray vision is not so hot these days and so 'watching them' from the office while catching up on the score of the Eagles game doesn't really work.  And how many times can we argue about the size of the pieces of food we're feeding them now?

Me: "They'll choke to death! Pea-sized. PEA-SIZED!!" 

Dorkus: [Returning from freezer with mysterious, small green object in hand] "This is a pea!  This is pea-sized!" 

Me: "NO. Petite pea-sized don'tyouknowanythingyoumoron?"

Apparently, you can have the same fight about all of that stuff approximately 100,977,883,332,778,800,000 times.

Work is so, so busy.  And I have to say, I'm even less competent than I normally am on the home front (WHA? We're out of baby food? Who the fricking frick is supposed to buy those kids some food? OH YEAH. ME. Because apparently husband is totally unable to drag his ass to the store to buy various jars of mashed and pureed items. RIGHT.)

And I'm still descending to Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell (is that right? Seventh? Ninth? At any rate ONE OF THE BAD ONES) going to boot camp, but now only three days a week because, seriously?  I need a day to recover.  I get to work and hobble around all day, incessantly complaining, saying things like, "Oh my aching back" and "GAWD, my feet are killing me" and "I think my hip is out."  Really.  I say stuff like that all the time.  I'm old, people, really, really old.

I was going to sit here at my desk, take a short break and compose a beautiful and heartfelt letter to the twins. I skipped month eight and since we're rapidly approaching ten months (!!) I was hoping to have the chance to transcribe my thoughts on everything that's been happening to them over the last couple of months. All of the fantastic strides they're making, each and every day, on their way to growing up and becoming Citizens of the World. To preserve these memories forever.  To detail my motherly love and tell them how it grows and blossoms each and every day like a lovely lily...but truly? Fuck that. I just don't have the time.

Maybe I'll Twitter them:  @Jax&Parkie Love you, mean it. You 2 r the bomb. Eating like champs, now crawling.  Mama's so proud.  Smell ya later.  Really, I will smell you later.

Or?  I'll just include some photos and put that letter back in the To-Do file.

 

We love Fall, even in California where you barely notice it. But what a great photo opp, huh? And Parkie adds, thank God my freakin' hair is finally coming in, it's about DAMN time.

A change is coming and I'm not talkin' about my diaper!

People, I am truly concerned about this election. And truthfully, I'm concerned that a certain Vice Presidential candidate got her first passport in 2006 and has visited just four countries. I just cannot see how this might bode well for a more positive image for the United States in the eyes of the international community.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

Dudes!  That just got, like, sooooo heavy! We're just going to practice our Zoolander moves and try to ignore the crumbling US economy.

So Bootcamp Had Its Way With Me...

...And I came back for more.

Yup. For some inexplicable reason* I decided to sign up for another month.

*I am a goddamn LAZY ASS. And left to my own devices I wouldn't do anything AT ALL.  Seriously, exercise for me is strolling slowly through the gym, lounging on a treadmill for about 10 minutes, getting super bored of VH1 and then deciding to head out to the nearest bagel shop.

And that's a good workout for me.

So even though I spent all those days thoroughly humiliating myself and hoping against hope that

1) I would miraculously learn how to jump rope from one day to the next and 2) the Blond Mom Gang would ask me to join their perfectly-coiffed cabal (and they would give me a free pass on the customary beat-down most new members get!), neither happened.

And yet, I knew if I wanted to get this baby weight off, and tackle The Awning Problem, I would have to do something that made me work hard.  Because really?  It's  not pretty, folks.

In other news, Baby Cate has arrived, what wonderful news!

And in other other news, the twins are almost nine and a half  months old. I have totally skipped Month Eight's letter, and now am well on my way to missing this month so I must get my ass in gear.

But in case you're curious, the headline is: 

BABIES TEETHING = SUCKTASTIC TIME FOR MOMMY AND NEIGHBORS ON BOTH SIDES

Yes, both neighbors casually mentioned, "Oh!  Are the twins teething?  This is the first time we could hear them." 

I try to shut the window when diaper changes sound like cats being attacked by rusty cheese graters and I try to remember to close the sliding door to the backyard when dinnertime sounds like wild parrots being plucked bald one feather at a time.

I hope that the neighbors can't hear me saying things like, "YOU ARE DRIVING MOMMY TO DRINK" and "Where the fuck is your father?" and "Get me the Baby Motrin STAT" but of course if they hear the babies they probably can hear me, but I choose not to dwell on that.

I just tell myself that teething is a stage, that we will all somehow get through this, and that within a few hours I can wake up to a new morning, which brings with it a new hope, a slowing rising sun, a comforting breeze cooled by the fog over San Francisco Bay, the beautiful soft light breaking through the tree tops and the chance to shove a Lexapro down my gullet faster than you can say

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG