Everywhere, signs.

Before I even get started on the story I intended to share, I interrupt this blog post for a tangential thought.  Dear lord, please let's all hope I can eventually remember what I came here for in the first place.

Tangential thought: one of the best parts of being a parent is getting to mess with your kids.  I personally believe bonus parent points can be awarded if you can mess with your kids in such a way that they know they are being messed with, but the reference is far too obscure for them to understand.  Just before Christmas, we took the kids to Lincoln Park Zoo to see the zoo lights.  Note that I say we went to see the zoo lights and not the animals, because the animals, largely, were missing or sleeping.  Also, parts of the zoo were closed or undergoing renovations.  There were signs everywhere explaining why animals were missing or exhibits were closed.  So, the kids kept asking, "What does that sign say?"  And every time they asked me that, I would tell them, "Long haired freaky people need not apply."

But I digress.  Here's where I was going before the train immediately derailed:

Last year for Mothers' Day, Ella made me a gift at daycare.  It was a little sign to hang on my bedroom door (or, presumably, on any door with a knob), that says "Mommy's quiet time."  Ella's teacher explained to a bunch of three- and four-year-olds that they should give their moms time to relax and enjoy some peace and quiet, so when the sign is on the door, they should leave their moms alone. (Right.  But a sweet idea, nonetheless.)

I was cleaning up my bedroom last night and came across the sign on my dresser, so I hung it on my door knob.  When I got home tonight, I discovered that Ella had moved the sign from my door to her door.  My first thought was, "Ella stole my quiet time.  Oh, the irony!"  But then I realized that she moved the sign off my door knob to make room to hang the giant fancy heart she decorated for me for Valentine's Day. 

She's a sweet kid--even if she did steal my quiet time.

Admit it, you're weird too.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets angry and shouts at the radio when I hear poor grammar in a song.  Other people are also known to yell things like, "It's who, Katy Perry.  WHO!!  The one WHO got away.  Unless you make a habit of dating inanimate objects, which wouldn't be that surprising, Whooore," right?  Right??  Please tell me I'm not alone in this.

In other news, I've had the luxury recently of driving to and from work with no little people in the car.  This means I get to shout freely at bad grammar on the radio, drivers with poor driving skills and whatever else irritates me.  It's really liberating but it's also possible that my crazy is getting out of control.  CHANGE LANES ALREADY, ASSHAT. 

Now with more books!

Admit it.  It makes me seem smarter right?  I like to give the impression that I'm literate.  Or literary.  Or literal.  One of those.  But not litigious--too much paperwork.

Seriously, people, what is with your cloven hoof fetish?!?

Over four years ago, I quipped about a Nike gym shoe I had just discovered that appears to be designed for people with cloven hooves (me).  You can see it here, if you'd like.  And who on earth would've ever guessed that a) people, to this day, would be googling "Nike cloven hoof" or (some variation thereof) left and right, AND, b) if you google that phrase, the first result you get is my little old website.  How perfectly odd.  I love it!

Totally Her Father's Daughter

Tonight the kids and I hopped in the car around 7:30 to run to the store.  Despite the fact that it was mostly dark already, Eric found his sunglasses and put them on.  As soon as Ella saw that, she demanded her sunglasses as well.  Monkey see, monkey do.  Except, as I reminded her, earlier, she had insisted on leaving her sunglasses at daycare for some reason.  No way, no how were we leaving that building with her sunglasses in our possession.

So, as I backed down our driveway on the way to the store, she began to throw a royal fit over her lack of sunglasses.  At night.  Long, skinny arms and legs went flying in every which direction.  Screaming, kicking, you name it, it all happened.  Eventually, she calmed down enough for me to understand what she was screaming at me.  She was (not so kindly) demanding that we return to school to get her sunglasses.  "Ella, we can't go to your school," Eric told her.  "It's closed now and if we break in, the police will come and we will all go to jail."

Well, lordy, lordy did that girl ever launch into an all new tirade.  I didn't catch every single thing she said, or shrieked, as the case may be, but the gist of it was a three-year-old version of "fuck the police."  She called the police all sorts of mean pre-school names, and insisted that she was going to bite them, scratch them, kick them, etc.  Eric, totally exasperated by her...threeness, replied with a deadpan, "Ella.  If you did all that, you'd be dead in a matter of seconds."

That kid cracks me up.  His delivery was awesome, and I'm not sure that I'm accurately capturing it in writing.  I don't know where he comes up with half of the things he says.  But I get that sentiment--I'm largely exasperated by her threeness as well.  This will pass, I'm sure.  Things will get better.  I do worry, however, about the fact that I'm raising one future cop and one future criminal and/or gangsta rapper.  I hope that works out ok for us.

Upshots to the Whoopin' Cough

1) I'm getting an excellent ab workout.

2) At only 15 calories a pop, the all cough drop diet is certainly helping me achieve my weight loss goals!

A Load of Compromisin' on the Road to my Horizon

I wonder if this feeling will ever pass because apparently I write about it every year.  My life and all its responsibilities have crept up and caged me.  Mostly I'm settled that it's how things have to be right now.  But damn if every August/September my desire for a change doesn't peak.  Watching people everywhere go back to school and start a new chapter of their lives floods me with jealousy.  I don't even know that I necessarily want to go back to school.  I don't know what I'd study.  I don't know how I'd find time TO study.  But I just know that every year around this time, the fact that I've been living in the same place for 6 years, and have had the same job for the majority of that time really hits me hard and I want to shed my skin and move on.

Sometimes I stand still long enough to notice that everything around me has completely changed.  The daily routine keeps changing as the kids get older.  Evolution is constant and goes unnoticed, unappreciated because it's wrapped in the same familiar packaging.  Friendships change--grow and shrink, rotate, move to the forefront and step out of the limelight--with the ebbs and flows of life.  A cross section of my life would reveal layer upon layer of changes--good times and bad, great friends, rich experiences.  For all that, I'm very lucky. 

I'm pretty sure that the desire for change still burns to remind me that my work here is not done.  It keeps me on my toes, ready for the next big adventure, whenever that may come along.  In the meantime, I suppose I should try to enjoy this same old, same old.  For all I know, it may be the calm before the storm.