Conversations with the Madness Twins

Riding in the car, with my 2 year old (I) and 3 year old (R), trying to understand why my three year old has been having 'accidents' after many months of successful potty-going:

ME: How does it feel before you pee your pants?
R: when i pee my pants it feels wet
ME: no i mean, before you pee. does it surprise you or do you feel it coming?
R: my penis doesn't feel it coming
I: what I have?
ME: you have a vagina
I: my vagina not feel pee
ME: so, ronald, the pee surprises you?
R: yes
I: what does ronald have?
ME: ronald has a penis. Ronald, does it hurt when you pee?
I: what does aunt jackie have?
ME: aunt jackie has a vagina
R: no it doesn't hurt
ME: do you know why you don't make it to the potty?
I: what does daddy have?
ME: daddy has a penis
R: I don't make it to the potty because I forget the pee is coming
I: what do you have?
ME: I have a vagina
I: what does mamma have?
ME: mamma has a vagina. Ron, you'll try to make it to the potty next time?
I: what Ms. Crystal have?
ME: Ms. Crystal has a vagina
R: okay i'll make it to the potty
I: what mikey have?
ME: Mikey has a penis. Good, ron. You can be responsible and have no more accidents. I know you can do it.
I: What Ms. Margee have?
ME: Ms. Margee has a vagina....

drinking the expired hot chocolate - a low point

I sit so hunched over that my chin rests on my coffee cup. To be fair, it is a tall coffee cup, big and fat, Handpainted In China, and tall enough to hide an incredible amount of hot chocolate. Years ago, my grandmother gave me this cup and a matching cake plate, explaining that "a woman needs these for when she wants a little something sweet just for herself." I'd never had any trouble eating sweets off of everyday dishware but, still, I was grateful for the general idea: Treat yourself special, she was saying.

I'm not sure preparing expired hot chocoloate mix in boiling water as a strategy for avoiding major life responsibilities was what she had in mind. Sigh. I sink deeper into the rim of the cup, letting the chipped porcelin leave strange dimples in my chin. Today I am supposed to be Getting Things Done. Instead I pace my apartment, break open a bag of potatoe chips, search my kitchen cabinets for dinner ideas that don't require ingrediants, and return to my Coffee Cup Perch for rest. This is not what I thought I'd be like at 30. Drinking the expired hot chocolate with potatoe chips? Seriously?

I have two toddlers to raise and a dissertation to write and job applications to submit. I have dishes and laundry and bedrooms to clean. I have Halloween photos to upload and emails to read. I have a husband to love and friends to call back. and I need an oil change. This is no time for an existential crisis! I sit up straight in my chair, set aside the hot chocolate, and decide my grandmother was right. Sometimes a woman does need to treat herself special.

I think she meant we are all supposed to upgrade our procrastination techniques to include melodramatic blogging. At least that way we have something to show for ourselves.

Entering the void

When I was in middle school, I wrote DO NOT READ all over the cover of my diary in the hopes of enticing someone to read it. That was before there were blogs.