The Path Not Taken...Yet

I'm antsy again. Brian came into our bedroom the other night to find me on the laptop very absorbed. He asked what I was doing.
Looking for a job.
A job?
Yes, a job.
Why?
'Cause.
Oh, uh...oookay. (aka-I'm not going to ask)
Of course I'm not in a position to have a career right now unless our mortagage and need for food require it. We have a new baby and a part-time kindergartener that I want to spend time with. But at the end of a day filled with diapers, time outs, dishes, missing socks, and messy snacks the idea of a career sounds so...well, glamourous.

I don't regret staying at home despite my need for accomplishment, feedback and a paycheck. I'm putting myself on hold for them. Call me a martyr. Of course, I'm sensible enough to know that if I worked I'd probably want to be at home. We always think the grass is greener. And we always want what we don't have. Or is this just me? If so,...how embarrassing. This is why purusing the help wanted ads satisfies some craving for me. It's like window shopping or walking through a beautiful showroom. I stroll through looking at all the wonderful things I could have- there's a little thrill or rush. The ideas, the changes, it's all so alluring. But when I calculate the price, I can't afford it. Emotionally, I can't afford it. And then I shut off the computer. I put the clothes in the dryer and let the dog out. I go upstairs and put my hand on each child's chest. I feel the up and down of their breathing and I know I am exactly where I need to be.

There's a reason they call it a waiting room.

What do you get when you cross a half naked baby, a five year old and a doctor's waiting room? You lose your freakin' mind! I realize that joke did not make sense but neither does waiting like a million hours in an exam room, with small children, to see the doctor.

It was Ana's 4 month check up today and her appointment was scheduled for 11am. I had to think hard about how this particular doctor's office ran. If I arrive early will it be first come, first served? Or will they refuse to acknowledge my presence until the clock strikes 11? I decided to take the middle ground approach, I arrived at 10:45. Turns out they are in the "1/2 hour after your appointment" camp. Didn't see that coming.

Finally we get into the exam room and wait...and wait...and wait some more. Now you'd like to think that if they're going to call you back into the exam room it should mean that the doctor is going to enter in the near future. Collin is constantly asking questions like, "where's the doctor?","what's taking so long?" and "can I play with the needles in this red trashcan?". While he's talking he's rolling on the floor, taking the doctor's stool on a spin across the room and using tongue depressors to do a walrus impression. I'd be willing to pay more than my co-pay if they would have a clown or magician on standby for such occasions.

Finally the doctor arrives looking shiny and fresh. I want her to at least appear haggard. You know, make-up running, panting, hair disheveled, all because she has rushed to get to us as soon as humanly possible. But no, I think she was finishing her coffee while googling herself.

She inspects Ana, kicks her tires and tells me that her head is too small. Is it shrinking? She says not to worry as long as she is where she should be developmentally. All I can picture is her growing up with a normal body and on her neck rests one of those shrunken heads you see in copies of National Geographic.

She also explains to me the importance of cleaning in all of her thigh fat folds and possibly using diaper cream in there if I find her chaffing. God, she does have my genes.

She tells me to bring her back next month to measure her head. Are there any exercises I can to do to bulk up her head? No. Compliments I can give her to make her head bigger? No. Any fruits or veggies that will help her head grow? No.

The nurse then enters to give the dreaded vaccine. She holds up the needle. I glance at Collin thinking he'd be nervous for her but I see a smile on his face. The smile says, "this should be a good show". He's kind to small animals so should I be concerned? Hmmmm. Anyway, Ana handles it like a trooper. Is there disappointment in his eyes? I don't look, I don't want to know.

For the rest of the day Ana is cranky. She gives that sad, exaggerated frown that breaks your heart but makes you laugh at the same time. She goes to bed early. I hang over her crib chanting quietly, "grow head, grow!". The next day all is right again until Collin comes into my room with one eye sealed shut with yellow crusties. He has pink eye. Are you kidding me?! It's off to the doctor's again.

You Can Play Too

This is my game, my perspective game. Trademark pending. You have my permission to play it too.

When I want to do home upgrades and can't ...

I like to pretend that our house rests in a remote village where the villagers live in huts around us. In this land, by comparison, our house is a castle. Our green Formica counter tops are envied by the village women, our 2 x 2 shower stall is coveted by the men and the master bath is revered by all for its beautiful pink tiles.

When I'm about to lose my parenting mind...

I like to pretend that instead of 2 children we have 10. I have sent 8 of them away to boarding school or sleep-away camp (depending on the time of year I'm playing) to give myself a break. And boom, mothering suddenly becomes easier! Occasionally I'll make a comment to my son about one of his "many siblings". He seems confused but it makes the game all the more real to me. And that's the point isn't it?


When my husband drives me crazy or pisses me off....

I like to pretend that he has purchased a 3 carat anniversary diamond, cushion cut with a bezel setting (the details are what really make the game work). He has been waiting for the perfect moment to give it to me. With this in mind I am able to draw deep from within and project award-winning calmness and patience...after all, it could be in his pocket right now!

When I can't bring myself to clean the house one more freakin' day...

I like to pretend that a earthquake shook our house two days ago. Pictures fell off the walls, dishes out of the cabinets...debris everywhere. I have just about picked everything up. It was an overwhelming job, as you can imagine. The only things left to do are the dishes, laundry, bathrooms and vacuuming. Not too bad considering the adversity I have just overcome.

S.E.X.

I like to pretend that he has purchased a 3 carat anniversary diamond, cushion cut with a bezel setting.....

Louse-y Job

I was searching the phone book today looking for the number to my son's new school...I was in the S's. A search heading caught my eye, SCALP SERVICES. Scalp services? Huh? What constitutes a scalp service and who needs it? I immediately thought of the Native Americans of long ago- but no that wasn't it. Well, well, what have we here...Lice and Nit Removal Service?!

Really? A real business that employs real people to pick real parasites out of other people's hair? And what of the employees? It took a minute for it to sink in that they had to seek out the position, contact the business, request an application (hoping that they, above all others, would be hired) and sit through an interview professing their desire to dig into the infested heads of strangers. Who were their references and did they brag about their nit picking experience in the interview?

I thought for certain that this must be the only lice removal business EVER. I mean, come on! I jumped on the internet and lo and behold...franchises! For a $25,000 franchise fee I could own my own "exciting and unique" business and meet "exciting and interesting" people. I've never had lice and (up until this point) had considered myself lucky but according to them I'm just too boring.

Personally, I think they could have done a better job of enticing others to join the ranks of lice and nit removal business owners everywhere. Maybe something like this...

Want to meet exciting and interesting people? Enjoy the shiver of the heebie jeebies? Yearn for the thrill of the chase while invading the personal space of another? Want to feel like a cowboy of your own tiny rodeo? If you answered 'yes' to these questions then the challenging career of Lice and Nit Removal could be for you.

FACT: Evolution tells us that lice want their baby nits to be nestled in a hair of opportunity. Only the most charismatic and intriguing scalps will beckon this picky parasite. The locks of the mundane offer little appeal to the louse.

Just think, their exciting host today, your awesome customer tomorrow!

With every customer you're guaranteed hours (2 hr. minimum appointment) picking not only the scalps but the minds of some of the world's most thrilling people!

However, as with any job, it's not all glitz and glam. Occasionally a louse might be misled and accidentally inhabit the hair of someone less than exciting; dare we say boring. Those with a "can do" attitude will pass out his/her business cards and use this as a great networking opportunity.

The perfect candidate will possess a positive attitude, a strong stomach, nimble fingers*, and be extremely near-sighted.

*acrylic nails a plus.

Makes you want to rush out to get a business loan, no?

Good Stuff?

Dear Good Stuff LLC,

Let me begin by saying my son and husband are a fan of the claw machine at our local Friendly's restaurant. MANY, MANY, MANY dollars have been spent trying to win adorable yet poorly constructed stuffed animals. I believe his college fund may have even been tapped for this purpose. On our most recent trip my son won a stuffed moon for his baby sister. He named him Moony. Moony is much loved. Moony goes everywhere with our family. Moony, unfortunately, appears to be in a constant state of arousal....


Who at Good Stuff LLC thought that a moon with legs would be cute? I find it hard to believe that no one, from the coffee fetching intern to the company executives, acknowledged or noticed the phallic nature that is Moony. He even has a scowl...he's horny AND angry. He makes me want to cover my children's eyes. If this pornographic, celestial stuffed animal got the ol' thumbs up I shudder to think what didn't make it off the drawing table. Breasty Bear? Pink Taco Paco? Whorey Whale, complete with embroidered lips around her blow hole?


However, because of my son's love for this toy (along with his pride for winning him) I have decided to embrace Moony. In fact, I was hoping that Good Stuff LLC would create a Moony accessory kit. Perhaps a wife beater, a cigarette and a can of budweiser would complete the look? Maybe a long, dirty trench coat? Or how about a baseball hat that says, I HEART ASS-TROIDS (a clever play on the whole moon theme)?


I have enclosed some pictures of Moony lounging about our house like some dirty old man. Please present these pics to your designers and ask them what drugs they were smoking when they sketched out this gem. Who knows, maybe that conversation will prompt them to dream up...oh,I don't know...Krack Pipe Kitty?

Wishing your company better judgement,

Kim Swed
Mother and Reluctant Moony Owner

Zit Update

Down to 33% of its original size. After some calculations, we expect it to be fully gone by June, 2009.

Viral Vengeance

I'm told the weather is wonderful. I'm told the air outside has a spring-ish quality to it. "It's lovely" they say. I know none of this first hand, I am a viral carrying shut-in. Worse yet, my five year old is too.

The first day we are a cuddly pair. Getting under the covers to watch movies, passing each other the tissues, sharing chicken noodle soup and checking our temperatures at the same time. I am "loving but sickly mom".

The second day he has a little more energy and a lower fever, I develop an ear infection and must function on 3 hours sleep. He wants to play games and color. I want to lie down and cry in quiet self pity. I am "kind but easily irritated mom".

The third day his energy level has skyrocketed from all this rest. He is bouncing around and has lost his mind. I am drained, my ribs ache from coughing and I nearly pee my pants everytime I sneeze. Shoot me now. I threaten to take him to school if he feels good enough to chase the dog. He fakes a cough and tells me he's still sick all while jumping off the couch and yelling,"CHARGE!". I can't yell because I barely have a voice so instead I hiss in an ominous tone, "if you get off that couch one more time you're going to school". I am "don't mess with me mom", the worst kind. He knows I mean business. That is until 1pm when he informs me it is now too late to send him to school. When did he get so smart and cunning?

Tomorrow he is going to school! To emphasize this he will be going to bed in his school clothes. I may even hide his comforter tonight and suggest he wear his winter coat for warmth and slip his shoes on his feet while he's sleeping. Afterall, we can't get to school early enough. And I can once again curl up in quiet self pity.