Somebody’s Baby

Oh hi! How was your holiday? Did you eat hamburgers? Ribs? Chicken? Corn on the cob? CHECK CHECK CHECK AND CHECK over here, and they were all delicious.

We went to Syracuse — well, Manlius, if you feel like getting VERY SPECIFIC — and spent the weekend with my brother-in-law, his wife and their two wee ones, ages 7 months and two years. And let me tell you, that bit of age difference is something I’m not sure I can handle, and I think my sister-in-law should be awarded some sort of life-size medal of honor made of solid gold ingots or perhaps a lifetime of creme brulee on demand — a fountain of creme brulee, if you will. Because MY GOD. No no. I don’t want two kids that close together, no thank you. And to those of you who do, the next time I see you, I’ll bring you copious amounts of the dessert of your choosing, only because I can’t afford that many gold ingots. My sister-in-law is a trouper, nay A HERO.

(Also, can we talk about how much it bothers me when people use trooper in lieu of trouper? Yes, I realize it doesn’t make sense, and this makes me utterly obnoxious, but it IS trouper, as in a person who is a solid performer under any circumstances. As in, THE SHOW MUST GO ON. Trooper also makes sense in the “brave little soldier” concept, but it’s not really correct in the traditional sense, sadly. I also feel this way about sherbet and sherbert, as I’ve discussed before.) (SHERBET OMG.)

(This is how I’m becoming my mother, the woman who refuses to call a chaise longue anything but. Oh, you thought it was chaise lounge? No no, it’s French for “long chair”. And if you say otherwise, my mother will publicly correct you and engage in a lively discussion about its etymological significance, at which point you will be in equal parts charmed and incredibly annoyed.)

The weekend included snacking on the aforementioned delicious nephews, the older of whom has an utterly charming habit of answering “Mm HMM!” in the affirmative, in addition to shouting, “I LOVE YOU AUNTIE JONNA” on command, while the younger one will shamelessly flirt with anyone who smiles at him. It was the sort of weekend that summer holidays are meant for — a whole lot of nothing except barbecuing out and helping kids in the sandbox. Oh, and there were fireworks. Finally.

And there was Target. OH YES. TARGET. HOW COULD I FORGET. Honestly? It was even sweeter this time. I hate to admit this, lest I sound all consumerist and obnoxious and stuff, because I live in God’s country, and big box stores are frowned upon, I KNOW I KNOW. But something in me changed the second I smelled the store and I became more excited than I’d been in a long time, which makes it that much more disappointing in that a) I only spent $140, which is getting off easy for a Target trip, as any addict will tell you; and b) the majority of that cash was spent on an ungodly amount of Method products, for while I have and use all green products, right down to the laundry soap, NOTHING is as good as Method. Nothing. They have everything, and yes, I know, it sort of defeats the purpose by buying environmentally friendly products that come on giant trucks that burn oil oil OIL, but sometimes a girl has to smell ylang ylang in her clean shower mist, you know?

And finally, I had blood work done last week — one a routine glucose test, the other my thyroid levels — and the ogre-like womanbeast who drew my blood positively BUTCHERED me, I’m sorry, she did. I’m not usually squeamish about needles and blood and whatever, but not only did I almost faint, but I have a bruise extending the length of my upper arm, starting at the tender inside where she conducted her cruel bloodletting. Insult is only added to injury when I learned that while my thyroid levels are blessedly normal, my glucose is a little high and guess who’s been advised to cut down on the sweets during prime creme brulee season? The same person who is now STARVING and off to make herself, I don’t know, a BOWL OF BROCCOLI or something. Pah.

Happy Monday!

*Yo La Tengo

35 comments July 6th, 2008