02.27.06
Back in the saddle…
I’ve started another rehearsal at the theater – and this time out I’m directing. Which means I get to be the boss. Of everything. No wait… that’s not entirely true. As director, I only get credit for the things that suck. The actors will get all the credit for what’s wonderful. Which is probably how it should be. My goal is to get out of the way and make sure I don’t ruin everything.
The pixies are fascinated by this concept of directing. Largely because they are fascinated with the concept of bossing anyone, or anything, around. They enjoy flexing their own authority around the house – an activity one might call “tattling.” The tattle-tell phase is truly a joyous chapter in the novel of parenthood. Who in their right mind wouldn’t enjoy a continual (and when I say continual I mean mania-inducing, put-you-on-the-ledge-of-the- building, ready-to-open-your-veins-in-a-warm-bath continual) stream of information about minutia so trivial that you can feel the scream rising in your throat.
To wit:
“Mommy, Audrey’s copying me.”
“Mommy, Emmy’s in my way.”
“Mommy, Audrey’s looking at me.”
“Mommy, Emmy’s breathing more than her share of the air.”
I haven’t E-Bayed them both yet, but don’t think I haven’t flirted with that option. Perhaps simply locking them in a small space together and subjecting them to their own pixie-ness would do the trick. But knowing those two, they’d just use that time to their advantage, hatching further diabolical schemes to undo me mentally and emotionally. Actually, I don’t even think they plan it – it might just be a dark gift they share.
Frankly, I’m surprised the dog hasn’t packed up and headed out to find more peaceful accomodations.
02.13.06
Blue Pixies
The girls have been ill this week, and a dark cloud has settled over our household. You must first realize that my children have never really been sick. So of course, their first time out, you might think they’d just get their feet wet with something simple, like the common cold. Or a bite-sized virus. No, no. Not my pixies. They burst right out of the chute with nothing less than…
the flu.
Yes, you read that right. The flu. THE. FLU. And for the love of all things holy, we are rejoicing that it is finally over. In the seven long (long, long, long) days of this illness, Squidge and Cheeks have given new meaning to the phrase “high maintenance.” Now, don’t get me wrong – they were ill, bless their little hearts. But don’t think they didn’t milk it for all it was worth.
Personally, my favorite activity was administering medicine to the Squidge. To imagine the difficulty level of this task, try pushing an octopus into a string sack. Or putting stretch pants on a humming bird. If you can do either of these things, you would have had no trouble whatsoever pouring a teaspoon of medicine down a teeny, albeit screaming and shrieking, throat – although from Squidge’s behavior, you would have thought we were trying to dose her with hydrochloric acid!
As I said, my children do not really get sick. Ever. Ever, ever. So Michael and I were spectacularly unprepared for the onslaught of servanthood that slapped us in the face like a lead mitten. I’m not sure how to account for this unusual level of health. Maybe they got more than their share of white blood cells. Or perhaps germs just fear our house – and who, having seen the pixies in action, can blame them??
02.09.06
Like Manna from Randalls
Okay, if you don’t have kids, don’t know kids, don’t like kids, or never had a childhood of your own, you can move on to another blog (you empty soul-less git!). I have found the greatest bread. Ever.
Sara Lee (God bless her) now offers crustless white bread. “White bread?” you say. “I thought you’d go to the grave swearing only by whole wheat!” But yes, I confess, I’ve gone over to the dark side! This bread is really good. Chock full o’ nutrients and completely void of that nasty processed taste that I call the “Rainbo” connection! Plus, you don’t have to cut the crusts off. Which comes in handy when you have children like my pixies, who firmly believe that bread crust is a likely source of poison and must have all traces removed before consumption. And if you find yourself sweating in front of the little skillet whipping up those lunchtime grilled cheese sandwiches (one of the four food groups in the Foster household), you’ll be beside yourself to learn that not only does this miracle bread brown beautifully, but it is almost exactly the same size as the cheese. Mmmmmmm. Now that’s a tasty sandwich.
Just look at these satisfied customers!
Okay, now I’m off. To get a life.
02.07.06
Are you kidding??????
“Big Momma’s House 2″ was the number 2 box office hit over this past weekend.
Now please hit me on the head with something heavy until I lose consciousness. Permanently.
02.06.06
Go Team!
Well, the Snoozer Bowl was tonight. I always go into Super Bowl Sunday thinking I’ll at least watch the commercials. (The game has ceased to divert me for years!) But the last few years those commercials have… well, sucked. I think there’s too much pressure on these poor lowly writers to come up with something fresh or even remotely funny. On the other hand, if I were a man, I’d be pretty insulted by the whole thing. Judging from the content of most of the ads, apparently the advertising world feels that men are basically mouth-breathing troglodytes whose one brain cell is only stimulated by the thought of food or the promise of a glimpse of female breast! Men of America – how proud you must be.
02.02.06
How hard can it be???!!!
When standing in line to order food, like a long time – say five or ten minutes, how hard can it be to perhaps begin to think about what you might order? You know, nothing concrete, just maybe spitball a few ideas so that when you actually get to the counter, you don’t just stand there like some gormless git trying to figure out what you’re going to eat while the rest of us – those unlucky few in line behind you – stand waiting, imprisoned by your indecision and general lack of a clue.
When walking through a crowded venue – perhaps a mall or amusement park – and suddenly plagued with an original idea, stray thought or change of mind, how hard can it be not to come to a dead stop in your tracks, and thus avoid becoming an instantaneous and uninvited obstacle for every other person around you? I suggest phasing out of the flow of traffic or simply pulling over. Just don’t advertise your witlessness!!!
And finally, when operating a vehicle in or around the city of Houston, how hard can it be not to drive like a jackass???
Or maybe it’s harder than I think…
02.01.06
Meet the Pixies!
My children, delightful sprites that they are, have already become clearly vocationally committed – even at the tender ages of 5 and nearly 3. The eldest is bucking for a career in the monarchy. She is polishing her imperialistic attitude, honing her sense of command, and just generally enjoying being bossy. Meanwhile, her younger sister is hoping to represent the United States in this year’s Olympics, competing in both the “annoying” and “pesky” events. (The French have traditionally had a lock on “pesky,” so she’s got some work ahead of her.) But the Squidge is spectacularly adroit at finding even the most carefully hidden of buttons and, with great aplomb and abandon, pushing the ever-loving $%&! out of them.
All of this focused and labored work toward what I’m sure will be an eventual livelihood for both of my daughters is not, however, creating an ideal home environment for their mother. Even now as I type, the tiny nerves toward the base of my skull are being lovingly massaged by the dulcet tones of their heartwarming conversation:
Cheeks: STOP IT!!
Squidge: NO!!!
Now repeat these two lines of dialogue over and over again until you can just feel the edges of your face beginning to melt. Can you feel it yet? Okay, then, welcome to my life!!
