Author: wrekehavoc

heartbreaker (doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo)

heartbreaker (doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo)

one of the side benefits of being a SAHM is the fact that i get to witness random moments in my kids’ lives that will probably stay with me forever, even if they stay with my kids only for a few seconds.

every day, i deliver BC to her school and jools to his. (in two weeks, jools will start at the montessori program at BC’s school. there will be much rejoicing as i finally am slave to only one primary schedule and only have to venture to one school. of course, i am kidding myself, as soon, they will both be old enough to have activities in separate parts of the universe, and i will become one of those moms-from-hell who schlep their kids around like truckers schlepping produce.)

but in the meantime, i drop jools off at his school, where he cries for me to not leave and my heart breaks and breaks and breaks again. BS tells me that i should just go, as jools knows i will stay as long as he is upset. and eventually, i do. but it is too difficult for me to just dump my crying three-year-old and run. maybe BS could dump and run. i cannot.

then, i take madame BC to her elementary school. she has to wait on line in the gym with her class until a teacher comes to pick them up and deliver them. though school starts at 9 a.m., BC is terrified that if she is not on line, she will be marked absent, even if i deliver her directly to her classroom door at 9 a.m. so we go. and we stand. and we wait. usually, we wait with her buddy colleen, who, i am quite sure, is actually a 29 year old in a little-kid suit. but today, it was just me and missus.

now, every day, in the class line next to hers, there’s a little boy named william. he looks like a little norman rockwell boy, except instead of red hair and freckles, he has very light blond hair. he hangs with nate, a very quiet and artistic boy who was in BC’s kinder class. william freaks out whenever he sees BC, like she is some sort of godfather who he knows has put a contract out on him. (this is the face of a seven year old boy’s crush, methinks.) this morning, as BC and i were walking into school, a station wagon passed us. i saw william’s face hanging out the open window; and as he glimped BC, i heard him shriek.

so when william joined his line, he started squirming like he had itching powder in his pants. “oh no!” he yelped at nate. “there SHE is! she’s STARING at me!” they ran into the bathroom together, then ran out, then continued to shriek and moan.

cut to BC. she is sitting, legs stretched out before her, facing the boys. she has a bemused look on her face, much like the look charlie watts has as he looks on at mick and keith while they’re doing something idiotic or outlandish. all the while, he keeps a steady beat. she looks like a queen to me – i’m her mom, of course – but i think she’s drop-dead gorgeous, regardless of how messy her hair might be that day (with the four rasta beaded braids she has refused to remove for two weeks) or how far her two front teeth may stray pre-braces. i bend down to talk to her quietly.

“welcome to the magical world of seven year old boys,” i tell her. she smiles knowingly. “i don’t know how to break it to you, buzz, but they don’t change all that much when they’re 40.”

“i know,” she says, omnisciently. the boys continue acting out, and she continues to sit there and grin.

there are days when i think that she has been here before, years and years ago. today is one of those days.

bits and bobs

bits and bobs

i have much to write about and little time thanks to the start of the new school year. much angst, but only little nubbins now:

for those of you who know what the bunster looks like, you can see a still with her in it.

for those of you who know me a long time, you’ll be amused that i adore a song by christina aguilera. yes. that christina aguilera. the former mouseketeer with amazing pipes and usually crappy material. you can hear “ain’t no other man” on her website; it greets you the minute you hit the joint. turn up your speakers. it has an old skool horn section sampled, and it’s making me crazy. hella fun.

and no, DH hasn’t made any moves to have me institutionalized. yet. though i think he’s highly suspicious of my musical detour into pop divaland.

mr. soul

mr. soul

i’ve been listening to “the best of buffalo springfield” these days, thanks to the inspiration of my friend susan (who is a fairly inspirational person in her own right. but that’s about 50 whole other stories.) BC and jools seem to love it. jools mostly loves to sing the lyrics: “stop, hey, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s goin’ down” really loud. (he’s got the whole righteous indignation thing down, too.) but this morning as we rode to jools’ school, the lyrics of another song were bastardized beyond recognition, thanks to BC:

“whoa whoa whoa, mr. soul, i dropped by to pick a patootie.”

i have no idea what BC meant, but i have a feeling that neil young’s lawyers will be calling her soon.

out of the blue and into the deep-end

out of the blue and into the deep-end

lots has happened since i last watched blue’s clues. for one thing, nerdy-but-hot steve has been replaced by his dorkier brother, joe. blue, once a pup who merely barked, now actually speaks. what next, the apocalypse? anyway, this morning, we watched blue’s baby brother. blue went searching for her baby brother and found him, a spotted puppy named sprinkles.

throughout the whole thing, though, i had the weirdest feeling i was listening to tommy. the whole “i got spots” music, combined with the whole “welcome to puppyland” sounded like someone fell asleep listening to pete townshend and woke up and wrote the soundtrack. even the drum roll at the very end sounds like moonie was present.

then again, i probably could do with more sleep.

bad mom, part 72

bad mom, part 72

i continue to rack up the points that will ultimately send me to bad mom hell. highlights:

1) i just taught my kids how to do the time warp. (c’mon kids, it’s just a pelvic thrust!)

2) instead of instilling a respect for the office of President, i informed 7.5 year old BC that “George Bush is an idiot.“.

BC: so mama, you mean you don’t like the President?

Me: no, sweetpea, i don’t.

BC: why, mama?

Me: because he isn’t a very smart person. and because he is doing things i don’t like.

BC: like what, mama?

Me: ::hyperventilating because i can’t even try to begin here:: what would you like for dinner?

3) three-year-old Jools likes the word penis; but he has decided that he doesn’t want to have one if girls can’t have one.

Jools: mommy, i don’t want a penis. girls don’t have a penis.

Me: ::hyperventilating because i once again can’t even try to begin here:: Julian, you aren’t a girl. you’re a boy. boys have penises.

Jools: mommy, are you a girl?

Me: yes, honey.

Jools: do you want a penis?

Me: no, dr. freud.

Jools: what’s a foyd?

4) and finally, we signed BC up to dance on a local show. i’m sure she could care less, but mommy wants to see X.

the passion of the gibson

the passion of the gibson

if you’ve got good eyes, this pdf of a police report is fun family entertainment from my favorite Hollywood zealot, mel gibson. if you’re eyes aren’t so great, you can just check in numerous places, like this great Washington Post column by Eugene Robinson.

mr. robinson’s column hits a home run, in my book. alcohol releases opinions that must be already present in a person; a person doesn’t magically become anti-semitic, or homophobic, or racist simply because he is drunk. gibson is an anti-semitic thug, and what is scary is not that we allow him to create films that promote this hatred, but rather that a lot of people out there take these films as the gospel truth: as if jews were and are hook-nosed shylocks who are out to destroy christians and others. religion can be a great enlightener, but religion can also tether you to opinions and ideas that are truly abhorrent.

it is very difficult being a jew and watching the middle east unfold. i’m not sure what lebanon expected when it permitted terrorists to become sanctioned members of their government. yes, it’s their country, and they are entitled to run it as they see fit. but there are always consequences. (cut to the half-wit running the US at present.) even though i’m sure not all lebanese voted for the hezbollah folks, just as not all of us voted for Dubya, we all are mired in some awful consequences, just the same. i imagine that if canada allowed terrorists interested in the dissolution of the US in their parliament, the US would probably sit up and take notice. and israel, being a country surrounded by potentially hostile groups, noticed the hezbollah.

that being said, i’m not exactly comfortable with the israeli response. there’s this little precedent out there of little provocation resulting in a huge, full-scale war. it’s called iraq. nevertheless, richard cohen’s Washington Post column notes that this was not a little provocation but perhaps the straw that broke the camel’s back. i’m really torn apart by this whole mess.  what pisses me off most about the whole middle east is that any voices of moderation are drowned out. this whole experience will set us all back years… if we all live through it.

but back to mr. mel. ABC has cancelled plans to do a miniseries with him; an agent has called upon hollywood to boycott him. frankly, the dude brings in huge bucks, so i don’t see that any of this will make a dent on his life. sure, he’ll go into rehab, get that drinking thing under control so that he keeps his malevolent opinions to himself and only lets those ugly themes slip surreptitiously into his work. but work he will. because there are so many people still in the world who believe such evil trash.

Note to Mel: jews didn’t cause WW2. we didn’t ask to be tortured, gassed, torn asunder. oh, and the crusades? wasn’t us, either.

ode to ford f-150s

ode to ford f-150s

…so what is it with men and big trucks?

this morning, i was merging onto the George Washington Parkway on my way to work, just as always. the merge lane stays with you for a little bit, then disappears. people merge, zipperlike, into the lane beside the merge lane. not a hard concept to grasp, right? i ready myself for my merge, just as the cars before had. but i go to merge with this Ford F-150 truck, and the guy flips me the bird and pushes ahead of me, even though i have almost nowhere to go! fortunately, the person behind him was a kind and mentally-competant driver who let me in before i literally drove off the road.

yep. it’s r e a l l y important to cut off people. shows you’re a real man.

now, this would be unremarkable (save for the fact that most of the reports you read about road rage occur on the GW. must be something to do with two scenic lanes intended for tourists where you are supposed to be going 40 mph that have since turned into a route of caffeine-revved commuters who all think they know how to run the world. cos it’s DC, doncha know.) except that every time i have had an encounter with a man driving a f-150, he has turned out to be a colossally stupid and insecure specimen of penis envy on wheels. it probably explains why he has the truck.

now i feel sorry for people like that of course, but do they have to take it out on poor souls who don’t give a shit about the shortcomings in their shorts? i mean, there’s no other reason why one needs such a big-ass truck here in an urban area. it reminds me of the brainy ones who spend upwards of $50k on their range rovers here. see, you gotta watch out for any kangaroos in your path when you’re driving in the DC metro area. seriously, these autos are probably incredibly useful in the appropriate venues, but they are fairly silly when used merely as a means to get to work.

note to mr. f-150: i hope your dick falls off, though if it did, how would anyone know?

sick about it

sick about it

i have links to my kids’ pix in my flickr account. and i have linked to several of these pix in this blog. however, something happened today which made me pull things down and lock things up.

see, yesterday, i posted pix from the 4th of july, including my dear boy in his new big-boy-pants. being a mom, i didn’t think twice about these photos; mostly my parents and some friends look at them. anyway, while there were a few noted downloads of all the pictures, there were 45 downloads of mr. man in his undies in one day. clearly, there are some sick fuckers out there.

i actually took that picture and deleted it from flickr. the others are now only available to friends and family. if you are in that latter category and would like to be able to see the photos when you come here and click on links, you know how to find me. i’ll be delighted to grant you access.

lord. there are some truly sad people out in the world.

independence day

independence day

the kids are attempting naps at the moment in the hopes that they’ll be awake for 4th of july fireworks. hopefully, it won’t monsoon and preempt the light show tonight (although i for one would be perfectly happy settling in to WETA and watching taped festivities.) they are being separated by DH as we speak, as they are too excited to be in the same room together. at least BC put a pull-up on jools before they tried to nap together. the girl is smart.

but if we don’t get to see the fireworks, it won’t be a total loss (except to jools, who has been jonesing for them since he first saw them last july 4th). today, we set out early and snagged a space under a tree on the median of macarthur blvd in order to see the annual palisades 4th of july parade. and you know, this ain’t no typical smalltown usa sort of shindig, either. we watched the Different Drummers march (they played showtunes, of course), we watched some wonderful Bolivian children and teens dance, we saw very old firetrucks (from 1905), horses, lots of convertibles.

and we met every single candidate for council and mayor there ever was.

adrian fenty shook my hand and BC’s; and it seems as if every single other candidate was busy throwing candy and ice pops and stickers at the children (though one, a guy named orange, was also giving out actual oranges and orange bracelets). when fenty’s folks made a reappearance, they were throwing green mardi gras beads at us. (i was praying that BC wasn’t going to have to lift up her shirt to get the necklace. she certainly nearly ended up under the wheels of several convertibles trying to get candy. yes, my BC would probably sell me for candy.) BC covered jools’ shirt with campaign stickers.

of course, we aren’t DC citizens (neither were the marylanders standing behind us), so we smiled and waved at mostly everyone (except the republicans, who are like a laughable endangered species in DC.) we all cheered for the servicemen from the DC National Guard, of course. we folks of the liberal persuasion hate the war, but we do care for the men and women who are being hung out to dry in iraq by that fuckwitted man we have in the oval office.

but it’s independence day, and while i want to always exercise my right to flap my vitriol at elected leaders who aren’t fit to wipe my ass, i should probably tone things down to happier ideas. george washington. flags. the idiots here in the south who are allowed to play with their own fireworks and blow out an eye. yep. that’s what the 4th of july is all about.

perhaps one of the best points was when my little potty-training-dude had to go, just before the parade started. there is one, only one singular place open along the parade route to pee: starbucks. and yes, every potty training child in a three mile radius was waiting for that single bathroom. it wasn’t pretty. but i am very proud to state that jools made it 🙂

i hope we make it to fireworks. this patriotic stuff is so gol-darned fun.

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