potty training tips

don't let your man-wife pee standing up in front of the potty-training child, especially is said child is a girl.

i have cleaned the bathroom floor probably 300 times in the past 2 months.

no wonder i am so achy!

see what I mean about bob dylan and johnny cash?

FOR THE MAN I LOVED, WHO WAS SO OFTEN SILENT

I have always heard that women fall in love
with men who are like their fathers:

my father sings to me, old Johnny Cash and
Marty Robbins--out in the West Texas town
of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican girl, and you
who couldn't even remember my whole last name,

who played Bob Dylan records at night to hush the speech
of the bed, and me timing out the pregnancy test to
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. I never told you
this--something lovers, fathers,
lovers who are already fathers
do not want to hear.

You were silent mornings when I was waking, the alarm
shut off before its eruption, no sound but the mumbling
of the sheets when you pulled me, hands clutched into ribs,
onto you. The white noise of dressing sometime later.

If I had spoken, I'd have told you I loved you.

But you were not my father, you who made no sounds
as you went, nothing from your mouth but breathing,
the stairs wordless, no apology from the back door.

I know. I was listening.

bob dylan, johnny cash, jim leyland

while little one naps, I'm attempting to write. and of course I am thinking about the men of my myth—bob dylan, Johnny cash, mark rothko, doc holliday, (soon to be jim leyland when I finish the damn poem!) and so on.

 

a few things strike me:

 

1. there are substantially more men in my mythological history than women. (for example: my abuelito has a whole series of poems, my abuelita perhaps three.)
   
2. many of my myth-men were connected to each other somehow—bob dylan and johnny cash are an easy example; if I ever pursue a phd, my thesis will be proving what Caravaggio and Rothko have to do with one another.
   
3. why don't I have more "women heroes"? I mean, yes, in my life, I do—but they are women I know and love and look to for a substantial amount of guidance. of these, only my mother and sister really make an appearance in my poems. and, if I am rewriting my own history in terms of myth, why I am choosing men who are "distant"? there's something vaguely troubling about this, both poetically and personally.
   

 

hmmm. food for thought. I have another headache—I am very much hoping that this isn't the beginning of another month-long sinus infection.

god is testing me

and quite possibly the devil himself as well.

being a stay-at-home again is a bit of a rough adjustment in and of itself; add in the dog, who is basically a 60 pound toddler, and rough becomes an understatement of magnificent proportions.

one of my first thoughts upon being informed that my "position was being eliminated" (well, after the nasty ones and the urge to laugh very very hard) was, hey, now i can have nice time at home with evie and beans, and get all the thing done we haven't even begun to deal with since we moved!

safe to say i was a bit optimistic. the frustration of being home all day with the toddler and the terror is building. while evie can get things for herself at times, it is contingent upon her wanting to (toddlers are, in a word, moody). or, worse, she gets into things!

list of things i have found evie getting into while she is supposed to be sleeping:
1. mascara
2. lotion (three separate times)
3. suntan lotion
4. shower gel (she dropped something on the floor and decided to clean it up)
5. toys (including her "corn popper"--once at 3 am)

today, i thought she was at least staying put in her room and went to take a shower. this was a treat--the last few showers i have had have been with evie. (think it's hard to contain a toddler? try doing it while they're covered in soap, and you have shampoo in your eyes!) and since my days are pretty much already taken up by chasing after/cleaning up after/putting back into bed/feeding evie and beans, showers are a little tough to come by.

so i get out of the shower, and am getting dressed when i hear evie yelling at beans to "come on". only her voice is muffled....BECAUSE SHE IS OUTSIDE!

little one had packed a purse and a backpack and taken beans outside. (was she running away already?) i lock the doors to keep such things from happening, but apparently, she has figured out how to unlock the deadbolt. i, pants-less, throw on some shorts (my hair still up in a towel-turban) and run outside to chase the two delinquents down.

i swear, i swear, i am beginning to believe more and more in descartes' "evil genius" theory.

time to keep my head from going through the wall.

i just realized it!

why was "the cosby show" named as such, when the show is about the huxtable family?

(yes, this is the great question i am asking myself today).

john edwards 1, everybody else 0

i like this plan. it's very "get off your ass and make some noise".

[kudos to the attractive man from the south with the nice hair.]

just the thought is enough to make me sick

anthony will be going to baghdad in november.

brent will be going back then too.

that is all. i want to both vomit and cry.

"oh, goody, my dog found the chainsaw!"

add to evie's list of (slightly troubling) abilities: she can now open the "child-proof cap" on the tylenol bottle. mind you, at least it is HER tylenol. but still. way to go, product design division of meijer-brand children's acetaminophen. way to freakin' go.

(btw: the quote is from one of my favorite children's movies of all time, which evie hasn't yet seen: lilo & stitch. an alien mistaken for a dog who loves elvis? of course! what else endears you to children!)

oh, no.

my poor little zumaya! i wish i had an address to send him "speedy recovery, and don't forget how to throw the heat" cookies.

honestly, i'm going to add him into my prayers. i absolutely love this kid.

i *heart* rod allen

friday night, i was watching the tigers play the royals. they were down most of the game, which understandably made me nervous. but, have a little faith, i say to myself, and what do you know, they come back to win it.

cliche angela says the tigers are a metaphor for about 2/3 of her life.

anyhow, quip of the night from rod allen, color commentator--who sometimes says "mmmm-hmmm" with a sass that recalls cleveland (of "family guy" fame).

the scene: carlos guillen on second base, wearing a few gold chains, ready to run on contact. rod allen says, "carlos guillen, wearing his mr. t starter kit..." and mario impemba cracks up.

here's the thing: for so long these two had to call hopeless game after hopeless game, so they've really refined their "schtick". they're also terribly intelligent. and rod, who i always want to hug (who don't i want to hug? i know...) says, again with sass, things like "well, generally the tigers are going to beat you because they're just better than you."

kick ass.

back on the job market

in the interest of not saying something that'll come back to bite me, or making anyone look bad, etc etc etc, let's just say that the position i held is being eliminated. thus, i am back to looking for work. the prospects, to be honest, are exciting.

details available upon request. ;)

in the meantime, evie is napping, i have just opened a cold can of coca cola classic (tm) and am about to make some wheat berries for a dinner salad. yum.

hopefully that'll all go quickly enough that i'll have time to finish another cover letter or two, and send out some more "applications".

staying home does have its merits. i have missed being home with evie, and beans and i definitely need to do some bonding.

back to work--real work:)