All I Have

Oh, hello!

It feels like it’s been forever, even though it hasn't. I think it's because I’ve been cheating on this little project with another decidedly not so little project. So yes, distracted is the word du jour. My mind has been charging through in overdrive. There have been loads of delicious little anxious moments and middle of the night wake-ups that involve a bounty of tossing and turning and ceiling staring. Questions range from Can I Do This? to Who the Hell Do I Think I Am? (perhaps my personal fave) to I Have No Choice. OK so the last one is not a question, that much I do know.

So. Not to be vague, but I kind of have to be for now. I am that superstitious.

In other news, Bullets. What can I say? It’s all I have. Right now.

-Summer seems to be in full swing. Oh well. Spring, it was nice knowing you for all of, what, 4.2 days? Here in New York City we’re in full-on jungle fever. It could seriously be Vietnam out there (although admittedly I’ve never actually been to Vietnam but hey, I have the ability to imagine torturous humidity when I am indeed experiencing it). Thank goodness my hair seems to have recovered from the big Haircut Mistake of March 2010. I can finally put it back into a pony tail or (yippee!) pigtails! And I know what you’re thinking and no, I am NOT too old for pigtails.

-Last weekend I took Ellie to her first official birthday party where only she was invited—it was for a little classmate of hers at school. Held at a nearby park, there was pin the tail on the blow up donkey (which Ellie insisted was a unicorn because of the pointy hat), and a giant kind of scary inflatable ball that the little kids could climb into (I know) and I was positive someone was going to be suffocated at some point during the party. I jumped at my chance to get my hot dog on (yes I’m one of those vegetarians who deigns to eat hot dogs—real hot dogs made from turkey lips and cow nose and all that).

-In short, the party was general, fun preschool mayhem (as they should be at this age). And it was also at this party that I discovered Ellie is afraid of clowns. Like, really, really terrified, run-screaming-from-said-clown-with-tears-and-a-bright-red pink-face, afraid. This clown was painting faces which I thought Ellie would adore but alas, the clown was too much to get past. Ellie did warm to him later in the party when he made balloon animals and um, other things (Ellie took home a pink balloon “flower.”)

-I also had a pretty big realization at the party: little boys can be really annoying, even when they have 46 chromosomes. I know, newsflash, right? Those balloon animals I just mentioned? The little boys at the party (ranging from nearly three to five or six) took great delight in popping those balloons, literally right after that poor clown made them. And I even thought to myself when I heard that balloon animals were on the agenda, Well it’s a good thing Leo isn’t here because he wouldn’t be able to handle those.

-Oh that clown. He was either heavily medicated or had the patience of a saint or had plans to go home after the party and drink and entire bottle of wine. I'm betting on option #3.

-Party realization, continued: You know those annoying little 46ers I just mentioned? The balloon poppers? They reminded me of how I can be really hard on Leo. I try not to let it show, but I know it does sometimes and I need to really watch it. He might not notice it now, but there will come a day when he will.

-And I tend to jump to the conclusion (as I’ve written here before) that all of Leo’s infuriating, exasperating behavior is because of the Old Faithful Down syndrome, you know, Down syndrome, the reason for all that sucketh.

-Because you know, if Leo didn’t have Down syndrome, he wouldn’t feel the need to stomp in the ginormous mud puddle that he created in what used to be my beloved flower bed (it was nice knowing you, butterfly bush). If he didn’t have Down syndrome he wouldn’t refuse to get into his car seat at the end of the day and instead climb into the passenger seat or scurry to the back of the minivan and dance around and shake his behind (true story—I’m still trying to figure out who taught him/showed him how to shake his booty).

-Right. It’s all Down syndrome’s fault. Because little boys (or little girls for that matter, I need to do a whole other post on the Bargaining and Deal Making and Discussion that exists when you live with an almost three year old girl) couldn’t just be maddening and annoying Why-is-Mommy-banging-her-head-against-the-wall? inducing little creatures, all on their own, without the help of some silly little syndrome.