Monday, December 31, 2007

my son and hair

Daniel is asleep early today, having exhausted himself with the important business of being two. I didn't know it until now, but two is a magical number, and reaching it was like commanding "open sesame!" to some secret door in his toddler sized brain which, once opened, revealed a whole 'nother stash of the shiny, sparkly jewels that make up Daniel's personality.

I couldn't even say how he's changed these past weeks, but he has and it's amazing. And run off-the-feety. And kind of messy too. He's long been one to imitate what I'm doing, but he's suddenly the boss of Doing It All Himself. Because he's a shortass, he drags his chair over to where ever it is I'm doing whatever it is that wishes to do himself, then he stands on the chair next to me and takes over. He filled his sippy cup (with surprisingly little assistance from me) earlier today, and spent a good half hour yesterday "washing the dishes", standing at the sink, dishcloth in hand with an inch or two of water in the sink, cleaning a plastic cup and a bowl and a spoon or two. He really gets into the vaccuuming now and at this rate, I figure I'll have my own personal valet by the time he's three.

Being two, he's also now able to begin his transition at daycare too, from the nursery room to the kindergarten room. I know he'll be happier mixing with the big kids as he's always seemed to get along better with them than he does his own peer group of midgets. I look at him sometimes and think "dude, you'll make an excellent younger brother", and then I apologise in advance for fucking up his life by making him an older one instead.

Not that I'm pregnant yet, but I plan to be and oh my god, I must be mental.

And yet, going ahead with it all anyway. I'm thinking though that it might be in February and fercryinoutfuckinloud this spotlight bullshit is KILLING ME. Do you KNOW how many times I hit the damn key that magically makes it spring into action? A LOT. GOD.


Daniel is asleep.

And I'm too hypoglycemic or something remember where in heck I was heading with whatever it was I was saying anyway. Probably nowhere.

Ah yes! It was to do with February, because my period arrived just in time to make the reproductive unit's first day back after the Christmas break two days too late to start down regulating my bits. I think. Or why don't I not put the cart before the horse and instead, wait to see what the unit has to say on the fourteenth?

And if they say "January!", I'll be starting suppression meds in a few weeks, before tripping down the IVF highway and all being well, having two plump and healthy embryos transferred sometime toward the end of February. Then gestate, gestate, gestate and presto chango! Instant family in time for Christmas 2008.

And that's the plan.

and I should probably talk about the emotions surrounding all this planning but the truth is, the plan is in place and it's not like I don't have any emotions about it, I do, but I have no question about what I'm planning to do. This is what I want and I want it because, after having thought about it since five minutes after Daniel was born, I know this is the right thing to do for our family. I won't be giving up any of Daniel's present as I pursue a future, and no matter what happens, more children or not, it's a future that will have no questions about what could of been, and it will be free of regret of what what I could have done to change things.

But I was talking about Daniel and daycare before my low blood sugar got in the way. Yes, he's about to graduate to the Big Kids' room where he'll have WAY more fun than he's had in quite a while in the Small Kid's room and yet, I've just dropped his attendance from three days to two, with a mind to dropping it right way down to one. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I mean, I find it really hard to justify him being there three days a week when, in reality, he can be in the creche the two mornings I work at the gym instead, and then spend the rest of the week chilling back with me. Which is likely code for "having the living shit bored right out of him", which makes me think about how much he loves daycare and how much stimulation and actual real playtime with real, actual kids his own age he gets there, and then I wonder about what in fuck I'm doing depriving him of all that. Then I think of my belief, that it's not right that a child so young is so used to spending that amount of time away from his mother. And any working mother taking offence at that sweeping statement? I love you but really, please kiss my ass because it's an opinion, it doesn't mean it's a universal fact. Spotlight can kiss my ass TOO because FOR. FUCK. SAKE.

Point being, I get really fucked up about what to do with Daniel and daycare, so mostly I've done nothing at all but obviously, that hasn't been working for me, so I finally did something,and now that's fucking me up too. Gah.

Daniel's latest and at present, most favorite game is "go to bed", in which he makes a nest out of the pillows from my bed, lies down and throws a cot sheet over his head. The game can be taken on the road too, and countless times I've felt a tug on my shorts or a tap on my leg and turned around to find a sheet enshrouded, ghostly little figure standing behind me saying "More bed? Nigh nigh!". Yesterday, he took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom before throwing the magical sleep inducing sheet over my head and patting my back in a "there there" fashion. He put his Thomas the Tank Engine collection to bed the same way the other day, all seventy hundred of them tucked safely away in my bed, and quite regularly I pull the covers back to find all his stuffed animals piled up under there as well.

It's been so hot lately that there's really nothing more to do except stay home and escape the heat by perfecting this game. We've been spending a lot of time in the wading pool too. we were in there early this morning, under the shadecloth and slathered in sunblock because you'd have to be fucking insane to submit yourself to the ridiculously, scorchingly hot 41C it already was by 10.30am. The wading pool deal = LOVE! for me because it means that in the middle of a severely water restricted summer and after a morning's paddle has been had, I get to empty the thing all over the lawn, meaning my lawn gets to survive and because it does so legally, I get to also give a big Fuck You to the idiot state government that's STILL doing shit all about water catchment and/or desalination plants. Which is a totally boring aside when what I should be talking about is something topical. Like Christmas.

The day dawned like any other, with me lying in bed groaning for a few minutes more and Daniel tugging at my arm saying "mummy! MUMMY! Gettup mummy! Gettup!". So I did and he did and then the little tyke about shit himself when he looked through the doors to the front room. It was filled with balloons and piled high with gifts and was all too much so, ignoring that it even existed by pointedly NOT looking its way, Daniel ate his breakfast while I drank my (fully loaded, double shot, high octane) coffee. Then after much coaxing and reassurance (ie bribes) Daniel finally got into the groove and began ripping into the gifts. Then we spent the morning playing with the Thomas the Tank Engine SCORE! that dominated the day, and we had chevapcici for lunch before going for a walk to feed the ducks before dinner before going to bed. So we had a very quiet day, which is a non loser-ish way of saying it was a lonely one.

Daniel had fun though, and as Christmas is for the children and about family, I guess we fulfilled all the Christmas requirements.

Goodwill to all men aside, I'm kind of upset at a friend of mine though, who said she'd come by NO MATTER WHAT on the day and who, after sending a text in the early afternoon stating "not sure when but will be there soon!", never showed up at all because she was too tired. Which is a totally acceptable excuse, but seriously, what's so hard about sending a simple fucking text message to let me know? Can't make it, too tired, the end.

Thing is, I don't give a shit what day it is, if you've made a commitment to be somewhere, notify someone if you can't make it. Don't just forget about them. Geesh.

I reckon that I'm the only person IN THE WORLD who lives by that standard so I should probably suck it up and quit judging others so harshly (and consequently feeling so sorry for myself) for not living by my personal set of rules or whatever in heck Dr Phil would have to say about it.

And in the absence of a neat segue (although I supoosed being pissed off is a segue of sorts) I've decided it's time to introduce toilet training to the Bee household.

It only recently dawned on me that the dude isn't about to spontaneously stand up and pee in the john, so I downloaded an ebook, because who can resist the temptation of potty trained in five (FIVE) hours? Actually, given that toddlers LOVE and learn by repetition, the book makes a whole lot of sense and I reckon it would work brilliantly if Daniel wasn't able to hold onto all manner of waste for an entire five hours instead. We'll give the ebook a try sometime in the near future, but for now I'm happy with him running around all day with no pants on and sitting him on the potty at regular intervals. He won't pee though, or poop - which is a definite sign he's ready for training as he's very able to hold on - and he ends up at the point where he's frantically groping his man bits and caving in at the knees, but even then, he saves it up 'til he's wearing a nappy, an event that these days and unless we're going out, happens only at naptime and bed time, at which point he lets the flood gates open. With the No Pants system in force, I figured it would be the accidents that led to explanations about potties, and that the explanations would eventually lead to behaviour, but with no accidents, and no way to get the boy to pee - despite the thirty billion gallons of milk and water I'm forcing him to chug down each day - how does one go about the explanation slash education part of the equation? To which I answer my own self, given enough time with the wind in his personal willows, it'll all work out and the natural order of things will prevail.

Speaking of shit, there are not enough words descriptive of hate that would explain how I feel about my hair right now. I had an awesome cut three, maybe four months ago, and three weeks ago I went back in to get an inch or two off the bottom to bring it back to its blunt cut and swingy glory. This enjoyment of my hair came after years of hating it so much that all I EVER did was tie it back and forget about it because why bother doing anytihg with it if it's gonna look like crap anyway, right? So anyway, this one day I'd walked into a random salon, waved my hand in the general direction of my head and requested they get rid of some of that shit. So with a flash of her scissors, Nicole did just that and kid thee not, it was like one of those unveilings you see on tv. I was all touching my hair and breathlessly asking "is that me?" because my hair, without the help of trick lighting or magic mirrors, looked good. Which it has NOT done for the aforementioned Quite Some Time. People, I was wearing it down most of the time, DOWN. MY HEAVENS. That being the case and Nicole being my new best friend, I went back about three weeks ago, all excited and breathless (again!) at the idea of the blunt being renewed and the fiery new love of my hair being fanned to an even greater flame. This time though, she went on abo9ut "just a few layers, long ones, will look AWESOME".
"Pet", I said, "I've had layers a few times in the past and you know? Hate. Seriously.".
"Long layers! she cried.
"No", I answered, a thousand times. At least.
"Long, sweeping layers. Less than an inch, I PROMISE. They'll make your hair look...", and then she hit me with the fucking carrot of dangle, "...thicker.".

And I CAVED, for I am a slut for empty promises of thicker hair, and now my hair LOOKS LIKE SHIT. Even the top of it, around the front, doesn't sit right anymore, and it's at that boring suburban shoulder length where it annoys the SHIT out of me by being too long to toss behind my shoulders to keep it out of the way. The layersmmean that any pony tail I wear looks all scraggly too, which also looks like shit but less so than the fuzzy weird shit ends my hair always turns into when it's layered I'VE DONE IT ENOUGH TIMES I SHOULD KNOW BY NOW.

So I'm back to wearing it up all the time and hating it.

They say that there's only a month between bad haircut and a good one, but it's been three weeks and I hate it even more. I feel sick about letting someone else talk me into something I KNEW I didn't want, my only excuse is that she did such a great ob lasgt time that I gambled, thinking she might succeed where many others have, by and large, hacked the shit out of my hair. It's going to take at least three months to grow the layers out, then at least three more to get it back to the length it was when I liked it. By then though, my hair will have fallen victim to the drugs of hair misfortune, aka, fertility drugs, so by the time the layers are grown out and I've got some length back, I'll have about two strands of hair left anyway.

If I EVER get the opportunity to coif more than that into a nice blunt cut...I'll probably fuck it up anyway with ANOTHER stupid "style cut" because there seems to be some karmic debt involving hair hate that I need to pay back.

Monday, December 24, 2007

have a cool Yule, y'all

Merry Fucking Christmas, the third

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

oh yeah

Daniel also had a birthday, on the twelfth.

Which I forgot to commemorate here on these pages.


Herewith a short synopsis of the day's events: I was all "Kid? Weee! It's your BIRTHDAY!", and Daniel was all "wtf is a birthday? Pass me the damn tank engine". The poor kid went into child care too, ON HIS BIRTHDAY, because I suck that much. Good thing we hade Point A in force, Point A being that the dude has no idea what a birthday is anyway.

Which is a good thing because *mumblemumblenopresentscoughmumble*

Speaking of which, I expect stacks of people are still doing their Christmas shopping, and I'm not even up to "still", I'm still on "not yet". Ah. HEM.

Which is relevant because I want to get Daniel a big assed Thomas the Tank Engine tent to put in the back yard as my tunnel idea went off so well. How well did it go? Hint: That last sentence was littered, simply LITTERED, with sarcasmo tone as the tunnel/tent/teepee thing went down like a lead balloon. .

Speaking of balloons, Daniel was given a bunch of helium balloons at his party-which he LOVED, except he snuck outside and let the fuckers go. I have no idea how he did it, considering he was surrounded by responsible adults and how we all kind of knew in a Duh kind of ay to only let him play with the balloons inside, you know, where there are roofs. And then he got a foil balloon given to him on his actual real birthday and somehow the little party pooper snuck outside and....let it go too.

So much for the balloon joy.

But! Cop an eyeful of this:

balloon! <balloon! part II balloon! part III

and pop some corn and settle down for a bit of this:

and while we're at it:
little man, big shoes

He was walking around in a pair of my (never worn) heels the other day too.

His nappy is all skewiff in the photo because when he put my shoes on, no pants! So I dressed him while he was still wearing his high heels, ha ha ha! in order to capture the moment decently for prosperity. Initially though, heels, naked, and stumbling around like a drunk little cross dresser? MY GOD THE CUTENESS. It BURNED!!

And you need to see these because, yeah yeah, cute kid bla bla *yawn*
everybody SING!

LOOK AT MY HAIR! It looks like movie star hair. Okay, it looks nothing like movie star hair, but it doesn't look balding, is what I'm saying. Hell, even I can see it actually looks kind of nice. Ish. And thank god you can't see my teeth because in a few festive party pics, you can and ooh, yuck, etc. Anyway, to the hair story. Regret be my name, I swear. When I saw another crappy photo, I was all "woe is me, I should have cut my hair before the paparazzi launched themselves at me (what? they were only there for daniel? THE NERVE!) so I did. It looked SO crappy, I cut it all off. Okay, two inches or so off, but still, *sob*, and now I hate it. And it looked so long and floofy and almost okay, though granted, it still looks totally just out of bed like in those photos, BUT IT ACTUALLY LOOKED KIND OF OKAY, wah.

Point being, I. Can. Never. Win. Not with my mental health issues. Gah.

Daniel is currently watching the Thomas the Tank Engine dvds he was given, and I'm currently feeling guilty about not parenting him AT ALL.

I've also been up to my back teeth in I don't know what the heck, but the morning has gone and we're still in our jammies and are fetid, stinky and unshowered.

Which is news you didn't need to hear.

In other news, I opened my car door last night and cracked myself so hard in the head that I saw stars. Daniel was in the back pack so gave me a big hug as I stumbled around holding my head. I actually CRIED, it hurt so much. Today though, barely a mark. There's a line slash lump and a bruise running down the side of my head, kind of up through my left eyebrow and toward my hairline, and it's probably the perfect imprint of the edge (the EDGE!!) of the car door. It feels like it should be a freakin' goose egg though, cuz it's all hurty and throbby and woe! Is me!

And in yet more news of woe, there's this new function with this new mac called "spotlight", probably with an exclamation mark too, "spotlight!", because it's so cool and all, and it comes up when I've inadvertently hit a key with a random finger, which I do ALL THE FUCKING TIME GOD HELP ME, and all my typing them goes into the search function of whateverthefuck it is and damn, it's annoying the SHIT out of me.

ANYWAY, in closing and to add to my repertoir of whine, my hayfever has been so fucking bad this week that two days ago, as well as chugging GALLONS of that flo stuff up my nose, I took an antihistamine. Me! TAKING DRUGS! I KNOW! Zyrtec was my drug of choice and yesterday I didn't wake up until 10am. Then, because I am an idiot, even as I was wondering why in fuck I was so damned tired, I took another one. Five minutes later, I thought, oh, yeah. The antihistamine. Awesome.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

because to bitch is to be a better blogger

So yes, Daniel had a birthday party. It went well we had fun and Daniel was so amped up after a day or around thirty adults and seventeen kids of varying sizes squeezed through my tiny abode to cram themselves into my ridiculously L shaped back yard, that I ahd to take him for a few laps around the block to finally get him to sleep at around 10(!)pm that night.

The highlight of the day was when, after everyone had finally left and I was standing with my hands on my hips and wondering where the fuck to start, what with the SHIT lying around that needed attending to, my old neighbours dropped by.

Daniel had never met them before, but by the time they left, he was calling them GranGran and Pops, which of course made my heart explode all over the place because these two are the best grandparents ever and now they are my son's honorary best grandparents ever and, weep.

I don't know why we've not kept in close contact in the last five years. I expect because they thought they'd moved on and had been forgotten, and me because I'm a fucking idiot who thought they'd moved on and wouldn't want to be bothered by me, the virtual orphan, when they had their own family to fill their lives.

Anyway, we ARE going to stay in each other's lives now, and I'm looking forward to them being a significant part of Daniel's life.

But surely y'all want me to whoosh past the good bits (in which we all had fun and ate drank and were generally merry) and get right into the interesting bits?

Strep was an ABSOLUTE tool.

He'd been very helpful and generous and shit, insisting on buying the cake and the party pies, bringing along soft drinks and fruit platters and whatever the fuck, taking a day off work to tidy up the yard, and bringing along tables, a few chairs, and that big mother fucking gazebo that's still in my back yard. He did a lot, yes, and I've been moochos appreciative and have said thank you SO much so many times my throat is sore.

That being said, I would have managed without his help - and would have actually preferred to - and did try to wangle out of most of it before going with the whole amicable vibe we've had going on of late.

Little did I realise he thought he was buying me with all the shit he contributed.

ANYWAY, come party day, he mooched around like a total fuckbag the entire time, looking as miserable as all hell and totally sulking about, at this point, I don't know what the fuck. Guests arrived and yet, he couldn't bring himself to slap that sour look off his face. I'd have loved to do it for him, but instead kept my cheery tone and, until I was swamped by guests and gifts and basically swallowed up whole by the Hostess Of The Party dealio, introduced him around.

Now, everyone knows he's the dipshit who left me when I was six weeks pregnant, but what did he want? A general announcement saying he's no longer in the Dipshit Report, and has turned over a new leaf and bla di bla di bla? Colour me stupid but I figured his presence would suggest those things.

Things that pissed me off on the day but, being a fucking awesome person, I didn't say shit about: Strep kept himself separate from the main party area the entire day, and every time Daniel scooted past him in his excited birthday glee, Strep grabbed him up and cuddled him, effectively taking him out of party circulation and away from the fifteen or so kids he'd been playing with. At some point, Strep elected to mmove inside where he and his daughter stayed for the rest of the day so they could sit around looking miserable. Again, Daniel was forced to choose between his party and them. He's really attached to Tina so when he'd find himself outside rocking the show with all his friends without her, he'd look worried and then run inside to find her. Then his idiot father would scoop him up and keep him there until I wandered back in said "Oh! There he is!" and take him back out again because jaysus, it was a party for him, forfucksake.

The he and his little posse of thunderclouds left and I rolled my eyes and thanked gd he was gone.

I was working the next day, a 6pm class, and Strep and I had made prior arrangements for him to sit with Daniel during that time. Not because I want him too,but because I figur it's the Right Thing to do, to let daniel have that relationship with his father and whatever. Strep's mood on Saturday though, left me even less enthusiastic about this arrangement, so when he sent me a message asking about it on Sunday night, I ignored it because, fucksake, 11.30pm? Then he sent me this on Monday "I would appreciate a response t the message I sent u (sic) last night about looking after daniel tonight.". Which because I know this passive aggressive little fucker better than he knows himself, sent up the red flags for me.

Now, unless it's chatty and not related to Daniel, I don't leave hard copies of any communications with Strep, so I called him, only to find out that HE is angry with ME.

I know! That cracked my shit right up too.

The nerve.

Anyway, apparently I didn't hold his hand enough Saturday, or maybe he wanted a blow job or I don't freakin' know.

He's pissed that I sent a couple of texts while he was here on that Friday night (which I'd understand if I'd spent the night holding one hand up to him in the universal signal for "Stop", while madly texting with the other, but people, I texted only if I'd ducked inside for some sticky tape, a paperclip, or some scissors or some other genuine reason, and there was a message on my phone. GAH) He was all "and you were texting your BOYFRIEND" while he was fluffing his chest hairs and getting all macho at me, and I was all "the fuck? what the fuck are you talking about?". His other grievance is that I wasn't appreciative of is efforts and seriously, what part of "thanks So much" x one billion didn't he hear?

AND he's pissed that my BOYFRIEND (his caps lock, not mine)(Strep's, not my BOYFRIEND'S) was there on Saturday. Oh, and he was pissed that I was still making chocolate crackles when he arrived on Saturday. I'd say he thinks I was up all night having wild sex with the BOYFRIEND.

Good fucking grief.

And while I might be keeping the occasional company with a swarthy and totally hot lawyer (still! and this week's mood is: am digging this), he isn't my boyfriend, I wasn't texting him, and he wasn't there on Saturday.

Then Strep sent me a text the following night saying he's too "hurt and confused" to talk to me right now, and that he "can't help the way he feels". No, but he can help the way he behaves, and he's behaving like a big jealous baby, FOR NO REAL REASON. Not that I think any reason justifies behaving like that much of an idiot but, whatever. He was like this three or four years ago throughout that soccer club debacle, so oh yes, as you can imagine I'm SO willing to indulge in that same bullshit now.

NOT, is what I'm saying.

He was going to send me an email because he has THAT much to say to me, but it hasn't arrived yet and the only reason I care is that I think it might have been entertaining reading.

I'd feel sorry for him if his issue was sorrow and regret (at losing me, for I yam such a prize) , but it's not, it's jealousy, plain and simple, and it's based on assumptions, not reality, and he sulked and pouted all Saturday because if it and that's ridiculous-especially as it was DANIEL'S day and he should have put his shit behind him, even if it was based on reality, and not been such a wankbagtosser.

He's lost any respect he'd built with me over the last few months, and all in one brief phone call. He's behaving EXACTLY like he did when we were together, which means he is exactly the same as he was then, he's just been acting differently. I'm glad too, because now I don't feel compelled to share my son with him. Can we say YAY loud enough? No, I think not.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007


I'm sorry for disappearing in a puff of smoke, tiff.

Everything is fine, except my old mac exploded (literally, and also in a puff of smoke)(and flames, eek) a couple of weeks ago, leaving me stranded and internetless. Thank GOD my data wasn't destroyed as I haven't backed up any photos since May this year. For I am that amount of responsible. ANYWAY, it's taken me until now to get a new second hand mini mac organised, home, and up and running. The it freaked its shit out THE VERY MORNING I NEEDED IT, AAARGH after I updated iTunes, which I did because I it fucking told me I had to. What the fuck? Point being, I had to fix that too which took more swear words than actuall time but the emotional cost of the whole OMFGINEEDMUSIClikeNOW freakout kind of ate into my actual minutes of time.

I did pop by here to check out the scenery but as there was none, I nicked off pretty quick smart as following all the MacBullshit, I had to throw a HUGE party in between swearing and cursing and throwing things because good god, people, parties need music, and music needs iTunes. Parties also need fairy bread and chocolate crackles, so I did one the other and then ots of other stuff too, in no particular order, and then we partied and then I cleaned and hello, I'm back!

And now I've got to go to work.

Love! etc

2005-2007© aibee