Archive for the ‘Family Drama’ Category

I didn’t think it would happen so soon–the numbskulled, shivery epoch of possum-like slowness and mental sloth that typically befalls me from February to April. I thought I could man up and think my way out of a paper bag for a few more weeks, thus limiting the amount of time spent in the Dumb Zone. But nooo.

The diagnosis was confirmed when I was watching Caillou (a core symptom right there) with Little Unit and silently cursing myself because it was above freezing, surely not so cold to begin tubing out without even attempting to run around outside. 

But then it happened. 

“Sweet!” I said a little too enthusiastically when I realized what episode it was. (Having a canon of Caillou episodes in one’s memory is surely also clinically significant; having a favorite, probably moreso. )

It was the one where Caillou’s friend’s older brother Billy totally rocks the house with his tuba. His marching band friends join in, and– wait for it–they take the jam session to the street for a balls-out impromptu parade!

Rock on, Billy!

This from Little Unit, in our time of grief. We’re getting used to the idea that the Younger Units have no more grandpas, and I have no more dad. Even though I’m a really, really old grownup, his absence still cuts to the quick, kwim?

But two-year-olds are not renowned for their empathy. And Little Unit is apparently determined to go to prom in a sequined pull-up, so she’s not above using words to eviscerate ( and to keep us busybodies from cajoling her into having a seat on the White Potty). Actually, it came out more like this:

“Ah hate-a mah potty, an’ Ah hatechoo!”

After that, I thought it best to let Little Unit remain naked after stripping for the second time. We weren’t having dinner at the White House, after all. On cue, Micro Unit wails for food. I feed Micro Unit, casually tracking Little Units movements as she putters around, stealing shoes from my closet and tottering around in a pair of red wedge sandals. Where is Larry Flynt when you need him?

Little Unit squats suspiciously.

Too late. I leave Micro Unit howling in the middle of the bed, lift Little Unit high in the air and hustle her to my own White Potty.

Sploosh! The “kids” miss the “pool” and land on my scampering foot. I gingerly peel off the offending shoe and hop downstairs to deposit Little Unit on her White Potty.

“Stay here,” I implore, leaving her on her perch and running back upstairs to:
1. Check on Micro Unit
2. Clorox the shyte outta my bathroom floor.

Moments later, I cauterize my hand, collect Micro Unit, and hustle back down to Little Unit, presumably on her throne.

Ieeeeeeyygh! Little Unit is, well, besmirched with poo.

Micro Unit is deposited somewhere again, howling. Wishing for child-size tongs, I pick up the clean parts of Little Unit and deposit her in a bubbly tub (wishing Clorox was gentle and tear-free).

Amazingly, I remained tear-free. But just barely

Oh, well, could be worse. What if giant snakes—wait a minute!

So today, Big Unit (DS #1) has decided that his (flag!) football coach is “too mean,” bc during last Saturday’s game, he grumbled, “Awww, c’mon!” when Big Unit fell. Believe me, when in doubt, I tend to jump in and rescue. I also feakin’ despise the overinvested, red-faced parents helicoptering on the sidelines. And whenever I set foot on a baseball diamond, I wax all nostalgic about the kind, encouraging ol’ retired guy who coached my summer softball team when I was 10. Even if you couldn’t hit the side of a barn, on his team, you mattered. (And he ended up with a respectable record using that approach.)

Big Unit’s coach is no cuddly grandpa type, but overall encouraging. And hey, what coach says, “Well kiddos, I sure hope we place fifth today!”? I think Big Unit needs a little of this to light a fire under his kiester. If I can help spare him three decades of going all fluttery with discouragement in the face of relatively mild adversity, then I’m all for it–as long as Coach’s critiques are about the game, and not the kid.

OTOH, I feel Big Unit’s pain. If anything, I tend to get all cringey and flustered when Authority Figures raise their voices or express displeasure. But it’s time for Big Unit to learn how to deal with all types of people.

Jumbo Unit (DH) was backing me up on this at dinner tonight, and he said:

“Big Unit, that’s football. If everyone got a group hug after every play, it’d be gay lawn ball!”

After laundering the piss out of my pants from laughing, I got to thinking: What would gay lawn ball look like? I’m thinking something croquet-ish, with lavender polos and white patent-leather oxfords, but who knows?

The Sachets v. the Yankee Candles, tonight on LOGO!