True Story

Public restrooms; let's talk about it. First of all, let's just get this straight. Normally I don't think much about public restrooms at all. But if forced to think about them I would categorize them as necessary evils. Sometimes I get a little harassment from the Peanut Gallery because of my aversion to going number-two in public restrooms. I understand that everyone poops. And I know that the best place for such occurrences is, in fact, the restroom. But it's not me I'm worried about.
My resolve was strengthened this morning. After a bowl of oatmeal and two cups of coffee my needs overpowered my trepidation and I found myself in the "stealth bathroom". I had been there a while and thought I was home-free, when I heard the door open and my heart sank. As everyone with restroom issues knows, you have to preserve anonymity at all costs. So I would just have to wait her out. But things went from bad to worse when all of a sudden she broke the silence with a hearty, booming, "OOOH GIRL! I SHO DO STANK UP IN HEAH!" I was so shocked that the anonymity clause flew out the window. Before I knew what had happened I had yelled back, "UHM, HELLO! I'm sitting RIGHT HERE!!" I heard the woman crinkling paper in her stall. "All right, now, honey," she boomed, "I gots me some lysol spray right heah." I have no clue if she brought the Lysol with her or if it was just convieniently in her stall. I don't even know if she actually had any or if she was just trying to be funny. But I finished up and fled the scene quickly, before things could get any worse.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have issues with going number two in public restrooms.

You Are Chinese Food

Exotic yet ordinary.People think they've had enough of you, but they're back for more in an hour.

What Kind of Food Are You?

Kim's Neuroses

This is why I think you should always give the benefit of the doubt and you should not assume. It's so easy to get all wrapped up in your head, second-guessing motives and such. Really, though, it's usually not about you. More often than not, I'm on the receiving end of the assumption. Someone will think that I'm mad at them or that I've done something uncaring to them on purpose, when really, it had nothing to do with them at all. That is one of my biggest hang-ups; constantly thinking that someone is mad at me for something that I didn't even know about. I really have an irrational, almost phobia of that very thing happening. I wonder if there's a word for that phobia... Maybe "blindsideaphobia". One of the most horrible symptoms of Blindsideaphobia is an annoying vocal tick: the phrase "are you mad at me" will fling itself from my lips before I know it. But I just can't bear the thought that someone might have a problem with me and I didn't even know I did anything wrong. I think that's why the aforementioned story threw a brief knot in my stomach. I couldn't help thinking "Oh, CRAP! Have I done that?!" I mentally ran through all the times I've helped someone move, thinking, "I gotta call them - make sure nobody's mad at me." Of course I repressed that silliness, I didn't actually call anyone. But the mere fact that it crossed my mind is enough to verify that I still suffer my illness.

Parenting 101; Lesson 1: How to make it a Learning Experience

After four months of good behavior we got another incident report from school yesterday. Apparently some kid was sprawled all over Eliot and wouldn't get off. So Eliot bit him. And got written up. Ya, that seems fair, right? WOE unto his Permanent Record. Here's the conversation that Brian and I had regarding the Incident:

Brian: The biting thing though we still need to work on
Kim: ya, but i'm back to the - "i don't really know what to do when we're not around" bit
Brian: We need to teach him how to hurt kids without leaving bruises ; )
Kim: LOL
Brian: no mark, no incident report
Kim: good point
Brian: and another kid learns a valuable lesson about space and ownership

it's not the heat....

I woke up with the worst headache known to man this morning. I guess it didn't help that I was awoken at 5AM by soft little "mommy"'s from the other room. The softness grew quickly to loudness and by 5:15 it was full-on yelling and jumping. "MOMMY! MOMMY!" *squeak squeak of crib-jumping* "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY!" So there I found myself in the kitchen before sunrise searching desparately for ibprofen. Beloved swears it was last night's wine, but I disagree. How could something so yummy and refreshing be so evil? Personally I think it's the change of weather. Specifically, the heat that's drying the air at night. I'm seriously thinking of investing in a whole-house humidifier. Cause, you know, we've got all that extra money. At any rate, there in the kitchen, at ridiculous hours of the morning, head pounding with every "mommy" jump above my head, I thought of my childless friends. How they must be snoozing away at that very moment - comfey and warm, all snuggled in their beds. And for a brief moment I hated them. Sometimes I wonder why I did this to myself. I should say, for disclaimer's sake, that I love Eliot and I love being a mom... But crawling back up the stairs this morning I felt a little like Frodo at the end of Lord of the Rings. "No, Sam, I can't recall the taste of food... nor the sound of water... nor the touch of grass" Nor the serenity of sleep.