I feel so much better after my last post that I decided to join up with quick takes, something that is whimsical and fun and that I used to do religiously but that I haven’t done in ages because I’ve been the opposite of whimsical and fun.
Speaking of my last post, this is what I got in return for it:
Yup, another awesome Ave mom bought me flowers, because 1) she’s completely amazing and I love her and 2) she knows that there is nothing better than orange flowers, and she liked my post.
Also I got a bunch of messages from other Ave moms being like, “yessssss that was great and I feel the SAME WAY ps let’s have a playdate where we do shots and ignore our kids!”
THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, MOTHERS OF AVE MARIA. What are we doing, hiding in our homes and pretending to be shining our silver or something, and offering each other tea and crumpets? No no no no no! We must band together and let our freak flags fly! We will be so much happier, and our children will enjoy knowing that they are not the only products of happy dysfunction!
This shall be my freak flag:
I solemnly swear to only wear it on days when I have neither showered nor organized the sock drawer. (So days that end in y, basically.)
Speaking of letting my freak flag fly, yesterday I took Sienna to school because I had a midwife appointment in Naples. Taking her to school means leaving the house at 6:30, and I since I hadn’t showered in a few days I decided it would be in the interest of basic hygiene to do so, so I got up at 5:15.
This was such a horrible experience that I forgot to fulfill other requirements of basic hygiene, like putting on deodorant, which I realized when I was in car line to drop Sienna off. Equal parts amused and appalled by this blatant oversight (we do live in a sub-tropical climate, after all — deodorant is kind of essential), I sent the Ogre a text message that said, “I forgot to put deodorant on”.
Except I didn’t send it to the Ogre at all. I accidentally sent it to the last person I had text messaged, a mom down the street whom I had been making plans to go to the beach with.
I found this meme just now and thought it was perfect, and hilarious, so I put it here. And now I’m having doubts, like, “is there some kind of sexual innuendo here that I’m not getting, that’s totally appalling and will horrify my readers and make them think I’m either a total perv or a total moron?”
This never used to happen to me on the internet, but lately it seems like it’s happening a lot. I really hope this is simply because I’m overthinking things and not because I’m getting old and out of touch. Please reassure me in the comments.
Speaking of innuendo, you might notice the word “quickie” in the title. That’s because I wrote the title yesterday, right after the Ogre came home at lunchtime.
Listen, having only one child home during the day who is content to watch back-to-back episodes of Power Rangers is the best thing ever. Nooners are fantastic, and I don’t care how much I have to burn my feminist card after admitting that I love it when my husband comes home for….a “sandwich”. And then an actual sandwich. Wives of the world, embrace this. It will make your life 1000% happier and sexier.
Also, this quickie take doesn’t qualify as “innuendo” so much as “blatant oversharing”. You’re welcome!
Speaking of sandwiches, though, mine was extremely disappointing because we were out of vegetables. This is not innuendo, I’m seriously complaining about my sandwich because I’m pregnant and food is HIGH on my list of priorities. One of the reasons it’s so high on my list of priorities is because the only thing I want to eat, ever, is piles of goat cheese and piles of vegetables on bagels or bread. Literally, that’s it. If we’re out of any of those things and I’m forced to eat something else, I usually throw it up. Not out of spite, just out of pregnancy. But maybe a little out of spite, too.
One happy result of this is that I’ve only gained 3 pounds, which is great because at 21 weeks I’m usually as big as a house. This morning, the Ogre even noticed that he could still feel my rib cage. I was like, “I know, right?! Usually you can’t feel my ribcage at, like, 6 weeks!”
I’m going to pretend that his raised eyebrows were a result of skepticism at my overexaggeration, instead of underexaggeration, because honestly I kind of forgot I had a ribcage until recently.
I do, though! Thanks for the reminder, Stormageddon!
I know, Matt Smith. Like all babies, mine is magical and terrifying and has kicked me in morse code enough to let me know that until further notice, he/she is to be known as Stormageddon. Until Tuesday, at least, when we find out if Stormy is a boy or a girl.
You better be a girl, Stormageddon, because I’m done getting pee on my face. That trick is wearing a wee bit old after 2 back-to-back penis-bearing babies. Just sayin‘.