Dario just left his computer on for three days to download a full version of Daddy Daycare...that corny movie with Eddie Murphy. If I recall correctly, it was a flop but apparently he has heard good critiques from his co-workers. "male co-workers?" I asked. "yes." ... - "well, let me tell you, that movie is not worth risking prosecution for illegally downloading media. actually it kinda sucked. if there is a male equivalent to chick-flicks ...this is it. are you willing to go to jail for this? you have two kids."
...would be kind of ironic, though ;)... I can imagine the dialogue with Maia.."mami, where is daddy?" - "oh, your father is in prison for downloading Daddy Daycare."
Another reason for concern has been his recent discovery of The Bee Gees (..wait how do you spell that?). So here he's driving down the street in his macho-ride... and one day he's blasting Reggaton with the windows rolled down and the next (when he closes his windows) it's Bee Gees - greatest hits.
He would probably kill me if he read this blog entry. ;) questioning his masculinity. then again...he doesn't really give a f what people think ... he loves playing with his friends' homophobia... The Dominican culture is such a macho culture, I suppose ... he gets a kick out of disturbing this. He ain't your typical Dominican, I guess. Although, with his potential f-buddy list on AIM I might just be the victim of a perfect deception.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
los perros muerden - dogwarnings and my attempts to remain calm
ok. I've had it of media mind-polluted people warning me about my pitbull being together with my two young children. first of all, it doesn't matter what kind of dog one has, it is about the way the dog is raised. second, the fact that pitbulls can lock their jaw into one tight grip doesn't mean they will or do every time they bite or snap at anything. third, there are more people bitten by labradors and chihuahuas than there are people bitten by pitbulls. unfortuntately, a pit lashing out makes a much better story on the news than a chihuahua losing it. ;)
fact is, dogs are animals with innate instincts and that should never be forgotton when having them together with unpredictable little kids. however, I can tell you from my own observations that nothing in that department is just black and white, either.
Our dog, named Trouble (he already had his name when we got him as a month-old puppy. he is now seven.) learned how to deal with little children over the last few years .. and is still learning, actually. It has been an amazing process to watch. When we didn't have kids his whole facial expression would change when he was approached by a child, depending on the child's age. Most uncomfortable he seemed to be with toddlers. He seemed to sense that a) the adults were tense and watching his every move (so he would just sort of freeze) and b) this little human wasn't quite as easy to read as the grown ones. it was more like an animal.
the latter statement I can particuarily verify with the way boys act around Trouble. it's fascinating to watch. somehow they instinctively manage to demonstrate all kinds of agressive dog-behavior, which confuses Trouble. While the girls are either timid or straight-forward with Trouble, the 2-year old boys grunt and growl at him, try to mount him, or suddenly charge at him with growling sounds (if you have a dog, you probably know...basically, this whole behavior palette is quite similar to the typical dog-socializing-dance...i.e. those boys, sometimes without ever having seen a dog, demonstrate strikingly similar behavior as two male dogs show when they first meet...or when they socialize with other dogs, generally). This, I understand can be confusing to Trouble so I watch him around little boys quite closely. He behaves, however, I can see his excitement and alertness... his fur stands up and his facial expression is completely different than when dealing with a little girl.
Anyway, fact is, Trouble has come a long way. I remember when Maia (our older one) tried to climb on top of him as a baby and he growled, immediately chastised for this behavior by me, of course. Nowadays, Maia can step on him, climb, fall, trip over him and he won't even budge. She can pull his tail, his ears, pinch him, hug him however she wants, she can take his food away, his bone (!) and the latter is huge, for he would not give his bone to anyone before she was born...he's just happy someone is giving him attention, I suppose. Nayla is his new favorite... He's quite bold with her and just kisses her on the mouth whenever she is placed down on the floor somewhere, which he would have never dared to do in my presence with Maia (i.e. he knew her mouth was off-limits... no licking). Also, he has become protective over Maia.
anyway... I have to end my nature observatory log for today...gotta work.
fact is, dogs are animals with innate instincts and that should never be forgotton when having them together with unpredictable little kids. however, I can tell you from my own observations that nothing in that department is just black and white, either.
Our dog, named Trouble (he already had his name when we got him as a month-old puppy. he is now seven.) learned how to deal with little children over the last few years .. and is still learning, actually. It has been an amazing process to watch. When we didn't have kids his whole facial expression would change when he was approached by a child, depending on the child's age. Most uncomfortable he seemed to be with toddlers. He seemed to sense that a) the adults were tense and watching his every move (so he would just sort of freeze) and b) this little human wasn't quite as easy to read as the grown ones. it was more like an animal.
the latter statement I can particuarily verify with the way boys act around Trouble. it's fascinating to watch. somehow they instinctively manage to demonstrate all kinds of agressive dog-behavior, which confuses Trouble. While the girls are either timid or straight-forward with Trouble, the 2-year old boys grunt and growl at him, try to mount him, or suddenly charge at him with growling sounds (if you have a dog, you probably know...basically, this whole behavior palette is quite similar to the typical dog-socializing-dance...i.e. those boys, sometimes without ever having seen a dog, demonstrate strikingly similar behavior as two male dogs show when they first meet...or when they socialize with other dogs, generally). This, I understand can be confusing to Trouble so I watch him around little boys quite closely. He behaves, however, I can see his excitement and alertness... his fur stands up and his facial expression is completely different than when dealing with a little girl.
Anyway, fact is, Trouble has come a long way. I remember when Maia (our older one) tried to climb on top of him as a baby and he growled, immediately chastised for this behavior by me, of course. Nowadays, Maia can step on him, climb, fall, trip over him and he won't even budge. She can pull his tail, his ears, pinch him, hug him however she wants, she can take his food away, his bone (!) and the latter is huge, for he would not give his bone to anyone before she was born...he's just happy someone is giving him attention, I suppose. Nayla is his new favorite... He's quite bold with her and just kisses her on the mouth whenever she is placed down on the floor somewhere, which he would have never dared to do in my presence with Maia (i.e. he knew her mouth was off-limits... no licking). Also, he has become protective over Maia.
anyway... I have to end my nature observatory log for today...gotta work.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
things I hate about you and how clean is your house?
did some surfing tonight...channel surfing for a change...two shows that really boosted my mood: things I hate about you (on Bravo around 10pm) and How clean is your house? (on Lifetime sometime after the first show). the latter made me feel particularly good about the condition of my house. and I thought my house was a pig-sty ...woooaaahhh... what people live in is unbelievable. this one woman, you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her, was living with her puking cat and seemingly never has cleaned anything in her apt. ...ever. There was milk in her fridge from 2003. .... this must have been staged... it was absolutely disgusting. most scary was the fact that she wanted to clean up her house (or have it cleaned by those two ladies who are the show's hosts) so her asthmatic boyfriend could move in...or at least come over. ... what is the boyfriend thinking? that she's gonna change?? and what about that cat, whose litterbox never ever saw a litter shovel, which is the reason why it must have pooped on the woman's bed, btw. ....uuurhg. it was disgusting. ;)
and things i hate about you also made me feel good about my situation (that being the situation of being in a relationship... I just said being twice in a sentence..but am too lazy and too tired to look up any synonyms or work on a different syntax....also, now I said too twice in a sentence...arghh). anyway, ....anyone who thinks they are struggling with annoying habits of their partner should watch that show. it's jaw-dropping (is that a word??)...and it's funny.
and things i hate about you also made me feel good about my situation (that being the situation of being in a relationship... I just said being twice in a sentence..but am too lazy and too tired to look up any synonyms or work on a different syntax....also, now I said too twice in a sentence...arghh). anyway, ....anyone who thinks they are struggling with annoying habits of their partner should watch that show. it's jaw-dropping (is that a word??)...and it's funny.
Monday, September 13, 2004
preventing domestic violence
thank god nobody got shot tonight...
we were just hanging out at home.... when I hear loud arguing on the street. I try to get a glimpse of the noise-makers since it's been a while I've heard this kind of temperamentful fighting. The ghetto kind of arguing " fucking bitch this, fucking blah blah that...". A year ago, when we still lived on Morris Ave. I wouldn't have even looked up from whatever I was doing. In fact, one of the reasons we moved was the constant gunshots on our street. But this here is not the same kind of neighborhood. Unbelievable how much of a difference a few blocks can make.
Anyway, after a few minutes of those people arguing...well, mostly the guy cursing out the woman.... I hear my friend Rosie from upstairs screaming out the window at the top of her lungs: "HEY, take it inside people! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Talking like this in front of your child!" .... a few minutes later I'm on the phone with Rosie and the man goes at it again. this time he's even more heated and is about to explode. " I'm calling the cops right NOW!" screams Rosie in stereo. "gotta hang up", she tells me "i'm calling 911."
a few minutes pass. the couple must have made it off the streets and into a yard or something. Their voices are buffered in the neighboring house or yard now but I can hear him freaking out...he's throwing stuff or I'm not sure what...but it's beginning to sound really scary.
I look out the window and see the cops pull up in front of our building. I'm thinking: "oh, thank god, it's about to get ugly over there." but they don't even get out of the car or roll down a window and since they can't see or hear anything on the street they back up, turn around and leave. I can't believe it. At least get out of the car, people!
Anyway, this time I'm the one calling 911. Rosie has convinced me that this is our duty as neighbors, citizens (well, I'm not a citizen)...etc. whatever. Meanwhile, Dario has actually gotten up from his videogame and when he realizes I'm calling the cops again ...and I'm worried... he takes the phone from me as I am speaking to the operator and says " the guy has a gun. you better get over here now." - "... a gun? why do you say that?" I ask after he hangs up. "somebody who worked for the FBI once told me that's the only way to get things moving, really." ... and sure enough 2 minutes later... the psycho-guy is now walking back and forth between the neighbor's house and his SUV across the street, screaming at his girlfriend...that he'll be back or whatever...5 copcars and an undercover DT car pull up with screeching tires...my phone rings...one of them is actually calling me in the action asking me where the guy is...I point to the SUV across the street as the cops are looking up to my window for direction... how the hell do they know where I live, I wonder.... they spot the guy in rage and suddenly 6 cops have him surrounded and are narrowing in on him with their guns drawn telling him to get on the ground. A moment of frozen time for me...."oh my god, I hope he doesn't pull out his wallet or something" I think .... shit.... and all because Dario said he has a gun ... "he doesn't have a gun! he doesn't have a gun." I call into my cordless phone....immediately wondering if I should be saying the word gun at this moment to anyone of these officers in action....I'm not sure who I am talking to...i think it's one of the detectives.
Anyway, the guy drops to the ground in the middle of our otherwise quite traffic-heavy street, hands behind his head. they hand-cuff him and things begin to calm down. thank god.
i'm like an old lady with her nose glued to the window now... until the guy points up to my window and mentions me ...or Rosie calling. "oh great, he knows where we live now", I think, "time to renew our dog's obedience training." .... I feel bad because this could have ended bad...but I also feel good because this could have ended bad for someone else in this spiel (-> his girlfriend..or ex...i dunno). They let him go ... after some cursing and scolding... but this whole thing surely brought him back to reality from his ego-macho-I'm-gonna-kill-u kinda trip.
gotta go. baby crying.
we were just hanging out at home.... when I hear loud arguing on the street. I try to get a glimpse of the noise-makers since it's been a while I've heard this kind of temperamentful fighting. The ghetto kind of arguing " fucking bitch this, fucking blah blah that...". A year ago, when we still lived on Morris Ave. I wouldn't have even looked up from whatever I was doing. In fact, one of the reasons we moved was the constant gunshots on our street. But this here is not the same kind of neighborhood. Unbelievable how much of a difference a few blocks can make.
Anyway, after a few minutes of those people arguing...well, mostly the guy cursing out the woman.... I hear my friend Rosie from upstairs screaming out the window at the top of her lungs: "HEY, take it inside people! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Talking like this in front of your child!" .... a few minutes later I'm on the phone with Rosie and the man goes at it again. this time he's even more heated and is about to explode. " I'm calling the cops right NOW!" screams Rosie in stereo. "gotta hang up", she tells me "i'm calling 911."
a few minutes pass. the couple must have made it off the streets and into a yard or something. Their voices are buffered in the neighboring house or yard now but I can hear him freaking out...he's throwing stuff or I'm not sure what...but it's beginning to sound really scary.
I look out the window and see the cops pull up in front of our building. I'm thinking: "oh, thank god, it's about to get ugly over there." but they don't even get out of the car or roll down a window and since they can't see or hear anything on the street they back up, turn around and leave. I can't believe it. At least get out of the car, people!
Anyway, this time I'm the one calling 911. Rosie has convinced me that this is our duty as neighbors, citizens (well, I'm not a citizen)...etc. whatever. Meanwhile, Dario has actually gotten up from his videogame and when he realizes I'm calling the cops again ...and I'm worried... he takes the phone from me as I am speaking to the operator and says " the guy has a gun. you better get over here now." - "... a gun? why do you say that?" I ask after he hangs up. "somebody who worked for the FBI once told me that's the only way to get things moving, really." ... and sure enough 2 minutes later... the psycho-guy is now walking back and forth between the neighbor's house and his SUV across the street, screaming at his girlfriend...that he'll be back or whatever...5 copcars and an undercover DT car pull up with screeching tires...my phone rings...one of them is actually calling me in the action asking me where the guy is...I point to the SUV across the street as the cops are looking up to my window for direction... how the hell do they know where I live, I wonder.... they spot the guy in rage and suddenly 6 cops have him surrounded and are narrowing in on him with their guns drawn telling him to get on the ground. A moment of frozen time for me...."oh my god, I hope he doesn't pull out his wallet or something" I think .... shit.... and all because Dario said he has a gun ... "he doesn't have a gun! he doesn't have a gun." I call into my cordless phone....immediately wondering if I should be saying the word gun at this moment to anyone of these officers in action....I'm not sure who I am talking to...i think it's one of the detectives.
Anyway, the guy drops to the ground in the middle of our otherwise quite traffic-heavy street, hands behind his head. they hand-cuff him and things begin to calm down. thank god.
i'm like an old lady with her nose glued to the window now... until the guy points up to my window and mentions me ...or Rosie calling. "oh great, he knows where we live now", I think, "time to renew our dog's obedience training." .... I feel bad because this could have ended bad...but I also feel good because this could have ended bad for someone else in this spiel (-> his girlfriend..or ex...i dunno). They let him go ... after some cursing and scolding... but this whole thing surely brought him back to reality from his ego-macho-I'm-gonna-kill-u kinda trip.
gotta go. baby crying.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
a piece of happy
poor little maia looks like an abused child. they're gonna call social services on me first thing monday morning when I'm dropping her off at school (her first day). ... her nose is reindeer-rudolph-inflamed red and her upper lip is swollen. in addition to this she has rings under her eyes from having a bad night of interrupted sleep. I look similar minus the swollen lip but plus about 27 years.... so I really look like shit.
luckily I encountered a miracle today when my dear husband greeted me with a hot bath after my day running around. I just asked for it and I got it. the tension in the middle east pales in comparison to the one which had built up in my back over the past few weeks/months. needless to say, the bath was about the best thing he could have done to get "booty-points", as I like to call them.
I think he really needs to get laid. ... funny, the other day I discovered a new way of putting a little spark back into my sex-life. pretend we're not together anymore and we're not supposed to be doing this...blah blah....anyway worked on me like a charm ;) .... usually my head is wayy too full with all kinds of crap and I just cannot concentrate. While D is trying to "get his groove on" I'm thinking, "how much sleep is this taking away from my night? was that Maia I just heard suckling on her pacifier? oh shit, I forgot to put away the noodles. dammit do I have to do everything around here? get away from me. I hate you."
luckily I encountered a miracle today when my dear husband greeted me with a hot bath after my day running around. I just asked for it and I got it. the tension in the middle east pales in comparison to the one which had built up in my back over the past few weeks/months. needless to say, the bath was about the best thing he could have done to get "booty-points", as I like to call them.
I think he really needs to get laid. ... funny, the other day I discovered a new way of putting a little spark back into my sex-life. pretend we're not together anymore and we're not supposed to be doing this...blah blah....anyway worked on me like a charm ;) .... usually my head is wayy too full with all kinds of crap and I just cannot concentrate. While D is trying to "get his groove on" I'm thinking, "how much sleep is this taking away from my night? was that Maia I just heard suckling on her pacifier? oh shit, I forgot to put away the noodles. dammit do I have to do everything around here? get away from me. I hate you."
sleep? que es eso?
so, after just having mopped the house for a half hour because my dog is on a puking/pooping spree since this afternoon I am now semi-awake, wondering whether I should try to become one of those early risers. you know the ones that get up at 5 am and then have 4 or 5 hours more of the day than the average person. maybe if I were to get to bed before 2 am this would be a feasible task...
Anyway, the reason I woke up in the first place is because my older daughter must have done a back-flip out of her bed, for she actually cracked open her lip. poor thing and not only because of the bloody lip but also because she must have definitely inherited the clumsy gene I carry on my sleeve (as a non-native English speaker I am not really sure if I am allowed to use this phrase in such context. but you know what I mean). One has to understand that we are talking about a toddler bed... a bed only about 26 in. off the floor.... I don't know what she was doing but she managed to sort of jump over the blankets padding the floor next to her bed (she falls out of her bed a lot...sigh) ...
oh well. so here I am. 5.19am.
what the hell am I doing. I should be going back to bed.
my stomach hurts again... don't want to go to a doctor for this problem. afraid they might attach a name to my symptoms and then it's official (ulcer, hernia, gastritis, whatever ... just something that will mess with my mind and possibly add some psychosomatic crap to the equation).
today is sept. 11. ... it's been three years since the WTC tragedy ... nothing is worse than that... I'm not important.
should go catch some z-s. a very good friend of mine lost her brother and is holding a memorial sermon for him at her church tomorrow. must not miss this.
Anyway, the reason I woke up in the first place is because my older daughter must have done a back-flip out of her bed, for she actually cracked open her lip. poor thing and not only because of the bloody lip but also because she must have definitely inherited the clumsy gene I carry on my sleeve (as a non-native English speaker I am not really sure if I am allowed to use this phrase in such context. but you know what I mean). One has to understand that we are talking about a toddler bed... a bed only about 26 in. off the floor.... I don't know what she was doing but she managed to sort of jump over the blankets padding the floor next to her bed (she falls out of her bed a lot...sigh) ...
oh well. so here I am. 5.19am.
what the hell am I doing. I should be going back to bed.
my stomach hurts again... don't want to go to a doctor for this problem. afraid they might attach a name to my symptoms and then it's official (ulcer, hernia, gastritis, whatever ... just something that will mess with my mind and possibly add some psychosomatic crap to the equation).
today is sept. 11. ... it's been three years since the WTC tragedy ... nothing is worse than that... I'm not important.
should go catch some z-s. a very good friend of mine lost her brother and is holding a memorial sermon for him at her church tomorrow. must not miss this.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
returning to school
well, returning to class is more like it since I am only taking one non-martriculated class this semester and have graduated 4 years ago. so, I already missed the first three classes (if I had a GPA to maintain, I'd be one grade down already in this country. obligatory attendance in college remains a mystery to me until this day, though, I have dutifully adhered to the policy during my college years here.)
anyway, so I am dragging my butt to class, wondering whether the professor has already dropped me for not showing up for the first three times (the first week I was on vacation and earlier this week I just forgot.... sigh...no comment here).
as I am walking down Shepard Hall heading for piano 101 or 201 or whatever, I wonder how I have managed to already have packed my bag so heavy. one would think I am carrying the damn piano around with me. I don't even have a book, yet... not even a syllabus... geez
In class, I assure the professor I have some knowledge of the instrument and play the one "impressive" bite of a piece I still remembered from 4 years of learning in high-school.
She is impressed indeed, until the moment she asks me to demonstrate some simple scales and I can't even find the damn C key (for the non-music majors this is like the center piece of the piano), let alone recite the rest of the octave.
I shrink into the bench I am sitting on.... "feel free to throw me into piano 1, please", I offer, "I'm just taking the class to get my kid into daycare here and I really am just happy to sit at a piano and practice scales again. "[note: one has to be a student at the college to have their kid in the childcare program.] "It's ok," she grunts and quickly explains how to do the scales. From the musical jargon I understand about one-10th and I try to copy her hand-movements mostly.
"I'm screwed", I think... "gotta remember to file for pass/fail option. when was the deadline? yesterday?" ...
oh well, graduated summa cum laude and then fail piano 1o1 ... that a woman.
anyway, so I am dragging my butt to class, wondering whether the professor has already dropped me for not showing up for the first three times (the first week I was on vacation and earlier this week I just forgot.... sigh...no comment here).
as I am walking down Shepard Hall heading for piano 101 or 201 or whatever, I wonder how I have managed to already have packed my bag so heavy. one would think I am carrying the damn piano around with me. I don't even have a book, yet... not even a syllabus... geez
In class, I assure the professor I have some knowledge of the instrument and play the one "impressive" bite of a piece I still remembered from 4 years of learning in high-school.
She is impressed indeed, until the moment she asks me to demonstrate some simple scales and I can't even find the damn C key (for the non-music majors this is like the center piece of the piano), let alone recite the rest of the octave.
I shrink into the bench I am sitting on.... "feel free to throw me into piano 1, please", I offer, "I'm just taking the class to get my kid into daycare here and I really am just happy to sit at a piano and practice scales again. "[note: one has to be a student at the college to have their kid in the childcare program.] "It's ok," she grunts and quickly explains how to do the scales. From the musical jargon I understand about one-10th and I try to copy her hand-movements mostly.
"I'm screwed", I think... "gotta remember to file for pass/fail option. when was the deadline? yesterday?" ...
oh well, graduated summa cum laude and then fail piano 1o1 ... that a woman.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
cape cod vacation report
day one:
want to leave by 10 am. make it out the house by 2:30pm. get to cape cod 11p.m. (i.e. take 4 hours longer than mapquest predicted). swear to not do this ever again. then remember have to come back to nyc.
realize I shouldn't have let dario trick me into coming to cape cod without him. now stuck with all work of two little kids by myself. mom here but as guest mostly. cannot take more than an hour with two-year-old then cracks and has hysterical fit. realize where my patience (or the lack of it) is coming from.
day two:
enlist my mother for only a minute of toddler watch, while I help Rosa carry something upstairs. come back down. mom is making tea and maia is gone. I run outside. no maia. run to front of house (where street is) and catch last glimpse of maia disappearing in neighbor's yard carrying a basketball. I dart on street and break all currently existing olympic sprinting records to get maia from neighbor's yard. want to cry and stuff but can't. want to beat her but can't. don't know how to make her understand that such behavior is terrorizingly scary. maybe I should beat her after all so she'll remember. but can't. too happy and grateful that nothing happened.
mom feels guilty but doesn't know what to say. me neither. starting to get cured of my latest house hunger (i.e. no more desire for any suburbian life. begin to appreciate confinements of city apartment living.)
day three:
finally make it out the house and to the beach before sunset. it's kinda cold. bathing suit is put ad acta (probably for the better anyway. post-partum body view spared to poor onlookers).
maia collects seashells with grandma while I try to shield my 4-month old (nayla) from hurrican-like winds.
when leaving beach mom can't find her sandals. claims have cost her a hundred bucks. she's close to crying so I decide to swallow my comment that they look like "payless". damn ghetto cape cod bastards must have stolen shoes. ;) ... mom can't see humor in any of my comments. is close to panic. tell her that shoes have probably been carried up the hill to exit by someone thinking they've been lost. turns out to be true. mom relaxes. I make mistake to tell her that panic in her eyes about lost shoes has been more strikingly intense than panic when Maia got lost. meant it as joke but mom doesn't think it's funny. is offended.
exhausted. fall asleep at 9pm when putting down kids. get back up 11:30. everyone went to bed. go to 7-11 to full-fill bad cravings. pay 8 dollars for ice-cream i didn't want to pay $4 for earlier in day while shopping at normal-prized supermarket. don't give a shit. deserve it.
day four:
things begin to be a blur. need sleep and another parent in the house whom I can blame as responsible. maia now accomplished escape artist. all features of house which looked great on website before arrival have now turned into dearly hated toddler dangerzones (hot-tub in back, second floor deck, huge house, etc.). need food. no time to eat. have lived on oreo-cookies all day while the rest of the vacation troop (13 people) eat lobster for lunch and dinner.
contemplating about ways to keep track of 2-year old. seriously consider henna-tattoo on Maia "If lost, please call ...". Fantasize about implantation of GPS device in toddler. must come in handy when teenager, too. good investment. wonder if possible.
other alternatives: dog-collar thingy (electric fence?) .. too cruel? .... beeper thingy ...but not effective cause will only let me know when toddler moves further than 20 feet away... -> but where to??...so basically, is device that tells me kid is lost.
day five:
need vacation from vacation.
decide to take mom and kids to beach far away from all.
nice day. mom walks/dances with baby in snugli and Santana in ear up and down the shore. then waves to couple of sea-lions close by shore. I try not to look related to her. she calls me loudly (because headphones on) "Siiiiisi, wave to the sealions!!! Come on! They can see us!"
I pretend to be very involved with maia's sand-castle architecture (..... sand-castle desperately in need of both - architecture and involvement).
after beach we go to Provincetown. loving it although temperatures and winds call for immediate trip to sweater shop. explain to mom that P-town is eldorado of gay people. Mom didn't realize and begins to pay attention. entertaining to watch mom. ;)
eat seven dollar cheese sandwich. decide to skip the coke(save money) and go home for thirst quenching.
day six:
long night. when it's not the kids it's my too vivid imagination keeping me up. can't get over the fact that we're staying in an old schoolhouse (from 1800s). have made mistake of reading historical clippings framed in hallways. saw one picture of little kids with creepy looking eyes. beg not to read about any deaths in article next to picture. read about death of one child in front of school-house. struck by horse-carriage in 1846. school-house closed after that. .... sigh. won't sleep now for sure. ...what's that noise???
Adam (one of Rosa's kids) tells me plot of The Others. ... really didn't need to know that.
decide I want to go home now. maybe better for all of us.
day seven:
dario arrives. praise the lord. i get a day off! or something like it.
i get sick. spend day in bed. come out only in evening to look for some food and coffee. try to heat up old coffee in microwave. cup very hot. spill it all over my hand. in pain bang my ankle on open kitchen cabinet door. "first-aid" myself with anti-burn cream and such. return to bed.
day eight:
last day at beach. freezing but I'm making dario walk in sand with me. i'm having my romantic walk on the beach and that's that. Dario cuts himself on seashell. Maia climbs onto life-guard tower. ... and mom is dancing to Santana somewhere with baby wipped around by wind.
plan to leave cape no later than 8pm. make it out the house by 11pm. positive onlook: no holiday traffic now for sure and kids asleep (no stopping, no screaming, no hassle). going 80mph most of the way arrive in nyc 4 hours later. Maia awake. 3:15 am. Decides she wants to play with her "little people". too tired to argue. Maia goes to sleep 4 am. wakes up 11 am. consider this method for future use, when getting to bed late. just wake up maia in middle of night to play for while, so she'll sleep in the morning. Bad parenting anyone? .... Unfortunately, I still have to get up with baby at 7 a.m. Day flies by my deliriously tired self. Take afternoon nap. Leave house with kids at sunset to get at least a little bit of fresh air. Pick playground where something must have died a week ago in the neighbouring woods. Feel like puking most of time. Maia seems to not care. Have to drag her out after we (adults) cannot possibly take it any minute longer.
want to leave by 10 am. make it out the house by 2:30pm. get to cape cod 11p.m. (i.e. take 4 hours longer than mapquest predicted). swear to not do this ever again. then remember have to come back to nyc.
realize I shouldn't have let dario trick me into coming to cape cod without him. now stuck with all work of two little kids by myself. mom here but as guest mostly. cannot take more than an hour with two-year-old then cracks and has hysterical fit. realize where my patience (or the lack of it) is coming from.
day two:
enlist my mother for only a minute of toddler watch, while I help Rosa carry something upstairs. come back down. mom is making tea and maia is gone. I run outside. no maia. run to front of house (where street is) and catch last glimpse of maia disappearing in neighbor's yard carrying a basketball. I dart on street and break all currently existing olympic sprinting records to get maia from neighbor's yard. want to cry and stuff but can't. want to beat her but can't. don't know how to make her understand that such behavior is terrorizingly scary. maybe I should beat her after all so she'll remember. but can't. too happy and grateful that nothing happened.
mom feels guilty but doesn't know what to say. me neither. starting to get cured of my latest house hunger (i.e. no more desire for any suburbian life. begin to appreciate confinements of city apartment living.)
day three:
finally make it out the house and to the beach before sunset. it's kinda cold. bathing suit is put ad acta (probably for the better anyway. post-partum body view spared to poor onlookers).
maia collects seashells with grandma while I try to shield my 4-month old (nayla) from hurrican-like winds.
when leaving beach mom can't find her sandals. claims have cost her a hundred bucks. she's close to crying so I decide to swallow my comment that they look like "payless". damn ghetto cape cod bastards must have stolen shoes. ;) ... mom can't see humor in any of my comments. is close to panic. tell her that shoes have probably been carried up the hill to exit by someone thinking they've been lost. turns out to be true. mom relaxes. I make mistake to tell her that panic in her eyes about lost shoes has been more strikingly intense than panic when Maia got lost. meant it as joke but mom doesn't think it's funny. is offended.
exhausted. fall asleep at 9pm when putting down kids. get back up 11:30. everyone went to bed. go to 7-11 to full-fill bad cravings. pay 8 dollars for ice-cream i didn't want to pay $4 for earlier in day while shopping at normal-prized supermarket. don't give a shit. deserve it.
day four:
things begin to be a blur. need sleep and another parent in the house whom I can blame as responsible. maia now accomplished escape artist. all features of house which looked great on website before arrival have now turned into dearly hated toddler dangerzones (hot-tub in back, second floor deck, huge house, etc.). need food. no time to eat. have lived on oreo-cookies all day while the rest of the vacation troop (13 people) eat lobster for lunch and dinner.
contemplating about ways to keep track of 2-year old. seriously consider henna-tattoo on Maia "If lost, please call ...". Fantasize about implantation of GPS device in toddler. must come in handy when teenager, too. good investment. wonder if possible.
other alternatives: dog-collar thingy (electric fence?) .. too cruel? .... beeper thingy ...but not effective cause will only let me know when toddler moves further than 20 feet away... -> but where to??...so basically, is device that tells me kid is lost.
day five:
need vacation from vacation.
decide to take mom and kids to beach far away from all.
nice day. mom walks/dances with baby in snugli and Santana in ear up and down the shore. then waves to couple of sea-lions close by shore. I try not to look related to her. she calls me loudly (because headphones on) "Siiiiisi, wave to the sealions!!! Come on! They can see us!"
I pretend to be very involved with maia's sand-castle architecture (..... sand-castle desperately in need of both - architecture and involvement).
after beach we go to Provincetown. loving it although temperatures and winds call for immediate trip to sweater shop. explain to mom that P-town is eldorado of gay people. Mom didn't realize and begins to pay attention. entertaining to watch mom. ;)
eat seven dollar cheese sandwich. decide to skip the coke(save money) and go home for thirst quenching.
day six:
long night. when it's not the kids it's my too vivid imagination keeping me up. can't get over the fact that we're staying in an old schoolhouse (from 1800s). have made mistake of reading historical clippings framed in hallways. saw one picture of little kids with creepy looking eyes. beg not to read about any deaths in article next to picture. read about death of one child in front of school-house. struck by horse-carriage in 1846. school-house closed after that. .... sigh. won't sleep now for sure. ...what's that noise???
Adam (one of Rosa's kids) tells me plot of The Others. ... really didn't need to know that.
decide I want to go home now. maybe better for all of us.
day seven:
dario arrives. praise the lord. i get a day off! or something like it.
i get sick. spend day in bed. come out only in evening to look for some food and coffee. try to heat up old coffee in microwave. cup very hot. spill it all over my hand. in pain bang my ankle on open kitchen cabinet door. "first-aid" myself with anti-burn cream and such. return to bed.
day eight:
last day at beach. freezing but I'm making dario walk in sand with me. i'm having my romantic walk on the beach and that's that. Dario cuts himself on seashell. Maia climbs onto life-guard tower. ... and mom is dancing to Santana somewhere with baby wipped around by wind.
plan to leave cape no later than 8pm. make it out the house by 11pm. positive onlook: no holiday traffic now for sure and kids asleep (no stopping, no screaming, no hassle). going 80mph most of the way arrive in nyc 4 hours later. Maia awake. 3:15 am. Decides she wants to play with her "little people". too tired to argue. Maia goes to sleep 4 am. wakes up 11 am. consider this method for future use, when getting to bed late. just wake up maia in middle of night to play for while, so she'll sleep in the morning. Bad parenting anyone? .... Unfortunately, I still have to get up with baby at 7 a.m. Day flies by my deliriously tired self. Take afternoon nap. Leave house with kids at sunset to get at least a little bit of fresh air. Pick playground where something must have died a week ago in the neighbouring woods. Feel like puking most of time. Maia seems to not care. Have to drag her out after we (adults) cannot possibly take it any minute longer.
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