Because we’re now mature, responsible adults, instead of people who drink too often and get naked, we’re probably partying very responsibily. I don’t know, I’m scheduling this post two months in advance, because it’s 2:30 in the morning and I didn’t want to forget to link this video.
Andy’s 23rd birthday party was fairly epic. Not like, the talk of the town epic, but definitely still remembered with fondness. We got drunk, someone threw a beer bottle at our apartment and broke our storm window, and our friend Josh got knocked out. This was actually the last really large party we hosted, I think.
Today, Andy turns 26, and I’m pretty sure no one’s getting a strip-tease this year. Man, I got married so I wouldn’t have to do that shit. (Kidding!)
Slightly NSFW, or for anyone who cares about decent video editing, or for people who abhor a white man in a banana hammock. As for the banana-hammock wearer, you keep saying you read to see if I mention you. ;D Your future political career is in shambles!
I’ve got some exciting posts scheduled for tomorrow and Friday, and I’m adapting to a new computer — and discovered that my blog is not netbook-friendly! So I’ll be fiddling with the layout a little bit over the next couple days; do not be alarmed by it, just ignore the mess. :D
If you’re on my Facebook you’ve seen the big picture set and seen the explanation for it — and if you happen to be one of the few people who reads my DW/LJ, then you saw the whole thing unfold in all it’s not that entertaining glory, and are sick of it, but this picture collage took too damn long to blow off now. :P
I spent the weekend reading fanfiction after the boys went to bed, and while it sucks to have to go back to being, oh, productive, but man, this is me for several months to come.
In this case, the fanfiction in question was being read because I knew it would be cringe inducing, and after I made a face in the very first paragraph, I decided that I could not put it into words — but rather let the pictures do it for me.
And so far this moment appears to be everyone’s favorite:
Also, I got a haircut last week and I look like my 16-year-old brother.
This is a public service announcement. Also, it’s the culmination of all the grief I’m about the give Andy for this. Because seriously.
Andy loves to buy books for Miles — absolutely adores reading to him and all that lovey dovey dad stuff. So he sees the book cover to your left, autographed (to Mariah) with the dragon and the whimsical Barbie-esque girl and says, “Cool, fantasy book,” and proceeds to buy it.
I’m impressed that he didn’t let the art style of the fact that it’s a series called “Copycat Chick series” stop him — I think a lot of guys would have stopped there and deemed the book too “girlie” or whatever. What should have stopped him, if he had bothered to read it before he got the book home, was the back:
In the City of Gold, it has been told a wondrous sign appeared. A copycat chick was near.
The evil red dragon tries to catch the copycat chick as she runs to copy the Bright and Morning Star. This whimsical rhyming book gives children a depiction of what following the Bright and Morning Star really means. Discover the importance of faith in The Dragon and the Woman, a part of the Copycat Chick Series.
At first he sort of goes, “Did I just bring home a book about the devil?” We marvel, and I flip through it, and suddenly it hits me. I look at him, and I go: “Andy, you bought our son a children’s book about the Book of Revelations!” (Also: “I get it, hint taken, I’ll lay off the angel porn!” which is actually a lie.)
Now, you may or may not know that we identify as Catholic (or more realistically, what I’ve heard described as “Cafeteria Catholic”); Andy and I did the whole Catholic Boot Camp for adults and got confirmed, and Miles is baptized. We’re probably medium-rare in our whole keeping the faith thing (I keep forgetting it’s Lent, so, um, yeah), but we have faith.
But this? This is too much for me. If this is something someone else wants to read to their children (I get the feeling Mariah’s mom didn’t), that’s cool — but dear Lord in Heaven, what possessed someone to write a rhyming children’s book about Revelations? The message of Jesus, the values of Christianity, yeah, I can get behind that. Revelations?
I am completely flabbergasted.
And the thing is — it’s not even a good book. I have no idea what’s going on with this Copycat Chick, I don’t think the art is all that good, and the writing is almost nonsensical in places: “The red dragon was mad at the copycat chick because his plan hit the fan. And so he started war biz. And the targets of the war were the copycat chick’s kids. The mini copycat chicks and guys better open their eyes.“
Seriously, I feel like I need a smoke a huge bowl before I even attempt to try to read the whole thing; I keep glancing at pages here and there trying to comprehend this, and my brain totally flat lines. I can’t imagine reading this to my child, because he can already barely speak English as is.
And, to be fair, I get it. Tina Allen & Marian Thuston have faith, and want to see this faith and good moral passed on to children. Books are a great method for helping children learn and understand things on their level. But this, to me, feels like too much, too heavy-handed, and poorly constructed.
Honestly, I’m more offended by the poorly constructed part. Professionalism, writers!
That said, I am SO prepped for our next White Elephant party.
I’m not trying to be self-deprecating or glib — just honest. I am a selfish person.
This sometimes doesn’t jive with the fact that I’m a mother.
We’re now past the two-year marker in breastfeeding, and depending on where you fall opinion-wise this is either an achievement, totally unremarkable, or kinda fucking weird. I’m actually pretty mellow about it, and comfortable with the fact that for the most part it’s winding to a close. Miles needs the breast less, and I find that on days when he “relapses” I’m unable to cope.
It irritates me. Miles doesn’t really talk, not yet, so his idea of conveying the need for milk is to yank on my shirt in an attempt to access the breast. If I’m going to let him nurse anyway I ask him, “Do you want some milk? You need to use words, honey.” He coos, “Moo!” and all is good. If I’m not going to let him nurse, I skip the pretense of a communication lesson and simply say, “No, honey, no milk right now.” Sometimes he cries. Sometimes he shrugs it off.
He yanks on my hand when he wants something not related to my breasts — he grabs my ring finger and pulls me through the apartment, and I tolerate it because it’s cute, unless I’m trying to balance the check book or type something or simply do not need to be walked into the bedroom again because no, we are not watching Scott Pilgrim again.
I communicate quietly, and gently, until I’m full to the brim with unexpressable frustration and I just want to give him to someone else. Sometimes I say things like “Mommy needs you to stop touching her, and stop getting in her space,” and “What on Earth are you whining about now? This is not that critical.”
And sometimes at night — like tonight — I’m so worn after a clingy day where he worked my last nerve, that when he wakes up to nurse when this is supposed to be my time, quiet in the apartment with no one else to deal with, that the idea of going in there and nursing him back to sleep makes me want to scream, but I don’t. I try to rock him gently to sleep and read him his book and all he does his scream and yank on my shirt and writhe out of my grasp like if he tries hard enough I will have to give in, because I always do, until — like tonight — I have to leave him because I cannot stand to be near him anymore, cannot stand to be needed anymore.
Because I am selfish. I try to lock it down and keep it quiet and behave — and I’d largely say I succeed, but it doesn’t change the core of the fact.
I am a selfish person. I have to remind myself that this doesn’t make me a monster.
I’m going to go nurse my child even though I’d rather tear the damn things off my chest, so he could just keep them and so he would just stop crying already. But I am a mother, I am his mother, and I’m overfull with frustration but I just want to see him calm and stop his tears.
I know I’ve maintained pretty hardcore radio silence lately, guys, but I promise it’s temporary. It’s been a combination of Supernatural fanfiction (Oh, God, don’t ask; I don’t think I’ve done my “I love fanfiction!” rant here, have I?), work, and prepping for a June move.
Give me, like… oh, another week and a half? And I promise: we’ll talk about the college myth, failures in partnership (no, not about my husband, who is great <3), and how much I hate moving prep. <3