Five thoughts not individually worthy of a full post:
1. Geraldine told me she thought I looked like Jennifer Lawrence and that night I dreamed I was in The Hunger Games, except we were all rather flabby. What’s with the excessive realism, dream?! My subconscious doesn’t think I’m badass, huh? I’LL SHOW YOU…right after my morning scone. Wait, what?
2. Speaking of badass, or potentially just “bad,” I have a list of tattoos that I want to get during my next trip to New Hampshire. My first four were done by the same shop and I feel like permanent inking is just not the sort of thing you want to shop around. There’s the one I want for the girls, the labyrinth for travel, and a poem by Guillaume Apollinaire. The poem is going to go on my side in order to remind me when I’m 70 that there was once a time that I liked my side enough–after two babies, no less–to want to gaze upon it often.
3. That’s assuming I make it to 70, and Tom and I made it official: we have wills and guardians and all that stuff wrapped up in a neat little legal package. Maggie will be three next month so, um, yay for procrastinating not coming back to bite our children in the ass? The caveat that I would like my ashes interred in a Chock Full O Nuts can whilst I await commingling with Tom’s ashes was not put into writing, but Tom has his orders. Otherwise, my ghost will spike every romantic effort he makes after I’m gone until he decides to act right. Hmm, failed porn title: Paranormal Cockblock.
4. The thing currently shaving years off my life is the four-month sleep regression. Parents: at four months of age, your baby is going to turn into a jerk. Yes, even your cute one. Especially your cute one. Developmental milestones and perhaps the onset of teething will screw up their sleep patterns and feeding habits just when you were starting to feel okay again. It is cruel and horrible and you just have to grit your teeth until it’s over.
5. I GOT NEW BOOTS. My calves, while strong and handsome and capable of mighty feats of strength, are not what you might call “feminine.” For years I have searched for a knee-high boot that would fit around them without special alteration or the insertion of elastic panels by a professional cobbler. Boots seem to measure for a 14″ calf, whereas mine are around 16.5-17″. For you, Dear Reader, I shall pray that you never know the insupportable indignity of clicking the “wide shaft” search parameter on shoe retail websites or the desperation that leads you to ask your gay DJ friend if he knows any drag queens who might offer shopping tips. But amazingly, Uggs does make a standard boot in addition to those sock-like canklemakers that are their bread and butter, and now I own very classy knee-high black leather boots with a solid tread, furry lining, and that only pinch at the top a little tiny bit and that match every dress and pair of jeans that I own. It’s my springtime miracle.
And just for fun, a photo: Maggie tucking her little sister in for a nap, mere moments before she collapsed on Moira in a fit of huggy toddler joy. Moira only pulled her hair a little in the ensuing struggle.