This morning was really a comedy of errors. First and foremost, my lovely little one had worked very hard last night at convincing me that she did not need a bath until this morning. Now, I fail to understand what it is that I’m missing in my brain that allows me to comply with this type of request. Given that I’m a single parent, morning time involves me, bleary eyed with a cup of coffee in hand, trying desperately to get little tike out the door to school with no back up to my firm demands that she brush her hair and teeth prior to exiting the house. Moreover, given that I can not move quickly, having no back up also requires me to crutch around in circles when I’m rage-full and Puddin’ Pop has decided to run as opposed to dealing with the cause of my ire.
You see, if I had a husband, this would be the part where he would helpfully step in and say “Now you listen here…your mother isn’t well and you WILL listen to her!!” (I can say that too, but it just doesn’t have the same impact coming out of my mouth in a deep voice…) Actually, who am I kidding with that statement?? All a husband would likely mean is more laundry and the occasional “Would you two stop being so loud?? I have another half hour to sleep in prior to having to get up for work…” Sometimes, my fantasy self wants to believe that a man would make this job so much easier, helping with child-rearing and helping me up the stairs when I’m too lazy to crutch to the top. Realistically, we all know what a man in my life would really mean, don’t we?? It would mean me gimping about in ire over two children instead of just the one…
My best friend recently (meaning a few years ago) moved a man into her home. Since that point in her life, things have become far more busy and stressful, not the least of the causes of which being man’s general ineptitude with social graces. (And yes, I say MAN generally, because it is my firm belief via experience that man has only just evolved from apes, causing them to do things like burp loudly in public, or tell their in-laws proudly upon departure that they will “Smell them later.”)
But, given that I’ve lapsed into rambling here, I think I should move back to my point. This morning was exceptionally difficult. After pretty much having to forcibly put Puddin’ Pop there in the tub, I then had the distinct pleasure of fighting with her over the matter of getting dressed. Now this fight with children over getting dressed in the morning is something that never seems to fail to elude my rational thought processes. What on earth do these kids think is going to happen if they opt not to get dressed in the morning?? Do they honestly think that going to school naked is something that wouldn’t cause a stir? Does it not occur that walking around in the cold winter weather naked causes frostbite? It’s all very confusing and incomprehensible to me.
In addition to this round of drastic fun, we have just recently acquired a hamster. This hamster came to our home as a direct result of my little one being in Phoenix for a week, which sent me into “I WANT MY BABY” overdrive. Essentially, this is what occurred; as I was missing my child deeply, and wanting nothing more than to see her again, she had the presence of mind to ask for a hamster. I, being the strong minded woman that I am, instantly agreed, and on Monday afternoon, Princess the hamster was brought into my home. Princess, by the way, is a male hamster. I know this because the lady at the pet shop firmly told me that he was a male hamster. Puddin’, however, wanted a female hamster and so, figuring it wouldn’t make a lick of difference to the hamster, I told her that is what he was. If hamsters are capable of feeling self-conscious, our little guy has already likely acquired one hell of a complex. I don’t care, I’m too busy counting my lucky stars that my daughter didn’t ask me for a pony when she was visiting the Grandparents…
At first, the hamster was source of great discomfort for me, as he, Princess, is a rodent. My mind had rationally and logically already figured out that little one would be the only person in this household, other than the cat, that wanted anything whatever to do with the little thing. I, however, am a suck first and a heartless bitch second. That said, it took me all of 48 hours to fall in love with Princess, who, following his adjustment period of 24 hours (which I’m not sure if he was needing to adjust to new surroundings or simply adjust to the fact that his masculinity had evidently been left at the pet shop…) became quite tame and willing to be petted and loved up. He is only four weeks old now, and I’m confident that in time, he will forget that he once knew a time when his penis was recognized and respected by his fellow hamsters. For my part, I found myself sneaking into Puddin’s room at 11pm last night just to pet him and coo at him. Sometimes, I really do make myself rather ill.
Puddin’, now back from the Grandparents and adjusting to the horror of having to reside in a home with rules, is having problems of her own. This morning, having set her alarm clock for 5am, she promptly went downstairs, glued herself to the game cube, and fell into a coma for two hours until I awoke. My insisting that she get ready for school produced objections so strenuous that I’m sure she thought I had told her to go and smack herself silly as opposed to simply get washed and put underpants on. Somehow, we will survive this wonderful period of re-adjustment, and, like Princess, I’m sure that she too will soon tame, and once again allow me to encourage the changing of underwear without feeling the need to throw her body on the floor and bite my ankles…
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment