The Toxic Housewife

  So, I set myself up for disaster again: I had a booklet made from 2022's "Blog For One" posts and Santa gave it to the family for Christmas.  We've been reading from the booklet in spurts, usually with me at the kitchen table shouting each post to Bee (preparing dinner) and Mr. C (lounging with a cat in the living room). Captions are at least with the photos this time . . . but still look like part of the main body.  Sigh. The good news:

("It was a good death." ~inane quote from Legends of The Fall) It is the end of an era: please bear witness to the Death of Ethel.    As you may recall , Ethel is my alter-ego. She is the crazy woman who swoops in the minute Bee leaves town and feeds Mr. C sugar and pizza all weekend and lets him stay up waaaay past his bedtime. 

  I have this new mantra I've been obsessively repeating: "Just give yourself some grace." It's a gentler, more-forgiving way to permit myself to let things slide.  The alternative, of course, is the mantra I've had for the last few years: "I give exactly Zero F*cks ."    It's a valid mantra, but one with angry undertones; I thought it was time to switch things up a bit.

I'm so cold, even my beverage of choice is . . . just ice. Surprisingly-enough, it turns out Mr. C's preferred blog posts of late aren't even the ones about him: they're the ones about me.  Not about what he interprets to be "day in the life" stuff (as in, when he complained that my " 0 F's "  post was all about fashion), but more when I write about my innermost thoughts and feelings .   I can't decide what I think (or feel) about this.  On the one hand, it's sweet that your kid actually cares enough to want to learn about you.  On the other hand, it just goes to show -- once again -- that I am nothing but a cold-hearted b!tch.

4 teenagers   #1 fans of this blog (I'm talking to you, Malaysian spammers!) may have noticed the format change to this website.  That is Mr. C's contribution.  Since, as we established last post , I give Zero F*cks these days, I told him he could change the theme as he saw fit, as he informed me that the one I chose years ago "looked too old".  I find this amusing because I think the theme he chose looks like 1940's at the Copacabana.  But whatever: this is a blog for one , and The One has spoken.

  Can I just leave this post at that? I'm  afraid my evil plan didn't work: despite trying to embarrass Mr. C, he still wants me to write another blog post.  In fact, he seemed pretty thrilled by the last post, which -- as you may recall -- was nothing special; however, when I sent him an e-mail ('cause that's what you do now: you text instead of talk) with a link to the post, he responded back with "YEESSSSS!!"  I think that's the most-excited he's gotten about anything I've said since he was 4 (and then it was "Don't worry; you don't have to wear pants today").

Mr. C's birthday was a few weeks ago. "What do you want to do for your birthday?" I asked the month before.  "Can you build another castle ?" he asked.

Mr. C spent last week in a playcamp at a neighborhood park, hosted by our city's recreation department.  It was a momentous week for him: not only did he spend each day outside -- with no screen time -- doing active things, but he fell in love with an older woman.

For some reason, Bee and I thought it would be a fabulous idea to trim Mr. C's hair 10 minutes before he was to leave for school this morning.

I had some two-year-old roll-out cookie dough in the freezer, so I decided this Valentine's Day was the perfect opportunity to use that shit up!

Mr. C has lost so many teeth, I can't remember if he's on number 6 or number 8.  Which is odd: I don't remember even starting to lose teeth until I was in first grade; so he obviously didn't get that from me. Sadly, what he DID get from me is the size of his front teeth:

Tell it like it is, Fickle Pickle Fun It will probably come as no surprise to loyal readers that I was over-thinking (and -feeling and -worrying) about Mr. C's first days of first grade.

Mr. C starts first grade in less than a week, and I am beginning to freak out. It is suddenly hitting me that my baby is going to be a big boy who is gone at school all day.  My whole life is going to be rearranged as a result of this.

Fickle Pickle Fun Around the time I was a teenager, my mother would periodically disappear – generally on weekends my father was off on business – and “Gladys” would step in.

Fickle Pickle Fun MR. C:   It’s so lonely around here, and the house is always messy.   I need to get married so it won’t be lonely and messy anymore.

Yesterday I reached a new low in my cooking:

Thanks to my wonderful Aunt Anonymous and her Burger King gift card, I am currently sitting in my local fine-dining establishment, watching Mr. C and his friend ( Stripper Mom’s son ) pretend to be monkeys while they climb around the play structure.  I think I’m becoming one of those parents Burger King must hate: bring two loud five-year-olds, buy less than $5, and spend two hours trashing their restaurant.

does eating a big bowl of green pesto satisfy today's requirements? So, as he blearily blinked himself awake this morning at 30 minutes before leave-for-school-time, Mr. C calmly asked, "Is it Saint Patrick's Day?" It has been at least 20 years since I've put any thought into this particular holiday, so I was a little unprepared.  I actually had to go get our calendar to discover that today was, indeed, March 17th.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun Ahhhh, the wonders of the Playdate.   They used to be an opportunity for me to hang out with other moms while our kids threw blocks and bit each other.   I didn’t think anything could top these Toddler Playdates.

Fickle Pickle Fun! I have taken to waving to homeless people.   Not a big, enthusiastic wave; really just one of those quick, I-acknowledge-your-presence waves.   I do this because, although I’ve luckily never known what it’s like to beg for money, I DO know how it feels to be sitting out on display, trying to sell your product while passersby pretend to be too busy to make eye-contact.