Sunday, June 17, 2007

trauma

Okay, so I've been trying to post for a week now, but I'm babysitting my nieces (4 yrs and 9-months) at my sister's house in BF, South Carolina, and every time I sit down to write, somebody poops.

I'm unbelievably tired, inhumanly tired, catastrophically tired. I haven't brushed my hair in days, I had, er, effluvia, from several sources on my pajamas the other day and didn't even realize it until nearly 12:00 (and I was still wearing them), and I may have cracked a Miller Lite this morning by 8 am. But the good news is that both of them are still alive!

However, I may not be. It just isn't possible to look this bad and not be dead.

Let me tell you, my ovaries are withering, people. WITHERING! My parents came up to visit me today for a Father's Day Picnic, which really meant, "Help me! I can't concentrate on other people's needs for this many hours per day without losing my shit! Oh, and bring food." And like kind and giving parents, they came. I told them that I hope they enjoyed playing with the only grandchildren they are likely to have, so there.

It really has been fun apart from the exhaustion bit. I've gotten to go on a slip-n-slide, which was a whole new experience now that I have hit 30 and have flying squirrel arms to give me a little added lift. Beanie and I made the World's Messiest Cupcakes and a King Granddaddy crown for her Granddaddy. And we've played with glue and dinosaurs and play dough and had a tea party with Real Tea (decaf, do you think I'm insane?). And oh sweet blissful cracker sandwich, I've gotten to watch The Sound of Music, which I not so secretly love...like when Mother Superior sings Climb Every Mountain, I get all goosebumpy and want to go climb an Alp and spin around with cute gamine hair and make out with the hot Captain like a banshee. Ahhh...that Maria is a minx.

But I confess I find the nightly "How many more bites do I have to eat?" mindnumbingly tedious, partially because it used to irritate me so much to hear my parents nag me to sit up and use a fork and eat your spinach, dammitohell! And saying it myself is like scratching my own nails down the chalkboard. And the whining...oh my god, I just can't stand that tone. She could be begging me for another spoonful of spinach and offering me a million dollars and I would still give her a time out. And the baby, as scrumptiously cute as she is, and named after me besides...she is going to give me the vapors. Every time I turn my back, she has jammed something down her throat to choke on. I vaccuum the playroom every day, yet her sister, who can sack a room more efficiently than any Hun or Visigoth, is immediately in there tossing beads and leaves and sequins and feathers and those goddamned Dora stickers (curse you, Dora! I hope Shackleton cuts your head off!) and play dough and everything else on the floor. It's like the husband in that Julia Roberts movie that drags her around the house beating her for not lining up the tinned fruit properly. That's me, with Baby, the cleaning nazi.

Oh, and let's not forget the Code Brown last night. Any of you with children...you know what I'm talking about. Don't you. Mmmhmmm...you're laughing.

A Code Brown is when the cute little pink monkey you've been allowing to crawl around noodie patootie after her bath suddenly poops all over the place and then crawls about it in it. I was so tempted to take her outside and hose her off...I mean, hell, she ain't mine. I didn't incubate her. But I didn't. So see, I really should be up for the Best Aunt of the Year Award. It's mine and I demand a trophy. And maybe a fabulous new car, because that was a LOT of poop.

God, I love puppies.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Overheard on a backroad in Appalachia

Kelly: Oh my God, my emergency break is on. Where are we going? Where’s the B&B?

Erin: This way feels right. Go straight. I feel like we should go straight.

Jemima (piping up from the back seat): Feel? FEEL? THAT WAY GOES TO TENNESSEE! Sweet fancy Jesus. TURN LEFT! LEFT!

Kelly: You are the idiot savant of navigation

Jemima: I don’t know what that means. What’s an idiot savant?

Erin: It’s like in Rainman, the guy who was all good with cards.

Kelly: You know, Dustin Hoffman's character?

Jemima: Wait, are you saying I'm autistic with weird underwear issues and shop at KMart?

****

This weekend goes down in history as the longest I’ve ever been without water. I’ve subsisted entirely on a “diet” of beer, wine, champagne and Lick-m-Aid.

Erin, Kelly and I spent the weekend in an adorable little B&B cottage in Asheville as part of Aleigh’s destination wedding. I must say, it’s a good thing Kelly doesn’t drink, because the rehearsal dinner and ceremony both required a compass and a clear view of the North Star. There was a lot of pointing and shouting and wild gesticulation. And I think if Simons ever dies, I will move to Massachusetts and marry Erin.

She almost got me kicked out of the rehearsal dinner, because during the early speeches, Aleigh gave Kelly this lovely little perfume atomizer that looked a lot like a vibrator, which Erin noted...unfortunately, right during one of those quiet lulls in conversation when everyone hears you. So I got the snorts, which gave her the snorts, which sent us off into helpless peals of laughter, the kind where you don't make any noise, but shake and cry and snort and have this hideous rictus grin for about 15 minutes and you can't breathe. And it was during the goddamn blessing, and I was trying so hard not to snort, but then I'd hear Erin hissing away next to me and then that would set me off again. God, it was terrible.

Kelly kept threatening to separate us. And then we all went outside for a smoke (no, I haven’t really started again), and the old bag named Tex on my left thought we were on drugs, and said all snotty when we got back to the table, "You were gone a long time. I hope that was just a cigarette break and nothing else," and Erin rounded on her like a rattlesnake and said, "No, we were shooting heroin! That okay with you?" And that just set me off again. Yea gods.

Erin maintains that Tex was inappropriate first, but then I said “Hi, Pot, this is Kettle calling, just to say ‘vibrator’ and then ‘Amen.’” Sinner.

At the wedding, which was on a farm with goats and ponies and bunnies and llamas (I do love a llama), Aleigh looked beautiful and totally herself in a gorgeous short dress with a blue obi. And considering she went through about 12 trial dresses, this one was all the more lovely for being hard to find.
Her shoes were fab too.
I mean, look how cute Aleigh and Ian are.
Excellent food, great wine. And Kelly got to sharpen her fingernails on the groom’s uptight brother, who kept popping out from behind the outhouse with a video camera to demand an interview, which was not appreciated. (I mean, who can be expected to come up with the meaning of love and marriage all impromptu like that? I guess he has to creep up on people, because otherwise everyone would see him coming and scamper off, like a slow motion game of chase. But maybe that mentality should be a clue that making a video like that is a BAD IDEA?) Anyway, he lunged at Kelly, who does not like the paparazzi, and asked her for some words of advice for the married couple, and without missing a beat she said, “I know a great divorce lawyer, and I’ve got him in speed dial, Aleigh, so call me anytime, day or night.” I think I yipped a little and my eyes bugged…like a Pekinese. So did the uptight brothers’.

And then Aleigh came mincing over in her adorable shoes and Kelly said, "Did you come over here for a cigarette?" And Aleigh said, "Of course not." And then we all went behind the outhouse and smoked, even the bridesmaids.
After the band started playing Old MacDonald for the children, Kelly and Erin and I went back to our beautiful little cottage and stayed up till about 3 a.m. drinking Miller Lite and smoking and dishing about rabbits and boys and the illegitimate offspring of various relations. God, it was totally fab.