Friday, December 23, 2011
Even though she hated it, said it itched and made her look like a baby, I parted her hair in the middle and pulled the two divided sections into elastic bands.
Two minutes! I said, and then we can take it out.
2008 (not pictured: 2009)
It's tradition, I told her, and then explained what that meant.
So when I'm a teenager you'll do this? she asked, when I am a grown up? When you are dead and a skeleton, you'll make me wear my hair in ponytails for a picture in front of the Christmas tree?
Yes, I said. Yes, yes and yes.
(Although I'm still undecided if Ozzy's hair will also be in ponytails for this pic once he gets hair.)
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Which leads me to this: HELP.
This is the first and last time Ozzy ever slept in his crib. Circa September? It lasted maybe an hour.
People of the internet, this is what I want for Christmas: tell me how to get Ozzy out of my bed. Zoey is easier. I can handle Zoey. But Ozzy?
Ozzy must sleep with a nipple in his mouth. And it must be my nipple. He won't take a pacifier so night after night I torque my body to poke a boob into his mouth even though my milk dried up months ago. Needless to say my back is killing me and I have actual porn-y thoughts of sleeping alone with my knees drawn up to my chest. Oh yeah baby, I'm sleeping hard. I haven't reached REM sleep in almost 7 months.
I'm willing to slather his crib sheet with banana-flavored YoBaby if that'll keep him in there. What I'm not willing to do is hardcore Cry It Out.
So please. Pretty please flocked with fake snow and frosting to make this (literal!) shitty post fit in with the rest of the seasonal bloglandia cheer--please tell me how I can get Ozzy to sleep in his crib without any tears.
Fitfully, Shitfully, Titfully Yours,
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
My day sucked. This is also how my day was: wake up at 4am because Ozzy wants to chat. We stare at each other and smile for 10 minutes straight, and I realize it is maybe the most intimate thing I have ever done. Zoey wakes up and we cuddle on the couch to watch Babar. The bus is warm. The barista at Starbucks remembers my name and is genuine. At work I catch a typo. Free peppermint bark. On a whim I type "Last Christmas" by Wham! into Pandora and spend the afternoon listening to wonderfully terrible holiday music. At home Zoey's eyes are two glazed donuts, her temperature 101 degrees. I kiss the hot palms of each hand and she goes to sleep at 6. Because he left work early to pick up Zoey, Bryan has to go back to his office, so I eat a dinner of five Pfeffernüsse alone in the kitchen with Ozzy. Five Pfeffernüsse, five Pfeffernüsse. I say it out loud a few times and the powdered sugar puffs a bit like a dragon. Ozzy thinks this is hysterical. He eats sweet potato and peas.
My day was awesome.
Both of these are true, the cognitive dissonance of my day. Of every day, really. What happened and what I choose to tell. Neither of them the wrong answer but both of them right. How was my day? What will I say? I believe in the value of both.
How was your day?
Sunday, December 11, 2011
That's it people: my year in a snapshot. You better believe this one's getting framed.
From mine to yours,
Monday, December 5, 2011
Incidentally, in high school I kissed a boy who ate Very Cherry Jelly Bellies and then blew them out his nose on demand. He had pretty green eyes despite his soft palate being too closely connected, so once after he gave me a ride home we kissed not because we liked each other because we didn't, but because we were two teenagers in a car and I was getting out.
I wish I still had that rainbow jelly bean necklace, and somewhere somebody wishes that dead teenage girl were still alive.