Thursday, April 24, 2008

On My Mind

Today while I was playing tennis I noticed two guys on the court next to mine. They were your typical somewhat mushy 40-somethings. Socks pulled up a tad too high. Shorts a bit too short. Hanging on to every last receding hair. Tummies a bit paunchy. I was admiring the ease with which they hit a slice, one after another barely grazing the net with such grace. Then I about lost it. After warming up and before playing for points, they met at the net, joined hands, and prayed. Prayed! Before a lousy tennis game between friends! Aloud! Overhearing the prayer session made me hit three balls over the fence in succession. I left with an empty can and a head ablaze. Is this normal? Suck as I might, even I don't pray before tennis. Dear God, please let me actually hit a proper topspin tonight. Don't let me play worse than the 10-year old girl in my class. Let me earn at least two points based on my sheer skill rather than opponent error. I hate to think what these guys are praying for before business meetings, meals, and their annual physicals.

Is it just me or does Henry on Ugly Betty remind you of a geeky version of Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles? Oh, how my heart throbbed for Jake! Whatever became of him?

Woof Woof Howl

Do folks not hear their own pooches barking at all hours of the night? Must they think that no one outside the property lines hear? I assume the same when tantrum time hits, but that's just to save face as much as possible.

Forget Tantra, this is Tantrum.

Bird had the meltdown of the century this afternoon after karate class. We were playing perfectly happily at the playground with some friends. Then the killing began. Bird was squishing fuzzy caterpillar after fuzzy caterpillar. Each mini fur ball an innocent victim because someone told him that those creatures killed trees. When I told him to sit down and chill out for a bit, he lost his shit. I'm talkin' diarrhea proportions. He wailed to the car. He wailed in the car. He threw punches. He became the limp protester. He kicked my seat. He unbuckled his seatbelt. All without stopping to breathe amid the wailing. I had to pull over on a side street, stop the car, and yank him out. Don't think for a second that I handled it with the aplomb of Obama at the last debate. I told Bird to calm down and buckle up lest I leave him in the mulch of some neighborhood boulevard somewhere miles from home. Out of sheer fear (hey, whatever works), he acquiesced. Then he promptly fell asleep. Head tilted. Drool puddling in the folds of his neck.

Damn me for reacting, rather overreacting, to the moment instead of stopping to figure out what triggered such a crazed response, especially considering what an otherwise stellar day he had. I lost my shit. Yes, I admit it. When we got home we all recovered nicely and ended up having a grand time at Dance Party USA with some neighbors. We rocked out to Sweet Home Alabama, Suffragette City, and A Little Less Conversation. When Bird shimmied up to me to take my hand and dance, I knew all was OK.

I have abstained from writing about Deal's potty training ordeal because the mere thought has worn me out. He was fully trained for two weeks in January and decided that urinating and defecating in his pants was a better idea. Yup, I guess he missed diaper rash and the overall filth in his pants. Since then he has been vehemently opposed to all things potty, unlike Bird who couldn't wait to rid himself of the nastiness that is excrement. We tried every tactic with Deal - being his Suzy Cheesecake cheerleader, being a hard ass, being Super Nanny. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. We tossed out multiple pairs of Spiderman, Sponge Bob, Scooby Doo, and Thomas adorned underwear. Soiled beyond salvation. Suddenly, last Friday, he decided that peeing and pooping on the potty wasn't so bad afterall. That light clicked on, and Deal has been one potty machine. Accident free for seven days. OSHA should hang up a placard.
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Anonymous said...

Never heard of praying before tennis. Been playing and around tennis for more years than I like to admit and have never, ever seen it. I have prayed before many a softball, baseball, basketball game before but never tennis and all of those were organized events. I'll have to ask about that one.

I have been dealing with the caterpillar killing also, but it seems to be all bugs lately. I agree that whatever works with getting them over or beyond the meltdown marks a success!!!

Congrats on the potty training successes!

BTW, what do you use online for storage of photos?

Anonymous said...

I use Kodak's site Ofoto for storage, but my brother tells me Picassa is better. It's a Google application, and we all know Google is going to rule the world one day. Heck, this blog is powered by Google!

Anonymous said...

So, it sounds like another crabby day for you. When I read your blogs I get the feel for what your mood is like. I thought the other day when your house was a "mess" you were in that same disgruntled mood. Good job Deal on the potty training. I still have a problem with the BM issues. No Thomas have been to the garbage, but many a diaper. Yesterday we had Z man potty in the bathroom garbage can, right next to the toilet. Go figure what they are thinking!! What a tantrum, I have not had that yet, but my day will come.

Anonymous said...

"you f'in magpie", mojo at the hojo, mudslides (literally) at Alpine Valley, more laughs in one summer than most people have in a lifetime and of course, Marc Nall. Miss you both tons xoxoxo Cath

Anonymous said...

Dear sweet Jake Ryan. He and the volleyball scene from Top Gun launched me right into puberty. I truly do heart Jake Ryan. For real. And I think its kind of cool we don't hear from him anymore. Much like those once cute high school boys who now look like those tennis guys you were talking about... lets keep the young Jake Ryan alive in our minds.

Congrats on the potty training! My youngest got a pee pee out "on purpose last night. But as my pedi once said "You start them at 2, they get it at 3. You start them at 3, they get it at 3." SOoooo not holding my breath.

The Over-Thinker said...

Dear God, Please make this a sweet, sweet comment. Amen