animals and finance
LATE WITH THE RESOLUTIONS
1. I will only buy clothing I like. That may seem like a no-brainer, but periodically I panic about not looking “professional” (whatever that means). Then I go shopping and buy whatever fits my body and my very vague conception of how I should look, even though I do not love the item or feel particularly awesome when I wear it. This means that it languishes in the closet, a hanging reminder of my stupid waste of money, and I still have nothing to wear to work. Oh I hate clothing, I truly do. I wish it were the future and we all wore standardized, unisex jumpsuits in soft luxurious fabrics. Or that a Russian businessman with a shadowy past would buy me a whole shipping container full of black cashmere turtlenecks and knee-length, A-line skirts, for then I would be set for life and never have to go shopping again. I can handle the tights/shoes/brassieres/jewelry, you can leave those out of the shipping container. Thanks, Mysterious Benefactor!
2. I will snack more. I know, that is the opposite of most New Year’s resolutions. But I tend to let myself get too hungry, which means that right before mealtime I start cramming whatever damn-fool thing I can find into my mouth. And not in the sense of “oh tee hee, I snack on the veggies while I prepare dinner for my family.” In the sense of “I shall eat a giant glob of cream cheese directly off this butter knife.” I think if I planned sensible snacks* this would have a better chance of not happening.
*Every time I hear the word “sensible” combined with a food-word, I think of those old Slimfast commercials with Elizabeth Ashley. Shake for breakfast, shake for lunch, and a SENSIBLE DINNER! My college friends and I were obsessed with those ads and used to go around rasping “SENSIBLE DINNER!” at each other. The 1990s were a weird time, kids.
3. I will find some chores or tasks for my child to do. Nora does a lot of self-care things and daily-routine things all by herself (thank you, Montessori). At almost seven, of course she washes her own hair, does her own homework (although someone usually sits with her so she doesn’t get lonely), hangs up her jacket (with reminders), takes her plate to the dishwasher, and gets her own snacks (from a preapproved selection). But we only have one kid, our house is not that huge, a nice lady comes to seriously clean it every other week, and Nora doesn’t tend to make giant messes when she plays. Consequently there is no housework we ask her to do, and I’m starting to think there should be. It’s crazy, because I will almost be inventing tasks just to give to her, but these skills have got to be developed sometime. Suggestions from autonomy-minded parents with school-age kids would be welcome.
TRANSIT POLICE
While of course I will continue my war against train wankers and petty thieves, I find myself branching out a bit lately when it comes to the public shaming of my fellow commuters. Last week I was coming home after a shitty day and the guy in front of me was vigorously picking his nose. Okay, fine. Everyone does it sometimes, most of us wait until we’re alone in the house, but whatever. I kept trying to read but the grossness was too compelling and the next time I glanced up, he was wiping his nostril-treasure on the bus window. MORE THAN ONCE. This grown man, with no visible mental defect or developmental delay, was picking stuff out of his nose and depositing it onto the bus, this bus right here, THE BUS THAT DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU, SIR BUTTMUNCH. I honestly could not stand it for one more minute, I felt like I was going to start screaming and cause a Bus Ruckus of my own, so I leaned forward and sort of punched him in the back of the shoulder. When he turned around, I pointed to the window, made the stern mom-face, and shook my head “no.” To his very minor credit he did not try to argue with me or deny his transgression (that would have been difficult with his BOOGERS STREAKING THE WINDOW), he just turned back around and we left it at that.
2. Later that same week I was on the train listening to two white guys have an odd quiet argument. At first I thought they were bickering lovers, that’s how bitchy and straining-not-to-be-overheard it all was, but gradually I realized that they were total strangers fighting about how the one guy had bumped the other guy’s arm while sitting down and NOT APOLOGIZED. Like, are you kidding me? You could tell they had been at it for a while, because the arm thing was only brought up occasionally and the rest was about “common courtesy” and “respect” and I thought my eyes were going to roll right out of my head. After two full subway stops of this shit I said, in a conversational tone and without taking my eyes off my book, “Personally I think you are both acting like douchebags.” Amazingly, that succeeded in embarrassing them where their own ridiculous behavior had failed, and they were quiet for the rest of my ride.
LIVING ROOM LAVA
This weekend featured a somewhat surprising amount of excellent pretend play from Nora. It was great because I was a bit hungover on Sunday and got to just lie on the couch and hear her say all kinds of crazy things. She made a huge obstacle course around the living room for herself because the floor was made of lava, and then because that wasn’t challenge enough she made a dozen alligators out of pink construction paper to scatter about. They were special pink alligators that can live in lava you see. And she also fashioned a cardboard Alligator Taser Gun, which stuns them temporarily so that you can, I don’t know, look at the lava in peace or something. Maybe it was just fun to pretend to shoot something. The alligators had removable eyebrows (double-stick tape), and the eyebrows went on when they were stunned. That’s how you knew.
HAPPY MLK ROTTEN EGG DAY
On Friday, when she got home from school, Nora had forgotten her lunchbox.
Me: No biggie, I can pack you a bag lunch and you’ll get it on Tuesday.
Nora: Well, except…
Me: Except what?
Nora: Except there’s bad news about the lunchbox.
Me: Like what?
Nora: There’s a hard-boiled egg in there that I didn’t eat.
Me: Oh great.
Nora [with hopeful expression]: Do you think it might EXPLODE?
We shall see, shan’t we? The hour of reckoning draws nigh!
—mimi smartypants suits up for Level 3 biohazard.
LATE WITH THE RESOLUTIONS
1. I will only buy clothing I like. That may seem like a no-brainer, but periodically I panic about not looking “professional” (whatever that means). Then I go shopping and buy whatever fits my body and my very vague conception of how I should look, even though I do not love the item or feel particularly awesome when I wear it. This means that it languishes in the closet, a hanging reminder of my stupid waste of money, and I still have nothing to wear. Oh I hate clothing, I truly do. I wish it were the future and we all wore standardized, unisex jumpsuits in soft luxurious fabrics. Or that a Russian businessman with a shadowy past would buy me a whole shipping container full of black cashmere turtlenecks and knee-length, A-line skirts, for then I would be set for life and never have to go shopping again. I can handle the tights/shoes/brassieres/jewelry, you can leave those out of the shipping container. Thanks, Mysterious Benefactor!
2. I will snack more. I know, that is the opposite of most New Year’s resolutions. But I tend to let myself get too hungry, which means that right before mealtime I start cramming whatever damn-fool thing I can find into my mouth. And not in the sense of “oh tee hee, I snack on the veggies while I prepare dinner for my family.” In the sense of “I shall eat a giant glob of cream cheese directly off this butter knife.” I think if I planned sensible snacks* this would have a better chance of not happening.
*Every time I hear the word “sensible” combined with a food-word, I think of those old Slimfast commercials with Elizabeth Ashley. Shake for breakfast, shake for lunch, and a SENSIBLE DINNER! My college friends and I were obsessed with those ads and used to go around rasping “SENSIBLE DINNER!” at each other. The 1990s were a weird time, kids.
3. I will find some chores or tasks for my child to do. Nora does a lot of self-care things and daily-routine things all by herself (thank you, Montessori). At almost seven, of course she washes her own hair, does her own homework (although someone usually sits with her so she doesn’t get lonely), hangs up her jacket (with reminders), takes her plate to the dishwasher, and gets her own snacks (from a preapproved selection). But we only have one kid, our house is not that huge, a nice lady comes to seriously clean it every other week, and Nora doesn’t tend to make a huge mess. Consequently there is no housework we ask her to do, and I’m starting to think there should be. It’s crazy, because I will almost be inventing tasks just to give to her, but these skills have got to be developed sometime. Suggestions from autonomy-minded parents with school-age kids would be welcome.
TRANSIT POLICE
While of course I will continue my war against train wankers and petty thieves, I find myself branching out a bit lately when it comes to the public shaming of my fellow commuters. Last week I was coming home after a shitty day and the guy in front of me was vigorously picking his nose. Okay, fine. Everyone does it sometimes, most of us wait until we’re alone in the house, but whatever. I kept trying to read but the grossness was too compelling and the next time I glanced up, he was wiping his nostril-treasure on the bus window. MORE THAN ONCE. This grown man, with no visible mental defect or developmental delay, was picking stuff out of his nose and depositing it onto the bus, this bus right here, THE BUS THAT DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU, SIR BUTTMUNCH. I honestly could not stand it for one more minute, I felt like I was going to start screaming and cause a Bus Ruckus of my own, so I leaned forward and sort of punched him in the back of the shoulder. When he turned around, I pointed to the window, made the stern mom-face, and shook my head “no.” To his very minor credit he did not try to argue with me or deny his transgression (that would have been difficult with his BOOGERS STREAKING THE WINDOW), he just turned back around and we left it at that.
2. Later that same week I was on the train listening to two white guys have an odd quiet argument. At first I thought they were bickering lovers, that’s how bitchy and straining-not-to-be-overheard it all was, but gradually I realized that they were total strangers fighting about how the one guy had bumped the other guy’s arm while sitting down and NOT APOLOGIZED. Like, are you kidding me? You could tell they had been at it for a while, because the arm thing was only brought up occasionally and the rest was about “common courtesy” and “respect” and I thought my eyes were going to roll right out of my head. After two full subway stops of this shit I said, in a conversational tone and without taking my eyes off my book, “Personally I think you are both acting like douchebags.” Amazingly, that succeeded in embarrassing them where their own ridiculous behavior had failed, and they were quiet for the rest of my ride.
LIVING ROOM LAVA
This weekend featured a somewhat surprising amount of excellent pretend play from Nora. It was great because I was a bit hungover on Sunday and got to just lie on the couch and hear her say all kinds of crazy things. She made a huge obstacle course around the living room for herself because the floor was made of lava, and then because that wasn’t challenge enough she made a dozen alligators out of pink construction paper to scatter about. They were special pink alligators that can live in lava you see. And she also fashioned an cardboard Alligator Taser Gun, which stuns them temporarily so that you can, I don’t know, look at the lava in peace or something. Maybe it was just fun to pretend to shoot something. The alligators had removable eyebrows (double-stick tape), and the eyebrows went on when they were stunned. That’s how you knew.
HAPPY MLK ROTTEN EGG DAY
On Friday, when she got home from school, Nora had forgotten her lunchbox.
Me: No biggie, I can pack you a bag lunch and you’ll get it on Tuesday.
Nora: Well, except…
Me: Except what?
Nora: Except there’s bad news about the lunchbox.
Me: Like what?
Nora: There’s a hard-boiled egg in there that I didn’t eat.
Me: Oh great.
Nora [with hopeful expression]: Do you think it might EXPLODE?
We shall see, shan’t we? The hour of reckoning draws nigh!
—mimi smartypants suits up for Level 3 biohazard.