It's only Thursday, and we've achieved another bed wetting hat trick. Kids are human leaky faucets. Some people are "food insecure." I'm sleep-insecure. I hunch my shoulders all night long in fear of being awakened. When I unfold in the morning, I can't turn my head to the left; or I can't pour from a gallon of milk because my wrist is tweaked from making a fist all night long. What would be the sleep version of going to McDonald's? Whatever it is, I'm going to start doing it.
It started last Friday when we went to the trouble to get a sitter to attend a fabulous gay dinner party. We were drunk and torturing guests with videos of our kids within 2 hours of our arrival. I was drinking Jim Beam like water.
It didn't help that I went to the studio after the party to turn on a kiln and spent an hour there admiring the new work I'd just unloaded. At that moment I was the Michael Phelps of potters. I have a new vase shape that I love. It is a long-sought-after response to Howard's request for a vase that would "make those cheap grocery store bouquets look good." A while ago, I was trimming a deep bowl, and it flew off of the wheel. It smushed gracefully into a cool shape, and I've perfected it now. So, Howard, when you get your Trader Joe's bouquet, throw away the vile greenery, thin out and cut down those trashy mums and daisies, fan them out in an elliptical vase, artfully place the almost-wilted lily, rose and/or Gerbera daisy, and they look pretty great. You might even get laid when you've gone to the trouble to get flowers and make dinner. I went to bed at 2 and was awakened by Toby at 5. Andrew, my fabulous, gay dinner host...texted me to see how I was faring the next morning...Hung like a horse was my obvious response.
A great segue to mentioning our previous Saturday's family outing to go to Sports Authority to get Tim an athletic cup. It's exciting to be married to someone who has to wear an athletic cup. I told him he had to get in shape after the last miscarriage, so he's started a kickboxing class, Muay Thai, that involves a lot of jumping rope and push ups. Who knows where the athletic cup comes in. I don't know where I get off telling him he has to get in shape. The kids and I were at the YMCA on Monday getting dressed after swim class. The locker room is about 43 degrees, so I dress them first while they sing loud songs about their butts and their collective penis-unless they're distracted by the need to tell a 250 lb woman that she has a big butt. I've resorted to putting them on top of the lockers to keep them from fooling around while I dress. Monday they sat on their perch, unable to move, arguing over whether my butt was jiggling while I put on my lotion. Steel said it definitely was while Jack Peter vehemently denied it.
The kids' constant singing is challenging sometimes. Toby is already humming "Red River Valley" on her own. All of the "My butt" "My penis" or "I farted" songs become manageable when I hear the following song. It was written by Chris, the head of our daycare. My kids are hanging out all day with people who write Madonna songs about plumbing. How could my life be any better?
To be sung to Madonna's "Like a Virgin"
I put the pipes together
with an elbow joint or two
a pipe for hot and a pipe for cold
That's just what I do....
You need a bath
I've got a tub
you need water
well I've got the pipes, and I'll hook them up
I'll hook them up
All shiny and new
Like a plumber
Plumbing for the very first time
Like a plu uh uh uh mer
Got your faucets on my mind