Seriously, though. Raise your hand if you're a placentarian! (Extra credit goes to those of you with photographic proof.)
Or... if you have a good placenta pun, that would also suffice.
...Hey there, Mr. Happy Squid:
Last week we fell in love with a house. We'd been looking for several weeks, even months - close to a year of scanning and scoping, searching and book-marking, touring and open-house(ing) -- taking our time -- waiting and hoping that eventually the time would be right - the space would be right - the school district would be right - and we could take the next step as a family: house rentership.And right now? It's ALL right. The timing. The house. The everything. As much as it can be, that is. And so? I have become obsessed. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't stop decorating the living room in my head. Staring at photos of the house's Spanish-tiled kitchen, online, its french-doored office - its ... omgomgomg BACKYARD! ...Every day for the last two weeks I've driven by the house. Parked against the curb to gaze at its FOR RENT sigh, imagining what life would be like coming home to a home. A house...In High School I used to fall in love quite on the often side. Mainly from afar, I'll admit. I once stalked a boy for close to two years. He played guitar at a coffee shop my friends and I used to flock to and even though he never knew my name - my love for him knew no bounds. I'd drive by the coffee shop, even when he wasn't performing, even if I had a boyfriend at the time. He was, decidedly my soulmate, and I KNEW that one day he'd love me back and we'd live happily ever after, him playing his guitar, with his long surf-streaked locks and rain-rock in a rustic cafe, and me writing poetry about the way the wind combed his hair... la la swear... la la beware... la la wooden chair...I digress...This house? Is kind of the equivalent of THAT boy - except it hasn't been two years, it's been two weeks - and yet? It feels like... an eteeeeeeeernittyyyyyyyyyyyyy... with our withooooooooout you... please don't go... don't gooooooooooo ... don't goooo awaaaaay...And right now? I'm totally freaking the eff out. Because tomorrow? We find out if we get the house...
Last Thursday Fable started walking. She stood up and walked down the hall. Walked down the street. Around the block. Walked and hasn't stopped since. I'd been reluctant to say anything until I was absolutely sure. Last time she walked, I got all excited, shouted the news to the rooftops and then, the next day, back to knee-walking was she.
Not this time.
This time Fable stood cautiously at first, reaching for my hand every few steps in the house and then outside, on the pavement squares. She was careful and watchful and concentrated. She was unsure, yet steady:...and then, the next day, walked confidently on. And on. And on. Down the street and around the next block, into the grass where she gathered and blew her first dandelion, its seeds getting caught in her lips and my fingers when I tried to fish them out.
By day three, she was pushing my hand away. I've got this one, mom. Thanks, anyway. Walking so fast she practically ran, and me chasing after her, herding her away from the streets, toward the sidewalk, howling, "danger! danger! the street is danger!"
On day four, Archer joined us and for the first time it was Fable who lead her big brother down the street...
As a child, my mother often volunteered at my schools. She did so with my brother and sister and now works as a science educator, art educator, music educator and composer/music director for children's theatre. She's passionate about nurturing children, specifically those overlooked and under-appreciated. She's an incredible teacher - devoted and loving and wise and amazingincrediblewow. And this weekend? Her troupe will be putting on a very special play based on a very special book to raise money and awareness for a very special cause.Show times: 19th & 20th: 7:30 pm & 21st at 3:30 pm (@ Ocean Knoll in Encinitas, CA). For more information and tickets go here and click on "Armando & the Blue Tarp School."GGC
I have a confession:
I'm afraid of dining out. In a restaurant. With the kids.
... Not because our kids aren't well-behaved. The three (yes, three) times we've taken them out to dinner with us in the seventeen months since Fable was born, they've been awesome. They ate their food and
played under the tablesat in their seats and Archer colored on Hal's arm and Fable ate my lipstick and it was actually kind of lovely.
Twice in seventeen months is all I'm up for, because here's the (quite embarrassing, really) thing: I care what people think.
At least, I care what people think in restaurants and coffee shops when I can feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head. And then I get awkward and weird and spill things all over myself. And then it's not the kids I have to worry about but my own neurosis - because all of a sudden I'm apologizing to everyone I see -even when there's nothing to apologize for - just in case something happens that might offend, annoy or put them off, and pretty soon I'M the one who's spilling food all over someone's lap...