AM: (Holds waistline of pants she is wearing out to indicate roominess.) Hey, I know I’m being tiresome with this weight thing, but look at my pants!

Jim: (Vaguely; he does not turn around because he is immersed in some sort of computer thingie.) Are your pants looser? That’s nice, honey.

AM: (Waving free hand in direction of gap between pants and gut) Looser? Dude, would you like to get IN my pants with me?

Apocalyptic Wedding Weather

If the old saw about rain on your wedding day being good luck holds through, my friends A and J should be millionaires by next week, because Saturday morning’s weather was of deluge proportions. We had standing weather in our basement (which happens maybe twice a year), and Eliza’s sandbox, which we’d left open by mistake, had 4 inches of water in it by the time we headed out for their festivities Saturday morning.

I walked into the reception site barefoot and discreetly slipped on my shoes in the corner before joining the party because I was afraid my new little emerald-green ballerina flats (Everyone should have little emerald-green ballerina flats. They have greatly added to my quality of life.) wouldn’t make it.

They’d had their ceremony privately, but did that stop me from getting choked up? No, it did not! As they walked in, all beamy and lovey and hand-hold-y, I blinked away a tear or two. Woooooooo! A and J!

They went the vegetarian brunch route and even had a vegan cake, and lordy, sign me up for the vegan bandwagon, because that cake was awesome! I was so happy Eliza didn’t finish her slice. (She was mostly interested in frosting, plus, their wedding favor was little bags of chocolates, and guess whose kid is OBSESSED with chocolate. Oh, mine, that’s whose.)

***
Runrunrun

I am continuing with the running and nipped out for an hour between rainstorms on Saturday evening.

I hit a wall for a while, because I was concentrating on speed. I have switched my goals from “finish 5K as quickly as possible” to “enjoy yourself,” and I am having much more fun. I know, Duh. But letting go of the speed thing has allowed me to run longer distances because I am more relaxed and not trying to beat a clock. So, paradoxically, I am covering longer distances, faster, because I’m not burning out on the first 5K and having to dial it down to walking. I did sign up for a race next weekend — a 10K, no less. My goals are a. Finish, b. Don’t trip. I was aiming for c. Don’t be last, as well, but I’m dumping that one because I think it could get in the way of a. and b. It’s on Aug. 11, which gives me two weeks to assemble the perfect 10K music mix. I’m adding some Madonna and Rihanna to my existing 5K mix, and I think there will need to be some U2 as well. Suggestions welcome.

***
Spider

A spider was building her web outside our living room window after the rain Saturday evening. She had strung the main threads and was carefully creating the spiral. Did you know they start at the outside and work inward? I have never spent any time watching a spider at work and always assumed they started at the center and worked out.

***
We are such sticklers

As we prepared to leave the house yesterday for our own personal Blogher with Meredith, B, and LM of Daily Kvetch, Eliza put her own shoes. She was so proud of herself — she beamed and insisted we clap for her.

I felt a bit churlish about switching them to the correct feet.

***
BlogWMA

As mentioned above, the delightful denizens of Daily Kvetch and That Boy Ain’t Right were near our neck of the woods yesterday and we met up for a playdate on neutral (non-cat-infested, in deference to B’s allergies) territory at an eatery that has a large children’s play area.

I had warned Meredith that we needed to hear more details about B’s awesome prank interview and they did not disappoint, because B reenacted whole sections of the event complete with weird voice. I am STILL laughing every time I think about him giving the interviewer a wine bottle in the gift bag at the end of the interview. “My mother always said you should never come empty-handed.”

Our two progeny did that toddler thing where they sort of ignore each other but sort of not, although at one point, which sadly neither Meredith nor I was quick enough to capture on camera, they were lolling on a mat next to each other.

Shockingly, although she seemed utterly wrecked, Eliza did not fall asleep on the ride home so we continued on to the mall in search of a new bed spread. As we perused the options, Eliza filed herself in the bed-in-a-bag rack.

***

Building a Monologue

Background: When Eliza was littler and Barney was fascinated with her little snackable waving fingers, I would see him getting his bitey look* and yell “Barney NO!” As she got older, she would scream this, complete with waggling finger (Where did she learn that? I don’t waggle my finger.) whenever the poor cat entered the room, and I started saying, “Sweetie, don’t yell at the kitty, he’s not doing anything wrong.”

I know she is not alone in this habit, but we continue to be hugely amused by Eliza’s habit of reciting entire scripts of frequent conversations, in which she takes both speaking parts. To wit, this morning, when Jim called me about something and I heard her carrying on about the cat in the background.

“Barney NO! He’s not doin’ anyfing WRONG! Barney NO! He’s not doin’ anyfing WRONG!”

***
Oh, DIS one!

Eliza frequently requests that we play with this or that or read some book, and often times, her name for the desired object is somewhat obscure to me. Cut to me searching wildly for whatever-it-is while she grows ever more impatient, finally locating the random obscurity in question, and saying, “Oh, THIS one?!”

Lately, when she requests something of which I have no clue what she’s talking about (too many prepositions? Yes? Sorry.), she has developed this heartbreaking habit of saying, as she is starting to cry, “Oh, DIS one?! Oh DIS one!” as if willing me to find it.

Which is only to be topped by the day she was tired and starting to lose it and I suggested we watch a movie clip online only to discover that the site in question wasn’t loading, and she flung herself at me, wrapped her arms around my nack, and between HUGE wracking sobs, told me, “The computer is BROKEN!”

___

* Before someone goes call DCFS on me: It’s not really biting — he used to sometime nip as part of his play.

(n.b. Eliza still refers to herself exclusively in the second person.)
Eliza: You want to rock your TIGER!

AM: OK, let’s go downstairs.

(Eliza makes the infant bouncer with her new stuffed tiger in it bounce up and down.)

AM: Does your tiger have a name?

Eliza: Is your tiger have a name, BARACK OBAMA!

I could have written a real post, but that would involve putting the book down. Not gonna happen.

In lieu, some photos:

My friend SBJ borrowed a bunch of baby stuff for her twins. They’ve outgrown it and yesterday she brought back her borrowed stash, including a pair of infant bouncer seats.

“This is your NEW TOY!” Eliza immediately decided, and spent the rest of the night rocking various stuffed animals in them, and climbing in herself. She was completely unmoved by my comments that perhaps she was too big for them.

My friend A is getting married in a few days and the other day I thought I should have Eliza make her a congratulatory finger-painting. I decided to give her complete control over the paints, and she got all Emeril “BAM” about it, squeezing paints out onto the paper with a flourish.

“You are swiwwin da colors around! Swiwwin an swiwwin!”

Alright. That’s enough. See you on page 759!

Admission: I think that driving a stick shift is cooler than driving an automatic.

It is not without its dangers, however.

I initially learned to drive a stick shift out of necessity. After I graduated from college, my mom wanted the car I’d been using back for my sister, who was turning 16. I headed to the Toyota dealership to buy the cheapest car I could get my hands on. The dealer offered me a stick shift Tercel. I said I didn’t know how to drive it. He said I could have the automatic for $2000 more. No dice, I said. Well, then, here’s the stick shift car, he said. But I don’t know HOW to drive stick, I said. After about 20 minutes of this routine, he said, fine, I’ll TEACH you how to drive stick if you buy the damn car! Sold!

So it was that early 1995 found me pretty well comfortable with driving clutch — I didn’t stall out at lights or on hills anymore — but still fairly new to the process. Among the things I had to get used to was reaching for the stick whenever it was time to shift. I’d gotten into the habit of doing this sort of scoop-reach maneuver that encompassed any of the positions the stick could be in.

One day, as part of my work for the local newspaper, I had to interview the manager of a newly expanded business on my beat. We started with a chat at the old location, with plans to proceed to the new plant afterward.

As we wrapped our interview and prepared to leave for the new plant, he asked if I’d mind driving; something about security and directions. Thus, for probably the first time, I had someone sitting in the passenger seat of my car.

I backed out of my parking space, turned onto the road, and went to shift up to a higher gear. I grabbed for the stick with my patented flailing reach technique — and, instead, grabbed the man’s leg right above the knee.

I had no idea what an uncomfortable silence was until that very moment.