Thursday, April 17, 2014

India, that's not for playing with!

We have this rule at our house that you cannot take off your underwear until you get inside the front door.

Now, this would apply to all of us, but really, the rule is only necessary for the under-four-foot set. Because typically, Jordan just can't wait to get his pants off. They're sandy. They're wet. They're green.

And then, then it's a short leap to the removal of underwear.

Now India likes to do this as well. And since she's starting to use the potty, which we want to encourage, there is a lot of running around half-nakey.  The other day I walked into the kitchen and Jordan was wearing nothing but one sock.

They have a bath just about every night, partly to get clean, but also because they have such a good time playing together. I'm not sure at what age the joint baths stop.

And I don't know about you, but we've called his penis a penis ever since the beginning. I remember visiting Maude's family in Tunisia when I was about eight or nine (I think). This is also the trip where their maid tried to force Maude and me into smoking a cigarette. 

Anyway, the important point for this story is that their mom said something to my mom about Adam hitting his tallywhacker on a doornob.

I remember this for two reasons: one, I was fascinated by the word tallywhacker. And two, how on earth did he manage to hit it on a doornob? At a year younger than us, there's no way Adam's tallywhacker was anywhere near the doornob. Did he leap off the bed and hit it on the way down? Was he standing on a chair right by the door?

I never asked, and I still wonder. Not that I spend my time thinking about Maude's brother's penis, but well, actually, I guess I do.

Anyway, in the bath my kids play with bubbles and boats, and cars, and princesses. They scoop water. They brush teeth (sort of). Sometimes Jordan will lay back in the tub to get his own hair wet, rather than me washing it.

So the other night India looked over at Jordan's reclined body, noticed his penis, and gave it a yank.

I could see why. It was just right there. I doubt they still have cigarette vending machines, but I remember seeing the nobs and pulling on them out of curiosity. It was kind of like that. Hey, there's something sticking out. Pull!

Jordan was surprised and outraged, as one might be. He sat up right quick. "INDIA! That's my penis! It's not for playing with!"

(Oh, my sweet boy, are you in for a surprise.)

Thursday, April 03, 2014

Which is fine as I've never grown out of the 80s really anyway

Today I linked to this post from when I was 21 weeks pregnant with Jordan - which was FIVE years ago today! Five years!

Five years ago I was pregnant and thinking I was enormous. Ha! And five years ago today my dad was still alive, and would be for another six weeks.

Five years ago we hadn't yet signed our lives and first-born away to buy the grand hotel and sink our blood and sweat and tears into it for, well, ever.

Five years ago we hadn't so many things. There's a lot to chew on.

One of my friends remarked on my post that it was the golden age of blogging in DC back then, which was true. It was so much fun to blog and meet other local bloggers.  I was very immersed in it and made a number of friends who became in-person friends that I still see, even though some of them have left blogging behind.

I wonder periodically if I should do the same. I read a line somewhere recently about blogging being so eight years ago or something of the sort, and I was thinking, well, yah. But I like it. I don't do it so much anymore, particularly as I'm trying to focus on other writing, but...I like it.

So at the moment, my little corner of the Internet is still here. No matter how eight years ago I might be.

Monday, March 31, 2014

The great armpit mystery

We are trying a deodorant experiment.

I read this article about crusty yellow T-shirt armpits, and how they are actually caused by antiperspirant mixing with laundry detergent.  And that the antiperspirant might also cause Alzheimers and disrupt your hormones and a host of other creepy-sounding things.

Really, I was just looking for a way to salvage Nick's undershirts, but you know how Google takes you down a rabbit hole and then next thing you know you are late, late for a very important date?

But I digress. See, I always thought the armpit crud was just something men did. Like, their testosterone mixes with their deodorant and then gets swirled around by their hair and mashed into their shirts and it's just one of the gross things you have to live with if you want to live with a man, kind of like how they like to fart under the blankets and then floof them in glee in your direction.

Or maybe your husband or boyfriend doesn't do that. I don't know any women who do, and so I've always assumed that would be one of myriad positives of being in a lesbian relationship.


It turns out that it's kind of hard to find just deodorant by itself. It seems to typically be mixed with antiperspirant. And their also seems to be this movement towards clinical strength armpit stopper-uppers, which seems kind of scary to me.  I don't know.

I also did a little research on the natural kind. One friend told me that Tom's of Maine doesn't work, and another friend said the crystal sucks. Those were the only two natural-ish options at our CVS last night, so we wound up getting Speed Stick, I think it was, because it smelled OK. I'm considering ordering a couple of natural ones, though, and seeing how they go.

So, the urgency for the switch to deodorant was prompted by the following:

I took the bold step of ordering Nick new undershirts! They arrived all sparkly white and fresh and new, as you can see above.

Nick is fully on board with the experiment. He also read that we should practically be boiling his undershirts, which may or may not happen. I'm more concerned about the chemicals; he's more concerned about the crud. Our hot water is already very hot.

Also, I include this picture because people sometimes tell me that before meeting Nick, they thought I was exaggerating about how enormous he is. I know I'm not very big, but I'm pretty normal. His people are giants. I'm telling you.

I mean, yes, I exaggerate when I describe a wall of seersucker walking down the street. But...not by much. I mean, look at this jacket.

Because of this, folding his shirts is tantamount to folding sheets. I hold them by one end and fling them out and they make that same THWACK sound.

And every once in a while when I'm folding laundry, I mistake a pair of Nick's boxers for a pillow case.

I always think it's a lot funnier than he does.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Princesses don't do that

We've all been pretty enchanted with the princess castle. Jordan loves Cinderella, so he always chooses her; fortunately, India likes Snow White.

The pirate visits, as do the kids from the bus. We also have a Duplo Cinderella set, so there's a fairy godmother - or Very Godmother, as Jordan calls her - who stops in from time to time as well.  Looking through the rooms, other princesses are also represented - Ariel and Belle, for example.

So I thought about it and said to Nick, "You know what's totally ridiculous about this castle?"


"The idea that all those princesses would live happily together. It wouldn't happen. It's just so unrealistic."

"You know what I think is unrealistic?"

"That there's an elevator, but no stairs?"

"No. That there's no back to the castle. They wouldn't be able to rub one out with no back walls."

Really, Nick?

Friday, March 21, 2014

A short list of fears

Shark attack: If I'm swimming and can't see the bottom of a body of water, even if it's a river or small pond, I get panicky about sharks. This can also happen in a very large swimming pool in the dark. My breathing quickens and I have to talk myself down or get out.

Basically, Jaws scarred me for life.

Breaking my front teeth: When I walk up concrete steps, I always envision myself tripping and bashing my front teeth. I am prone to tripping, so this one isn't totally farfetched.

Flying over water: Although it's been explained to me - by engineers, even - I don't understand how planes stay up, and flying over water jacks up my anxiety. I always eat a lot and bring loads of chocolate so at least I won't die abstemious.

A friend told me that drowning is actually rather peaceful, and far preferable to dying in a fire. But you know, the ocean...see shark attack fear above.

On a related note, I am truly hoping that a Twilight Zone-esque thing happened to the Malaysia Airlines flight and that they will be found alive.

Basements: I'm not afraid of basements per se, but rather what might be lurking in them.

We rent out our basement, so effectively we don't have one. But if I was alone in my parents' house, or in Nick's condo, I'd either avoid the basement or get what I needed to get and then sprint up the stairs. Particularly at night.

Looking in the mirror in the dark: Because you never know what you'll see behind you. It would be double jeopardy to look in a mirror in the dark in the basement.