No new posts lately. Did you notice? It's not that I have nothing to say. Ridiculous things happen with alarming frequency these days. Take for example the day last week when H pooped on the potty for the third time ever, making the stats backyard-twice, potty-three times. Looks like the odds of getting it right are beginning to outweigh the odds of him running off into the woods to join a pack of coyotes (hey, it worked for Pecos Bill). Somehow though H didn't get his shorts (okay, pj bottoms) down far enough and got poop on them. Then somehow there was poop on my shoe and then somehow there was poop on the floor. Now I'm nursing a twin, taking off my shoes to throw them in the tub and trying to avoid stepping on poop-smeared tiles in my bare feet while rinsing out the potty for H who now wants to use it for pee pees. If you've never been in my bathroom, and this goes for upstairs as well as downstairs, they aren't those big palatial bathrooms you see in magazines with hot tubs that seat 15, oriental rugs, double sinks, and toilets hidden in separate sectioned off areas. Once you factor in the changing table, potty, step stool and the crate that constitutes my makeshift closet, there's approximately 18 square inches of floor space. Leaving little room for one adult and one toddler to gingerly avoid poop.
The problem then, is not lack of material. The problem is now that the twins are eating solids I find myself always either feeding them, or preparing their food. For two 13-pound babies, they pack away a lot of sweet potatoes. Sure, we could just buy baby food and that would free up some of my time but by not buying it I can feel smug about not using all those little jars and rectangular plastic containers. Things were easier when I was nursing exclusively. I could sit at the computer and nurse. Pealing and chopping sweet potatoes while typing doesn't work at all.
Speaking of food. I was standing close to the dessert table for some time at a wedding this weekend. I was waiting for the bride to finish talking so I could pass by her and get back to Ken and Pete. I figured it would be rude to just push my way past with a, "my what a large dress!" While at my post I observed that guests approaching the table would pick up a fork, reach for the slice of cake nearest too them, and then move away quickly, as if they didn't want to be caught in the act of acknowledging dessert. This was true for everyone except one man. He stood and perused the table for a long time, finally reaching over several plates and helping himself to the largest piece of cake.
Watching him, I realized that even though he was an adult (my age and then some), I was, at that moment, glimpsing his inner five year old.
song: Chocolate Cake • artist: Crowded House
Dear Wasted Food Dude–Date Label Hell(p)
2 days ago