the underwear drawer

the mother manifesto

So apparently, it snowed. A lot. Supposedly this is the second worst blizzard ever to hit New York City, but I can't say that I've experienced The Forces of Nature firsthand yet, as we didn't really try to venture outdoors today. Because, did you see the coldness? And the icicles? Time enough to deal with that tomorrow. Instead, we stayed indoors to have cozy family time, and to SWIM NAKED IN OUR GIANT VAULT OF MONEY.

(Shout-out to the comments section! Woot! You know how sometimes you're about to post something, and you just know it's going to stir shit up? But then you post it anyway, because I JUST GOTTA BE ME. Yeah, so I figured that whole Stay At Home vs. Career Mom thing from two days ago was going to do it. That's a sure-fire way to get women-folk fighting amongst each other every time! Try it! But seriously, why the strife? We're all trying out best to do what's right for ourselves and our families, right? Right-o, then.)

I'm just putting the finishing touches up on my note to Georgia for Monday, containing all sorts of tidbits and updates about Cal from the past week. Yes, because SO MUCH HAS TRANSPIRED over the past week that it requires typed correspondence to detail it all. SHE MUST KNOW OF HIS NEWFOUND LOVE OF PEAS. Really, it's just that I'm crazy. It's filled with all sorts of gems such as, "Cal can pull to stand with assistance" and "I did Cal's laundry and sorted out the clothes that were too small for him." Wow. Deep. And I keep making the margins on the page smaller and smaller and smaller, because the Smother Mother note is already running two pages single-spaced, and in my mind if it were to spill over to three pages, that would officially cross the line into pathologic. So, to recap: two pages single spaced with half-inch margins = still OK, however, two and a half pages = clearly over the top. Good. Glad we cleared that up.

Monday's going to be a rough day for me and Cal both, because not only is it my first day back, but I'm on overnight call. The hospital is a jealous lover, he must have me to himself. As sort of an experiment, I stepped out to the store for an hour yesterday, and Cal got a little lathered up over that--so you can imagine I feel a little bad about throwing in a 28-hour absence right on the tail of our nice week together. It's sink or swim time, kid. See, developmentally, he's at that stage now where he thinks that if you're out of his line of sight for ten seconds, you're gone forever. Which, ha ha, silly, I'm just in the other room. Babies are, like, stupid. However, given that I'll be gone for more than 24 hours, maybe getting all crazy upset isn't out of proportion after all. I mean, you can file a missing person report with the police after 24 hours. For all Cal knows, I might never come back.

But I always will, Cal. I always will.

Currently reading: This article in the Times. Apparently, Dick Cheney shot someone. With a gun. I always knew he was evil.