Smorgasbord II

I've been having some Writer's Block lately, with the only inspiration coming in snippets hardly worthy of an entire blog entry. So instead of waiting for the Big One, I am frying up some little fish for feasting. I checked out the last time I resorted to the eclectic mix, and willya look at that? Smorgasbord Post #1 appeared exactly one year ago, on the eve of return to school after vacation. Looks like a new year and two weeks off leaves me with Not So Much to Say.

1. Our two-almost-three-year-old is being quite naughty lately. For example, the other day when she wanted me to carry her and I refused, she sat herself down on the corner curb of a very busy urban neighborhood and refused to accompany us to breakfast. For a moment I was at a loss, my child trumping quick solutions with Pure Obstinacy. "Fine," I gritted my teeth, "I will be happy to carry you: back to the CAR."

She complied.

For another example, she's been enjoying repeating things like "Pain in the Butt" from her safe berth in the back row of the car, while her older sister loses it in giggles and suggests variations on that theme. After one notable excursion with this soundtrack playing in the minivan, I coincidentally received a helpful email from Babycenter.com suggesting that ignoring your two-year-old's "poopypants" verbal diarrhea is the most effective deterrent. Because I do not like taking any advice verbatim, I add eye rolling to the ignoring. And then I feel so much better.

2. Daughter #2 is nestled on the couch listening to her old-school CD walkman and singing Jumpitz songs in that loud headphone voice that invites me to pretend to be mouthing important things to her so she yells WHAT? in the middle of shouting lyrics..."We're all FRIENDS...we're the best AMIGOS..." Oh, I hope she never stops listening to sweet innocent children's music. Hannah Montana can step back; let my daughter be five.

3. Our dog is getting old. If your dog is getting old, by the way, or just recently died, I would not recommend going to see the movie Marley and Me. Actually, maybe I would not recommend that film to anyone whose life looks like small children, overwhelm, career crises and stress, spousal arguments, and more overwhelm. As a dental patient of my hygienist friend put it, "Why did I pay ten dollars to go watch my life?"

Of course, I am not going to publicly claim that watching Jennifer Aniston romp around playing football in tight jeans with her "kids" in an expansive New England front yard is really watching my life, but we probably look fairly similar when we are freaking out. Because I do believe that the Freaking Out Mom/Partner/Wife is an archetype, and we women are One with Each Other when we are doing it. That is only a small consolation, but still. Ms. Aniston does an uncomfortably good job playing the part of Woman Who Has Had It. She is all ready to do some non-acting freaking out should reality set in after Mr. Mayer puts down the guitar and they have some kids. We shall see.

3. The day after I finished the fourth and last book in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, I went to the salon to get my hair cut and colored. The aesthetician was sneaking reads of Book 2 between treatments, and the client who came in to get her haircut while my dyeing hair grew frighteningly dark under the towel was wearing a "Cullen 17" tee shirt. It's all vampires and werewolves out there! Meanwhile I have safely left Forks and Volterra and the fight meadow behind.

I continue to be fascinated that the fan bases for the books (and the Twilight movie) and for Facebook have in common that they include teens and thirty/fortysomethings in great numbers. I could actually go out on a limb and say that I know more full-grown adults who have lost their shit over Twilight and who obsess over Facebook than I do teens with the same characteristics. And I do know a lot of teens, people. It's the moms wearing "Team Jacob" shirts that kind of crack me up. We're apparently longing for our virginal days. You know, the days when we tried to convince our boyfriends that we could have sex without them losing control and biting us to death. Those days.

Damn you, Stephenie Meyer. I wish I had thought of it first.

4. Since the New Year's Eve Incident, I've been a little paranoid about my skirt being tucked up into my underwear. Them thighs need more Boot Camp. I could also use cuter underwear.