Every morning we share our bed with all 3 of our children. It always ends in tears. This morning Steel was wearing a Christmasy sleepy suit. Jack Peter told her he was taking one of her candy canes. She got hysterical. She'll also cry from the back seat of the car, "Jack Peter took my head off, and he won't give it back!" I have to say, "Jack Peter, put her head back on and don't do it again!" Keeping track of the whereabouts of imaginary friends and punishing imaginary transgressions are a big part of my day. Right now they are fighting about on whose back Alvin the chipmunk is perched, and I just got yelled at for taking Karen's seat. Karen is the little girl in Frosty the snowman.
I got to go big box shopping by myself. I don't get to blast the radio too often anymore. If I blast it, I do it to punish the kids for whining and crying too much. "Walking in Memphis" "Can't Fight This Feeling" and "Love Bites" serenaded me on my way to buy diapers, wipes, coffee and toilet paper. $452 later I was careening back home, breasts almost leaking, wondering how I could've forgotten pistachios. The radio wasn't as captivating, so I was left to relive my great driving radio moments: returning from the beach in a blue Chevy pickup having stopped for a Dairy Queen soft-serve with jimmies when a Tom Petty rock block came on. That was one of the happiest moments of my life, and I don't know why. I'm not that crazy about Tom Petty. And, having left California, I was driving to Philly in the same Chevy truck. I was calling my now husband to tell him I would probably not make the first date of our very short courtship because of traffic. He was fine with that and asked, "Other than traffic, how are you?" I said, I can't complain I've had the best run of soft rock ever." I started singing Chicago's, "Baby what a big surprise." He finished the line and carried on singing the rest of the song. He knows all of the lyrics to 70's/early '80's cheesy music -not just the refrains. It's probably why we're married. A predilection for watching multiple episodes of Netflixed TV until 1am when both of us are sleep-deprived is another tie that binds us. Currently we're ensconced in Madmen. I was Don Draper the other night watching 3 episodes in a row while drinking bourbon on ice. I felt awful the next day.
I've even been accused of becoming a potter to be alone in my own world. Being a potter when I'm pregnant gives me way too much time to think about how much I love Swedish fish; I know that much. So what do I have to escape from? It's pretty clear reading this blog, but what the hell do my kids have to escape from? They're 2 and 3!