Saturday, January 25, 2003
Easy Like Saturday Evening.
Dale: Well, at least the Christmas decorations are down.
Yes, I know: Finally.
Maddie was up at around 6:30am, and insisted on watching "Bob." As in SpongeBob Squarepants. I popped the DVD in, and we watched a few episodes. She loves it, and will only briefly tolerate substitutes. That's OK with me, as "Bob" is light-years ahead of "Bah-ee," or Barney ("Dah-ee" calls the saccharine dinosaur "The Purple Satan"). Mercifully, she has no interest in the Teletubbies, a creation that has to be an arm of the Raelians: So weird and stupid that no one in their right mind would be interested in it. Which, of course, explains the wide popularity.
In any event, Dah-ee was the preferred parent today. Mama was given the brush off, which is rough but survivable, as I can testify. Dah-ee had to "reet-reet" all of her favorite books, and refill "sipp-ee" numerous times. "Please?" "Pees!" Dah-ee was more popular than mama even after Maddie twice got into trouble for getting into the entertainment center. Having usually been on the other side, it was rather nice being the unchallenged Good Guy for a change.
After finishing off half a pot of Mr. Jittery's Special Blend, I insisted on putting away the Christmas stuff today instead of tomorrow. Why? Because I hate doing it with a passion. I always get melancholy about it, and spend the following two hours looking at the afterimage of the tree and nativity scene. Another Christmas gone. I don't need to add that to the ennui caused by the awareness that the weekend is almost over. Don't need that at all.
So it came down today. And then it went up into the attic. My, what fun. Maddie disliked seeing me up there, and frankly I don't like going up there to breath the insulation and dust, feeling the arctic chill. I refuse to let Heather go anywhere near the fold-down ladder, or to lift anything heavier than Madeleine. Compound that with the onset of a cold, and it's something best finished fast. Then Heather decided to have a sensuous moment. As in, sens'-you-was up there, get the bassinet down out of storage. Down it came, in all of its unwieldy glory. This brought home another difficult-to-grasp fact.
Heather's six weeks away. It's hard to get a grip on it, really. Another baby. Amazing, astonishing, and generously-topped with nervous awe. It may be sinking in though. Heather broke out the newborn diapers and put them in the cabinet above the changing table. She showed me one, a ludicrously small swatch of fragile fabric that I am sure the lad is going to blast meconium through like buckshot through a doily. Frankly, I just stared at it for ten seconds, and then spent another minute practicing origamy on it. Hard to believe that it's actually going to work, and work just fine.
Assuming, of course, he decides to stop kicking long enough after he's born to be diapered. Good Lord, he kicks a lot. I swore he'd had enough last night, and had decided he was going to be born in January, damn it! I can only describe it like this: Heather's stomach undulated--twice. It was unreal to watch. We know Maddie doesn't care for it: Whenever Heather exposes her stomach, Maddie marches up to her mommy and grabs at her shirt, saying "shut, shut!" all the while. "Mom, you're embarrassing me!" At age sixteen months. Just you wait...
Anyway, another melancholy moment: as part of the sensuous exploration, I had to take a tub of Maddie's old clothes upstairs. The ones that for some reason don't fit anymore. The ones my tiny daughter used to "swim" in.
The ones that may never be worn again.
After all that, I finished putting clothes on hangers, and putting away the stuff Heather folded. Then came the well-earned nap, which was interrupted by a phone call. Usually, it's some idiot trying to sell us something we don't need or can't afford, so I let the machine pick up. It's out in the living room, but I had bumped up the volume, and not turned it back down. I heard the caller leave a message.
The message started with a couple of genuinely cheerful obscenities: it was my little brother, who was calling to let us know that the Customs Service has extended him an offer of employment. It's great news at a number of levels, not least of which is that he will probably be moving nearer to our neck of the woods. I just wish my voice hadn't been going into the dumpster, because I'm sure I did not sound as enthusiastic as I was.
After I fully woke up, I fetched dinner from the local pizzeria, which Maddie largely ignored. She preferred pulling pans out of the drawers, or marching back and forth from the living room to the kitchen.
Heather gave her a bath, and I came in to say good night. "I love you, little girl," followed by a kiss. Then, in an instant, the melancholy vanished.
"I oh oo."
Dale: Well, at least the Christmas decorations are down.
Yes, I know: Finally.
Maddie was up at around 6:30am, and insisted on watching "Bob." As in SpongeBob Squarepants. I popped the DVD in, and we watched a few episodes. She loves it, and will only briefly tolerate substitutes. That's OK with me, as "Bob" is light-years ahead of "Bah-ee," or Barney ("Dah-ee" calls the saccharine dinosaur "The Purple Satan"). Mercifully, she has no interest in the Teletubbies, a creation that has to be an arm of the Raelians: So weird and stupid that no one in their right mind would be interested in it. Which, of course, explains the wide popularity.
In any event, Dah-ee was the preferred parent today. Mama was given the brush off, which is rough but survivable, as I can testify. Dah-ee had to "reet-reet" all of her favorite books, and refill "sipp-ee" numerous times. "Please?" "Pees!" Dah-ee was more popular than mama even after Maddie twice got into trouble for getting into the entertainment center. Having usually been on the other side, it was rather nice being the unchallenged Good Guy for a change.
After finishing off half a pot of Mr. Jittery's Special Blend, I insisted on putting away the Christmas stuff today instead of tomorrow. Why? Because I hate doing it with a passion. I always get melancholy about it, and spend the following two hours looking at the afterimage of the tree and nativity scene. Another Christmas gone. I don't need to add that to the ennui caused by the awareness that the weekend is almost over. Don't need that at all.
So it came down today. And then it went up into the attic. My, what fun. Maddie disliked seeing me up there, and frankly I don't like going up there to breath the insulation and dust, feeling the arctic chill. I refuse to let Heather go anywhere near the fold-down ladder, or to lift anything heavier than Madeleine. Compound that with the onset of a cold, and it's something best finished fast. Then Heather decided to have a sensuous moment. As in, sens'-you-was up there, get the bassinet down out of storage. Down it came, in all of its unwieldy glory. This brought home another difficult-to-grasp fact.
Heather's six weeks away. It's hard to get a grip on it, really. Another baby. Amazing, astonishing, and generously-topped with nervous awe. It may be sinking in though. Heather broke out the newborn diapers and put them in the cabinet above the changing table. She showed me one, a ludicrously small swatch of fragile fabric that I am sure the lad is going to blast meconium through like buckshot through a doily. Frankly, I just stared at it for ten seconds, and then spent another minute practicing origamy on it. Hard to believe that it's actually going to work, and work just fine.
Assuming, of course, he decides to stop kicking long enough after he's born to be diapered. Good Lord, he kicks a lot. I swore he'd had enough last night, and had decided he was going to be born in January, damn it! I can only describe it like this: Heather's stomach undulated--twice. It was unreal to watch. We know Maddie doesn't care for it: Whenever Heather exposes her stomach, Maddie marches up to her mommy and grabs at her shirt, saying "shut, shut!" all the while. "Mom, you're embarrassing me!" At age sixteen months. Just you wait...
Anyway, another melancholy moment: as part of the sensuous exploration, I had to take a tub of Maddie's old clothes upstairs. The ones that for some reason don't fit anymore. The ones my tiny daughter used to "swim" in.
The ones that may never be worn again.
After all that, I finished putting clothes on hangers, and putting away the stuff Heather folded. Then came the well-earned nap, which was interrupted by a phone call. Usually, it's some idiot trying to sell us something we don't need or can't afford, so I let the machine pick up. It's out in the living room, but I had bumped up the volume, and not turned it back down. I heard the caller leave a message.
The message started with a couple of genuinely cheerful obscenities: it was my little brother, who was calling to let us know that the Customs Service has extended him an offer of employment. It's great news at a number of levels, not least of which is that he will probably be moving nearer to our neck of the woods. I just wish my voice hadn't been going into the dumpster, because I'm sure I did not sound as enthusiastic as I was.
After I fully woke up, I fetched dinner from the local pizzeria, which Maddie largely ignored. She preferred pulling pans out of the drawers, or marching back and forth from the living room to the kitchen.
Heather gave her a bath, and I came in to say good night. "I love you, little girl," followed by a kiss. Then, in an instant, the melancholy vanished.
"I oh oo."
