For the old readers, welcome back. It’s been a while. Come have a seat on this old couch which I just Lysol-wiped. Have a cup of coffee with me, just sit six feet away. Listen to my ramblings as I have nowhere to go and nowhere to be but home, and chances are, so do you.
For the new readers, join the ride. I don’t know how long I am back for, but I promise to provide absolutely useless and meaningless content while I stay.
Week 1 of quarantine ended yesterday. It was a success as I did not end my husband or my six-year old.
Firstly, apologies for being MIA recently. The biggest arch nemesis of virtual life is the little thing called real life, and my real life has been a whiny, needy child these days.
“You look like a princess Mummy!” says the spawn.
I turn around and look at the spouse. Our eyes meet, and we burst out laughing.
She says this while I am squatting over a dead bug, inspecting it for vital signs using her blue polka dot flip flop. My pajama pants are hiked up and the bottom part is wet because I was mowing the lawn earlier (yes we have a backyard now…more on that another time), I’ve been cleaning, my hair hasn’t been washed in two days and in summary, the only princess I could possibly look like is Princess Fiona from Shrek after sunset.
Many years ago, while walking through my university campus with a male friend on a starry, moonlit night, we passed by a dark, secluded spot. I leaned into him and whispered, “Damn. This would be a great spot to dump a dead body”.
In spite of, or possibly because of, my knowledge of prime dead body drop-off locations, that boy decided to spend the rest of his life with me. And to this day, he expresses his disbelief at that comment.
So confession time: I am a serial watcher of behind-the-scenes videos, bloopers, interviews, Wikipedia entries and essentially anything that gives me the assembly line scoop of a movie/show I fall in love with. My husband mocks me about this relentlessly. Because if fall in love with something, chances are, I am going to know its third most important actor’s first pet’s name. Continue reading
Before my daughter was born and we didn’t know her gender, we used to refer to her as “it”. After she was born, the pronoun stuck and we began calling her “it” when we wanted to imply that she was acting like a beastly creature.
When she was down for a nap in her room, my husband would stick the baby monitor in my face and say, “It’s awake”.
When she would pee on me: “It hates you”.
When she would throw a tantrum: “It’s losing its shit”. Continue reading
Time flies. Time is money. Time is of essence. Time is ticking. Sands of time. Time waits for no one. What time is it anyway?
We kill time. We make time. It can be a good time or a bad time. There is quality time, and there is a quantity of time. Time is a product, a tangible thing it seems.
And to raise a child is to understand the paradigm of time. Mainly because children are predisposed to give less of a shit about time then a bird with an imminent bowel movement does about your car. Continue reading
Recently I was having coffee with a friend whose son is my daughter’s age. She said to me, “I don’t know if this makes me a bad mom or something…” here she dropped her voice to a whisper, “but I am so happy to drop my kid off to daycare on Mondays.”
I laughed. Then I told her that I do a drive-by drop off on Mondays. A drive-by drop off is when you slowly drive by your child’s school, roll down your windows and hurl your child out into the waiting arms of the teacher, and yell, “See ya later bitches!!” and then put on your sunglasses and crank up the volume on Drake. Continue reading