Okey dokey spimokey. I've been trying to move my blog URL for 2 months now, but have been too busy to figure out why it hasn't been working. :) Mrs. Flinger and I have been doing a blog together, and now when you go to www.singlesupermama.com - you'll go directly to our joint blog.
You can still contact me directly at sydney.cole [at] gmail.com - but you know, all put together like a real life email address. :)
Love you guys!
-Syd
This morning I saw this bumper sticker:
SAVE THE EARTH.
HAVE ONLY ONE CHILD.
Does it count if you have only one child per man?
I am totally apolitical. Mostly.
Joy asked me tonight whether I voted for Obama, and when I told her no, she almost cried. Seriously. What does a 7-year-old know about it? Well. Here's what a 7-year-old knows about it.
After Joy recovered from her shock, she asked me who I voted for (Nader). And she asked me why. I talked (mostly out of my ass, thank you) about some of the issues that are most important to me... education, the environment, small business... And she blew me out of the water.
"Will he stop our war?"
"What?"
"If Barack Obama is president he will tell everyone to stop having war. And John McCain will keep having war. Will your guy tell people to stop having war?"
Oh god. As often is the case, my 7-year-old is able to prioritize the important things in life (i.e. LIFE) better than I am.
Every day, I constantly count the ways in which I am a bad mom.
I'm short-tempered when I wish I could be more patient. I have to work and have my kids in childcare, so they're largely being brought up by someone that isn't me. I don't have time to feed them foods that are as healthy as I'd like. I wish I was more fun, playing with them on the floor and getting dirty outside instead of doing chores all the time... I'm sure you get the idea.
So, on a Wednesday evening when I have had an utterly crappy day... Clara's been teething and throwing temper tantrums, we've both spent a good portion of the day in tears, we've arrived late to daycare and work... and I surrender and take us out to a buffet restaurant for dinner... I do NOT want to get ANY kind of feedback from the so-called "server." Really. I'm not joking.
At the Glory Buffet (or whatever the hell that nasty restaurant in the mall is called), I was serving Clara bits of food on the table. Because people, if I give her a plate, she tosses it on the ground. And I cry. Which no one wants to see. So ANY-WAY, I was dishing her small pre-cut bits of food on the table in front of her high chair, and our 14-year-old server came by to be helpful:
14-year-old Server: "Do you want a plate for her?"
Me: "No thanks."
Server: "I'm happy to get a plate."
Me: "We're good, thanks anyway."
Server: "Well, you do know that she's eating off the table."
Me: "Uh. Yeah. If I give her a plate, she throws it."
Server: "Well... we just clean all our tables with the same rag. It's not very clean."
Seriously? I paid for this?
I haven't written much over the last few weeks... because I've been dating a special someone for a little over a month now. So that last 22.4 minutes of the day that I used to use for blogging before I collapsed into bed, is now instead being used for phone conversations or necking (depending on kid arrangements).
I'm definitely on cloud nine. I've got endorphins going like you wouldn't believe (thank heavens, because they're helping make up for the lack of sleep). Everything is going swimmingly, to say the least. But we are, after all, still from Venus and Mars.
This last weekend, when only Miss Clara was with us, we spent the better part of two days together. And it sort of hit me like a ton of bricks: Holy heck, it has been a LONG freaking time since I have shared my living space with another adult.
The man is dear and sweet, and he rinses his bowls and puts them in the drying rack. Directly. Without washing first. I, on the other hand, pick up leaves off the floor after someone walks through the kitchen. Even as the person is standing there looking at me with bewilderment on their face. Obsessive much? I guess so.
I am bucking my seatbelt, ladies and gentlemen. Bring on the learning curves and adjustments.
