Author Archives: iasshole

Me So Cormy

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Franny Tells a Story.

Backstory is that I had breakfast recently with another mom whose child goes to Franny’s school. She wanted to call a meeting because apparently Franny is treating her kid like poo when she’s at my house, and BFFs with her when she’s at her dad’s. She picked up that I was anti-playdate, but all that it was about was in the amazing year 2004, my ex was having moms sign pieces of paper that were used against me in court, because I am Satanic Puppy Eater. This family in particular was spending a lot of time with SeaFed, so I avoided.

We talked, though, and it was funny. The mom told me she actually was down with me, because she has heard about my mad skillz. Also, when she would turn her child over to SeaFed, he would take the kids to get doughnuts and shit at the 7-11. It was funny–I did not know this.

So I was afraid of everyone at school, because of the court business. Nothing personal really. Just tired of getting dragged through the mud. I thought my kid was staying away from this kid. I was wrong. I told Franny why I had shunned them.

And now they are going to play at my house on Thursday. Bygones and shit. I am not afraid of any of the other mommies anymore. My world was very small three years ago. Now it is very larger.

“I had a dream, Mom,” Franny told me today, as I was in the bathroom, dying her hair.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I dreamed about that stuff you told me about court the other day. About how the other moms signed papers.”

“Yeah?”

“I dreamed there were a lot of moms there, speaking against you. And I stood up. And my dad was there.”

“And then what happened?” I said.

“I stood up and I said, ‘I don’t think any of this is right. I spend time with my mom, and with my stepmom. I want to be with my MOM.”

“Oh,” I said. I always feel vaguely alarmed when she does this. There is a part of me, I’m serious, who wants her to be more of a fan of her dad.

“I feel like I have TWO MOMS,” she finished.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said.

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Weaksauce Picture Biz

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This morning I woke up and it was all white. School was closed, of course, just for lulz. They did not close school recently when it was freezing and the streets were solid ice, but when it’s 35 and not sticking, sure. What the hell.

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One of the most fun things we did, among MANY fun things, was to go to the Ferry Building downtown. There was a whole store devoted to mushrooms. Why is there not one in this damply armpit?

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I had to take a picture of last night’s depresso chicken cavalcade. When I come home from trip, I want to find in the fridge 1) orgasms and 2) Phad Thai.

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I Can’t Blab Such Blibber Blubber, etc

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San Francisco WHAT THE HELL. I always have the weirdest time there. Last time I was there was terrible but oddly fascinating. There is something about that place, like I love everyone I see and there is sex pouring out of the streets or something. That probably sounds CRAZY if you live there, but I don’t care. Better sex coming out of the streets than ennui or purple or golf clubs, I imagine.

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Weekend Away

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In two hours, I am about to get on a plane. If I can stop staring at my butt, anyway. Today it is mesmerizing me. I seem to have fed it just the right amount of triple cream, or maybe the skirt is just my friend. I will cut it off til June now. ANYWAY, I am reading in San Francisco tonight at Three Dollar Bill Cafe. DAVID LEE ROTH HIGH KICK. I can’t wait to meet new people and see old people. I am reading from this book, Can I Sit with You? I will sign your book, boob, or moob. If you have no moobs but instead beefy arm, you will be dismissed.

I listened to Strudel scream this morning after I made Companion put her through the shower. I shall not look back.

“Do you see now, why it’s so hard for me to give up these precious moments with her?”

“UGH,” he said over her as she screamed about skirts.

“It’s all worth it, though, when she says she loves you, isn’t it?”

“UGH,” Companion said.

“NO PANTS NOOOOOOO PANTS I WANT TO WEAR A TURT!” Strudel interjected.

“I think it’s important for children to have daddy time too. I have to force myself not to hog her.”

“I see that,” he said.

After days of unholy struggle, Franny’s loft bed has finally gone together. Between the wood being warped and it being an unwieldy son-of-a-bitch, it took more time than it should have. But now Franny is in her aerie, and the gimpy Taibas Jones reminds me that at one time in her youth she was an ace ladder-climber. Those were spindly little rungs that went straight up and down, and these have a lean and are much flatter. But it still impresses me, considering that half the time she is limping around on her little centipede legs.

In conclusion, last night I dreamt that IKEA directions were in COLOR, and I was THRILLED.

Today I am also superblab about some feminist hobbledyhoy over on Blogher.

All Aboard the Failboat

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Yesterday was one of those DAYS. Everything I started, I failed on. I tried to transfer some files from the auction lappy to my Hester Prynne. USB cable: disappeared. Magic sticks…I had two, where the hell are they? None of my discs worked, either. WHAT THE HELL. I tried rubbing one on the other to see if osmosis would help. It did not.

I also tried to put Franny’s new loftbed together. I was sure I could knock it out in a couple of hours, no problem. The wood was warped and I only got to step two.

I didn’t make it to the grocery store. Nothing got cleaned. Files didn’t get typed. Emails went unsent.

“Screw this,” I said.

At about four I called Companion at work.

“Can you bring home a bunch of frozen crap?” I said.

“Er…like what?”

“Eggrolls, jalapeno poppers….”

“FRENCH FRIES!” Franny yelled in the background.

“…and french fries.”

He came home with hot dogs, pizza rolls, poppers, and french fries. It was the most unhealthy meal I have eaten in months and it was delicious. I accidentally poured a lake of sweet and sour sauce on my plate, much to the confusion of Strudel.

“Why did you do that, Mom?” she kept asking. She was convinced I was up to something. I failed at pouring sauce.

I was in bed by nine. The sheer unfinishedness of the day wore me out.

In Other News: Bad Poetry Corner

O cat

you rush in

you rush out

squatting

hovering

freezing

when will you remember

you don’t wear pants?

Girl Sandwich and NYE

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So, I took the plunge this weekend and moved the kids into the same room together. What had held me back before was that Strudel was too young and then Strudel grew into a very light sleeper. Franny’s anxiety is affecting her, of course, but it is also affecting the whole family. This seems like the best thing for all of us.

Her mattress came yesterday and she slept on the floor on it last night. Mattress shopping was quite a trial. Companion, who when I met him was sleeping on a futon, had no idea how much mattresses actually cost. I was content with a budget one, as I always am. We priced out frames at IKEA to get an idea, but he had no idea a mattress would be more than a frame. Sometimes I have this weird feeling like I have dragged him into teh evil capitalist paradigm farther than he wanted to go. I couldn’t bear to take him into the fancy special room where mattresses cost as much as a liver transplant. I feel bad when his eyes bug out of his head.

They slept together last night, and I think they woke up a little too early, but did okay. Franny said she felt better being in a room with her sister. So we’ll see.

Yesterday we had friends over with their new baby, who is very cute and fun to hold. It’s a nice feeling, holding her. I feel like I’ve always been the one with the baby, the one who is struggling and being barfed on and trying to nurse while everyone else eats. I certainly wasn’t taking any satisfaction in their struggles–it was just nice to enjoy a baby. I also felt really good about coming to the end of reproducing. I thought that maybe the feeling of wanting more babies would never go away, and that I would just have to be reasonable and decide to shut off the baby faucet, but that I would always have secret regrets or yearning. But I don’t. What a relief. I feel so excited about other peoples’ babies. And also about sleeping for eight hours.

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In Which, I, Asshole Am Surrounded By Anxiety

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Hey! How’s your day going? I love my children, but I wish to leave them at the Zoo. In the skunk cage. There is no skunk cage? Here are skunks. I just painted them, so they may be slightly tacky still. (They get that from my side of the family.)

Franny has been having nightmares and is generally a clingy ball of mess over her dad’s impending move, which has been impending for about five months now. If you look at it like that, I suppose everything impending. Death. The Rapture. Your Mom.

ANYWAY. It is not pretty around here. I am trying to be the rock and the stalwart mom, who can cheerlead and prop-up and be a trellis for my little clinging vine without going GET OFF GET OFF MOMMY NEEDS SOME WINE or talking smack about the source of her anxiety.

So there have been nightmares, followed by knocking on my door that goes on CEASELESSLY and with the same interval between each series of knocks. I am dreaming I am at a restaurant and suddenly it’s…full of woodpeckers, tap tap tap tap tap. The woodpeckers melt away and them I’m in a club dancing to a really boring techno beat, tap tap tap tap tap. Then I am awake and ANGRY, because there is real live knocking on my door and it is real live four a.m.

As a compromise I told her that ONLY IF she had another terrible nightmare could she come up to her sister’s room and sleep on her small area rug if she promised to be quiet and not disturb her sister. What do I hear this morning at six a.m.? Chattering waking me up an hour-and-a-half before the time we usually wake up. Strudel is a light sleeper. This was a Bad Idea. I fail about three out of four times.

I talked to Franny this morning and told her that I decided it was not going to work out, as her sister would always stir, see Franny, and wake up fully. I would have to think of something else. Talk turned to dreams after that and Strudel told us about one of her dreams, and I told mine.

“I didn’t have any dreams last night,” Franny announced.

“Really?” I said.

“Nope, none.”

“You had NO dreams AT ALL last night?”

“No, Mom, gosh.”

“Then why did you come up to your sister’s room and wake her up?”

Franny’s face turned crimson and she stammered a little. She sat quietly for two minutes and then said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

So now…I don’t know. I am thinking. I want to help Needy Kid, but I can’t sleep with my seven-year-old every night.

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