Thursday, April 28, 2005


It's hitting me in a big way. Not in a huge cosmic way -- life choices coming around to bite me in the butt, or anything. Just the little way that isn't really karma, but people call it that anyway.

EARLIER IN MY LIFE: I potty-trained "late." (I have a memory or two of wearing diapers.) Also, I threw up in the hallway the night before my parents had a big showing on their house when they were relocating.

RESULTS: Maia has decided that the best way to potty-train herself is to wander around the house in the altogether. Which is fine -- she stays dry for hours. But when the floodgates DO open, she stops, looks, and says, "Huh." And that's it. It's kind of a pain to be packing and having to keep at least half an eye on her to make sure she doesn't pee on a carpet, a box of books, her bed, in the closet, or climb up on my back and let go.

We've had maybe three successes in the last six months. We've tried stickers, candy, praise, and so on, and now I'm just letting it go because I can't be bothered to work for success while we're moving. That's a little much to ask. But jeez, put some pants on already!

EARLIER IN MY LIFE: I had an almost pathological urge to feel compassion for things like pieces of paper, orphan shoes on the side of the road, and pens that didn't work anymore. This made cleaning a real pain. Mom, I'm sorry.

RESULTS: I've been trying to get John to clean/pack his room and the biggest thing we have trouble with is the old magazines. Old magazines and catalogs.

RANDOM OCCURANCE IN OUR HOUSE: Maia's favorite thing to do lately while walking around nekkid is to do a show-tune version of the numbers 1-10 in Russian. Her favorite is 8, "vosem." VO-SYEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMM!


  1. Oh no! Please tell me you're not throwing away any nonfunctioning pens. Think of how bad they feel, having served you their whole lives, giving freely of their precious life-ink, only to be callously sent to the landfill without even a thank-you because they've used themselves up in your service.

    (Sorry. That was cruel. Only doing it because there's a tiny part of me that [i]still[/i] feels bad about donating a well-loved but no longer fashionable sweater to ARC... does it feel abandoned by me? I know how you feel, man.)

  2. You know what the very worst thing to throw away is? A toothbrush. I have to apologize to it.

    Fortunately, now I buy recycled/recyclable toothbrushes that I can send back to the company and they make playground equipment out of it. So I can tell my toothbrush, when it's done with its long and honorable service, it's going to make some children very happy.

    That company has made life a lot easier for me.

  3. That's IT. I am never going to forgive you for moving when you aren't moving next door to ME. Come oooonnnnnn...forget the job and roots and all that. I've got vodka! And toothbrushes. (pout)

  4. Apology accepted. Now, what about the stick horse with the fabric head, the frog wastebasket and the wood-and-nails dragon still in "your" closet?