Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
Today we had the ultrasound for Lima Bean Bartlett (my book says he/she's a lima bean size now). I couldn't see very well, but it is reassuring to know that the baby is actually in there, and, especially, that the heart is beating. I didn't cry but Ryan got misty-eyed. Even though the ultrasound machine is projecting an image from the instrument on my stomach directly onto the screen, it doesn't feel like it is completely real yet. We had a hectic day. Ryan's tire is shot and my stupid car wouldn't start this morning. Thankfully, we were parked behind a building in San Bernardino. San Bernardino, if you didn't know, is a lovely place filled with empty King Cobra 40 oz. bottles, bums pissing on pillars, pedophilic-looking men slowly driving by and leering and so forth. So it was fun to wait for the Geico jumpstart man here. The jumpstart man, who was about two feet shorter than I, noticed my bumper stickers as he took down my license plate number. "I'm a Democrat," I told him. "I can see that," he replied. "I'm a Republican, but I hate this president. He's a shithead." I couldn't agree more with him, and I thought maybe he and I, despite our differences, might have a lot more in common than it might initially seem. But then he said, "We should have blown France up hundreds of years ago." I'm not sure what he meant by this, but I think he was talking about WW II. At this point, I decided to keep my mouth shut, let the man do his job, and get the fuck out of San Bernardino. After the car breakdown, Ryan had a two hour meeting at work, then we had out ultrasound appointment and drove home in thick traffic, while I fought the urge to vomit all the way home. We have no money for 13 days. And our cars, our stupid cars that I hate, are falling apart (plus mine smells like a petting zoo for some reason). I'm just happy to be home now with Ryan and Ben and my little picture of a white blur that is my new baby.
Monday, August 14, 2006
I got to thinking about "Sing, Sing a Song," that song they always sing on Sesame Street, and I thought, maybe this isn't such a good message to send to our children. It instructs them to sing out loud, sing out strong, no matter how good a singer you are. With all of the talentless people already out in the world who think they are going to become famous via MTV or American Idol, why would we encourage this? Not everyone is going to be an astronaut or a doctor or a lawyer or a pop star. Some of you kids are going to work at Wal-Mart or be bricklayers. There's nothing wrong with that; it's just the truth. I'm tired of people that are incredibly confident in their lack of skills. So maybe instead of telling everyone they ought to sing a song, maybe just tell Tommy that he should sing a song because he has a beautiful, soothing voice. And if Susie wants to sing, in that awful high-pitched, tone deaf way she sings, maybe we should tell her to focus on athletics. After all, she has a great basketball shot, and she runs faster than Tommy. Maybe she won't be as famous as he'll be, and maybe people will call her a lesbian in high school, but she might just get a college scholarship. So, kids, you should worry about it if you're not good enough for anyone else to hear, and if you suck, stop fucking singing.