imagination Skipped nap today. If the kid doesn't shit before naptime, you can expect the nap to go kerplunk.

Thus this afternoon has been a tempest of spills, slips, tantrums, frenetic dancing, and other favorite activities for the overheated two-year-old.

My favorite moment: Baldo picks up a stick from our vinka, and waves it furiously. "This is my flag," he declares. "I'm using my imagination," he clarifies.

No writing today.

In other gripping news, I think I'm going to color my hair back to its actual shade. I know! Isn't that bizarre? Let's see if it works.

linkage Look, Mom! It's my piece in Brain, Child.

I'm not even mad that my name is misspelled on the front page.

waking life J. and I finally watched Waking Life. This was a big deal for me because there's a history involved. Linklater had a special screening for the Chronicle before the movie came out, waay back when, and I was too sick in the head to go. It would have been one of my first trips out of the house without Baldo, when he was little and screamy and I was big and screamy. I was literally too messed up to get in my car, drive the seven minutes to the Arbor, and sit in a theater for an hour and a half.

I'd been up all night the night before, trying to sleep but unable. I was hysterical all the time. I wanted so desperately to be rational, but my thoughts kept getting away from me--turning into something angry and twisted and hateful.

I'm glad I didn't try to sit through the movie depressed. It would have hurt my brain even more than it did.

Now I'm so grateful that I have my brain back. It's not the greatest brain in the world, but it is mine, it is me, and I like to stretch it out with thoughts about life and existence and our putatively immutable souls. I don't understand people who cling to melancholy as if it is Deep and Meaningful and Real whereas everything else is fluffy little bunny fakery. I like having more than the same three thoughts (hate, hurt, death) in my head. I like to be fully present in the moment--the "holy moment," a character calls it--whatever it brings. I like the way my brain registers sensation, even mundane ones--the slight depression in the keys under my fingers, the way J's cereal makes a sound like tinkly bells as he pours it into a bowl in the kitchen.

the disneys Screening this morning of Home on the Range, the Disney western thingy that's been shelved for a month of Sundays. It kills me to say this--I'm going to have to turn in my Crusty Old Bat card--but I kind of liked it. It had a loopy "Sons of the Pioneers"-type theme song and a cameo by Ann Richards, who was in the audience with me, and I had no objection to the protofeminist messages and the k.d. lang tune. Phil Collins was nowhere to be seen, which is always nice. No matter how shitty things are in your life, you can be thankful if Phil Collins is nowhere to be seen. A person could have a sucking chest wound and still be grateful for Phil Collins's absence.

Here's what I don't understand: Fully grown people who surround themselves with Disneyana. The shirts, the dolls, the soundtrack. Don't get it.

mark thine calendar Ladyfest TX spoken word show. Sunday, May 30 at Ruta Maya from 3-6 pm. I'll be there performing.

vioxx Ordinarily I am skeptical of anything with "xx" in its name--such as Nikki Sixx or the Adult Video Megaplexx--but I sure am happy with my sample of Vioxx. If you happen to have a 48-hour budgeproof viral headache and your brain feels like a little wizened bean, it's worth a shot.

In other words, I'm much better today.

dolor de la cabeza J. and I have been stricken with Advil-proof headaches for the past two days. He's been running a low fever. We saw separate doctors today and received the same diagnosis: weird viral thing that could go intestinal or respiratory or just go away.

He got a scrip for Vicodin. :pouts:

Of course I was convinced that we have meningitis. Not apparently the case.

If I hold very still it doesn't bother me at all. If I move or walk or go up and down stairs, I feel as if my cerebrospinal fluid is a couple of quarts low and my brain is joggling around in there like a dried bean. If I bend over--say, to retrieve the dozens of magnetic letters underneath the refrigerator--I may not make it back up.

old I received an invitation to my tenth-year college reunion today. I think I already correspond with just about everyone I like from college, but I still think I'm going to go. I also correspond with everyone I like from high school--namely, in toto, The Other J.

Hello, Other J.

tinkle bear So we're sitting around the potty (B. is on it). Waiting for the output.

"Mama! Daddy! Sing 'Tinkle Bear'!"

I beg your pardon?

"Sing 'Tinkle Bear'!"

And so we did. I don't know where my kid comes up with this stuff, but we improvised a song about a certain Tinkle Bear, who lives in the woods and doesn't need a potty because she's a bear. I don't even think I've used the word "tinkle." But then you never know. Sometimes I'm dimly aware that my mouth is moving when my brain isn't fully engaged, and I hear myself saying, "Look! That excavator is yellow!" and stuff. I make lots of really animated observations.

The toddler vocabulary, such as it is, inevitably permeates adult speech. I farted in the car today, and J. turned to me and said, "Do you have peepoo?" Yeah, honey. I just dropped a load in my pants.

B. went to school with J. and helped him make copies. Now he is fascinated by copiers.

I really don't want spring break to be over.

to-do list I'm not a very ambitious person, but before I die I would like to eat at one of those novelty restaurants where your food is served via model train.

I just wanted to write that down because I'll forget otherwise.

I had other things on my list, too: See the midnight sun; get thrown out of a bar (done, though I wasn't the one who threw up on the bouncer, as I'm waaay too mild for that); raise a kid (working on that now); the rest I forget, but there were many more. The others were more random, so I'll never recall them. I have career ambitions but they're not as exciting to me as the model-train restaurant.

It's been a long time without pie. I may have to raid the larder and chow down on some Hugga Bear toddler cookies.

Another observation: When you are through using Lansinoh for lactation relief, it makes an excellent texturizer for your hair.

it's over Technically stuff is still going on, but today our lives return to normal.

Uncle K.--not to be confused with Aunt K.--goes back home today, and I will resume my usual crappy movies (Scooby Doo 2).

I did get my in-store free stuff ya-yas a little bit last night. Lady B. babysat for us and we went to Cheapo, then got milkshakes.

The bubblegum-flavored Zithromax has worked its magic on the Baldinator. We are all better.

His obsession with work machines seems to be nearing its apex. We went to Central Market yesterday to show Uncle K. everything, and while the menfolk were shopping, The Boy and I played on the playground. He ignored all manner of slides, tunnels, bridges, and games in order to play with some other kid's excavator.

waiter! more! Sweet Amy Sedaris, I love soy nut butter. During SXSW, I could just shuffle from screening to screening with a jar of smooth soy nut butter in my bag. Do not eat the crunchy kind. Do not eat the low-carb kind (that's the only kind our nearest hippie store stocks).

I should be generating questions for an interview I have this afternoon, but instead I am eating soy nut butter sandwiches and blogging. Because I am nothing if not on task.

When all this is over with I am going to make a soy nut butter pie.

I have another assignment tonight, which will likely put the kibosh on my hopes of a Crazy Mother Jamboree with the fabulous HellCat. I received said assignment this morning. I will complete it tonight. As long as I do eventually get my Crazy Mother Jamboree I will be happy. And until then the soy nut butter will sustain me.

I would go blah blah blah blee about what I've seen and what I've liked and what I haven't liked, but I'm already doing that for the paper so it feels redundant. I will mention that last night I had my first night at home alone without The Dauphin or The Spouse, and I ate cereal for supper and went to bed early. I also talked to the Fabulous Aunt K. on the phone. I'm a wild one. I considered throwing the TV out the window and trashing the place, but then I remembered that I'd have to clean up my mess.

Evidently it is Saint Patrick's Day, so I will bid a pleasant one to my dear readers, all three of you. ("Hi, Mom!")

The film festival is a twilight existence, like being in Vegas. You meet people in line and befriend them intensely. I met two people yesterday, and we had all seen the same things and had dialectically opposing opinions of them. That was interesting.

gross This picture doesn't do my gross, weepy, veiny SXSW eye justice.

at the store I was grocery shopping this morning alongside a mama with two little boys. She had a Stressed Out and Unsupported Woman vibe. They got to the frozen aisle and the littler kid started whining for ice cream, and she turned on him and screamed--and I mean screamed--"No! You can't have that!" He threw himself against the side of the truck cart and cried, and I almost had to turn around and go back out of the store. That could be me. I could have been that person.

They caught up with me at the cottage cheese, and I waved to the little boy and he smiled and waved back.

Being a parent shouldn't happen in isolation. Lots of people have my back, and it is they who deserve whatever credit I give myself for being a good parent. And I do think I'm a pretty good parent. I can remember each of the few times I really let loose and screamed at Baldo--it's happened a few times, when I was depressed and he was tiny and so so fussy, I'm not proud to say. If I weren't able to take breaks and invest in my own mental health, I'd be a total shitty wreck.

I wanted to help this woman, but what is there to say? I wanted her to be able to sit down and drink a cup of coffee and have some peace and quiet for a while. If you were to say to someone, "You look like you could use a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet," does that make you a helpful person or a judgmental asshole?

Baldo has oh so many Toddler Moments now. He wants to drink from a real cup, but two sips in he spills it all over himself or pours it everywhere. You give him a sippee and he throws it at your head. He wants to be a big kid. He wants to be a little kid. He wants to be big and little. He wants to be Godzilla. But really he wants to drink out of my cup. If I give him a cup identical to mine, he still wants mine. He wants to stand on me. He wants me to hold him all day. But he also wants to be independent.

It's a lot, I suppose, like dealing with a depressed person; the situation is similarly paradoxical. You want help, but you want everyone in the world to fuck off. You can't stand another minute of being isolated, but you can't put on your pants and go outside. There are a million things you want to say but having a conversation with someone is like beating your head against the floor. I think mothers know this feeling intimately.

quote "Let's rock out to Van Halen!" said the boy. And so we did, without pants.

devil eye I have finally attained a certain writerly badge of honor by exploding a blood vessel in my eye. Now all I have to do is actually read myself blind, like Milton.

But now that I think about it, I guess the injury was probably caused by a toddler-powered projectile.

cross-posted everywhere I've just been accepted as a contributor to Mamaphonic: Mothering and Other Creative Acts, an anthology about motherhood and the artistic process published by Soft Skull Press. My essay is about managing to stay current (or at least trying) as a film critic after you've had a kid: no small task this.

aww yeah! Lloyd Doggett won!

OMM (parental advisory) Don't ask me how, but I somehow managed to get on the e-mail list of the American Family Association. Its esteemed president, Donald A. Wildmon, contacted me personally (I'm so special!) to ask me to vote in this poll.

How interesting that when I did 90% of respondents favored Kerry for POTUS! I had no idea the AFA was so wacky!

This is for you, Don (that's how he signs his e-mail): fuck fuck fuck fuck lesbians witchcraft gay marriage secular education Unitarian-Universalism and an apple pie for dessert.

voting A confession: I am a voting dork, and quite possibly a voting fetishist. I love the "vote aqui" signs. I love the election judge. (My mom is one, too! Hi, Mom!) I love to sign in on the sheet. I love the "I Voted!" stickers but I never take one because the experience is its own reward. One of the volunteers needed a pencil with an eraser and I was devastated that I didn't have one in my bag.

I really enjoy the new voting machines. Yes, I'm aware of the problems they pose, being fraud-prone and not leaving a paper trail, being created by a company with partisan affiliations. But as far as it concerns the sensation of voting, they ROCK! I love the access code. I love the divot for your finger on the dial. I love the big red "cast ballot" button. Let's fix that other shit.

And I love my polling place. I used to go vote at ACC, surrounded by students who had never voted before, and I would orient them as to how to use the ballot and which forms of ID were acceptable. And it would take me two hours to vote, seriously, because the lines were so long. Now I vote in an elementary school with three or four other people, all of them in their eighties. It makes me feel like I'm 12 years old. I took me less than a minute.

I like the feeling I get when I walk out the door at the end of the experience, with my big dumb shit-eating "I voted!" grin on my face. I feel buoyant and wholesome and frisky, like an Irish setter.

I'm not even getting worked up over the "Does it make a difference?" bit. I can't even get mad that jackbooted thugs stuck me in some weird-ass Congressional district that has no relationship to geographical logic except that it is technically still on planet Earth. Because today is Voting Day, and on this day I allow myself to luxuriate in the pleasures of voting.

zz II

zilker zephyr

grouchy I am very grouchy today.

I went thrifting for the first time since B. got sick all those weeks ago, and I didn't find much. There was dumping of goldfish crackers, tantruming, and a potty false alarm. I fell short of the purchase required for 30% off. Then I came home to a dead squirrel in the backyard. That kind of shit.

I am extremely antsy about my various dead-in-the-water projects.

Something broke B. out at lunch. He scratched his hands all during the meal, slept like crap, woke up screaming, refused to let me cut his nails. I'm getting sick of this shit. I know that sounds really weak but is there something I've missed? Eggs, cats, nuts, rice, beans, caffeine, avocado, latex, soy, apples. Lunch was mac and cheese. Do children acquire food sensitivities that didn't exist previously? I feel like we've been doing the Hoodoo Treatment for years. Twice a week. We've used up almost all of the Giant Protopic tube we got, what, a month ago?

You reach a point when trying to reason with a toddler where it's like: "Screw this. You don't want your nails cut? Fine." It cannot be done by one person, I swear.

playdate We spent yesterday at T and E's house, playing trains. J and B both took their naps there. I felt like the major Ass-Kicking Mama of the Year. I told B we were having a slumber party; he told me when he was tired, and I put him down on the boys' bunk bed.

T. helped me sew. She was awesome. Lots of guidance but very little interference. Her machine was so much easier to use than mine is, no kidding.

I'm still sort of stuffy from Mega Cold 3000. You know that awesome feeling you get when you blow your nose after you've been sick and it drains and drains and then you feel two pounds lighter? I have that.

We were so tired and stupid last night that we watched Bring It On after bedtime. I know a lot of people like that movie as witty/subversive genre fare or whatever, but I was not impressed. Except by the "spirit fingers."

I've been working on my second chapter and it just keeps growing and growing. It's twelve pages now. Effortless pages, not like when I was writing my thesis and every word was a painful pointy extrusion. I am constantly surprised anew: This is a book! Well, sure--why wouldn't it be? I surprise myself whenever any endeavor of mine doesn't end in some kind of embarrassing failure, the way my angel-food cakes do.

an alternative Since we watch so little TV I've been spared the Bush campaign ads that use footage of 9/11. (Funny how the administration isn't reaching out to viewers of The O.C.)

Advertising is powerful stuff. So is this.

den mother Why am I just now finding out about the Spiral Scouts? That's brilliant. We are so going to do that.

Who's with me, people?

us

blocks

muffin rustler

is this what you wanted, sammy hagar? We went to Lowe's. That's the gist of it.

Yes, our tile is asbestos, so we must cover it back up with carpet. I took a swatch to the store and selected a near-match replacement (cut pile, in "bamboo," appropriately enough).

Baldo had a screaming meltdown in the lawnmower section. There were perhaps twelve display models, and he heated up like a copper cylinder and shot up to the ceiling like a Roman candle. He foamed at the mouth and kicked like Shemp Howard. He went absolutely batshit. We have recently discussed the concept of adjectives, and he was heard to exclaim in lovely full sentences: "This is WONDERFUL! Look at all these WONDERFUL mowers! They are WONDERFUL!"

A tantrum of similar intensity ensued when we attempted to disengage from the display. There's just no way this project could wait any longer. We need the work done with the central air and heat off. I sustained a small bite between my thumb and forefinger, but the damage was minimal and I was actually able to sit him down, get him calm, and tell him that we could go all over the store as long as we went over to the carpet first and finished our errand.

Our Lowe's is populated almost exclusively by over-65 men who seem to be afraid of me. Or of children. Or of women. Or of eyeliner. I don't know. One of them waited a few paces away with his arms folded, checking his watch, clearing his throat, waiting for the salesperson while I placed my work order for the carpet installation with Baldo clinging to my leg and shouting about the wonderful, wonderful lawnmowers. Sometimes I wish I could discharge my uterus, as a sea cucumber does with its innards, and throw it at people. Slupb! "I'm spending hundreds of dollars here! Piss off!"

one more bumblebee

geekin'

in repose

Moz parties

party animals

grandad's birthday

well check Two-year well check today. Incredibly, the child is well.

He ate yogurt with dinner and broke out in a rash everywhere the yogurt was around his mouth, so he kind of looks like The Joker. I don't know why vanilla yogurt would suddenly become problematic.

He commanded the attention of every parent and child in the waiting room to inform everyone that while that kid's paci was yellow, his--at home--was orange. That would be the paci he never uses except when teething. Earlier today: "My mouth hurts." Great.

Good news: He ignored the video monitor (which I hate) in the waiting room. When I asked him this morning if he wanted to watch Sesame Street (because my head was stuffy and I thought I was going to combust if I tried to read Go Dog Go), he said, "No. Listen to Dan (Zanes)." The kid's a little Adbuster!

Perhaps I've been a parent too long, but Dan Zanes is starting to look good to me. Maybe the illustrated storybook CD packaging is going to find its way into the bathroom.

We didn't get the riot act from the pedi about B's size. He's 25% for height and weight, about steady. I've reached the point of becoming tweaky about his size. He's going through a carb thing. I have to bribe him with blueberries to get him to eat anything else.