Paradoxical Parental Platitudes

"Just forget what I said and go ask that stranger for candy." What kind of mental monkeyshine is that supposed to be?!? It's trick-or-treat time, which I always find so oddly paradoxical to every other parental adage we've ever heard or said.

Then, after how many lectures about NEVER going somewhere with a stranger, we hang ourselves over the gutter of a street to get someone -- a complete stranger -- to pick us up and take us somewhere in their vehicle. To make matters worse, we don't even wear a seatbelt, that is, if there were any to be worn.

Reminds me of my days selling girl-scout cookies (because that really taught me oh so much about 1. what it means to a girl, and 2. the essence of "scouting").

Growing up I had the kind of luck a kid could really do without; which I couldn't have discovered more quickly than going door to door begging people to buy sweats from me. Even though I'll eagerly tear through a box of those Thin Mints (a more accurate name would be Thin Mint Chocolate Cocaine-like Cookies), I'm still a wee bit resentful that the company gets little girls to go bang on the doors of strangers so they can reap the profits on their addictive confections.

Most memorable was the guy who answered the door without wearing any pants.

Knowing I was in a most precarious situation, I pretended not to notice and just memorized his face hoping if I escaped I could at least properly identify him. When he bought two boxes of Somoas, asked when they would be in, and let me leave I couldn't believe I made it out of there alive.

Amazed and grateful he let me leave, my 9 year old brain couldn't help but wonder if I was so ugly a pedophile wouldn't want to bother with me, or if just freaking kids out was all he needed to float his boat.

When I got home and told my parents they immediately had the police (you know, "tell the police, they are good guys and want you to be safe") so I could tell them about the guy who bought cookies with no pants .

Well, Officer Boysenberry or Quesenberry (or some sort of berry-flavor of an officer) listened to my story and then responded by saying I'd probably made the whole thing up. That continued to be the police department's line although later that day they acknowledged the guy was a known sex offender, who was forced to move to our town just to get psychotherapy -- which, incidentally, he wasn't attending. Nonetheless, I was still a big fat liar who made the no-pants story up.

In that instance, I learned that you should talk to strangers, preferably to ask them for money, if not candy. Should the stranger come to the door without any pants -- don't bother telling an adult because they won't believe you, but just make you feel like a moron who couldn't have been more imaginative trying to get attention.

Armed not with much from the adult world, at least I remembered which doors to skip when I came back through the neighborhood to beg the same people to give me sweats on Halloween... and, of course, to bring my 120lb Saint Bernard.

Tricking and Treating from a Safe Place,
the Freak Magnet & Super Secure MQ

The Waiting Game

Less than 40 days until Jack climbs on a plane to head back to the States; I can hardly believe it! He's got the countdown to the hour, so it's safe to say he's ready. I'm not taking a day for granted with the never-ending stream of bad news from that side of the globe. Just get here safely, I tell him, I can wait wait wait a long time.



Quinn is learning that other people seem to have the knack for waiting (but it'll be a wait until she learns there are stupid and extraneous letters attached to words just to mess with those learning Engrish), but so far, waiting seems dumb to her and she's having none of it.

She's not into:

• Waiting for her food to be mashed up
  
• Waiting for her Moooooommmmmmm to rescue her from her crib
  
• Waiting for the cat to come to her
  
• Waiting to swallow what's already in her mouth before stuffing more more MORE in
  
• Waiting to look at the pictures before she slams the book closed
  
• Waiting for everyone around her to learn ESP -- come on people!

And she's about to bust through the computer monitor next time she sees her Dad online if he doesn't hurry up and get here already! Not soon enough, but "soon" I tell her. So we play the waiting game by distracting ourselves with hikes, naps (as many as I can drug her into taking), and this week... a hint of the H1N1 virus.

In fact, that was the cause of the worst lesson in waiting Quinn has had yet. It was awful. I really tortured the kid.

Hellbent on getting the H1N1 vaccine for both of us, I scouted out the only place within a 50 mile radius that had it. Having finished a 20 page paper the night before, I failed to wake up as early as intended and didn't arrive until 45 minutes before the clinic opened. By then, we were behind about 50 other people who didn't hit "snooze." Yes, 50 people BEFORE the place even opened.

Long story short, I was the freaky parent who stood by the wall, hardly talked to anyone, and kept my baby in her carseat and stroller for... (gulp!) SIX hours.



Horrible. I know. But we all kept thinking "Any minute. Any eff'ing minute they are going to call us. If I leave to pee, to eat, to change a diaper, I could miss our chance!"

After about two hours, Quinn just gave in. She must have determined I lost my marbles and this was her fate. It was kind of sad, although she'd still play with and smile at me, I felt like the nutjob I clearly am.

As if just being around that many people (even though she was practically encased in her stroller) wasn't exposure enough, I decided to get the "live" form of the vaccine for myself. Knowing it made me more likely to contract it, I wagered that it would just make Quinn more resistant if I could keep it at bay.

Fortunately, I only felt a bit fatigued and smidge out of sorts. So phobic of getting our premie sick, I wore a surgical mask for a day, but have since come to since she is totally fine. (Quinn -- and everyone else -- must have thought it was the lamest Michael Jackson Halloween costume yet... An honor I could live without and would gladly pass on to the woman I saw earlier today sporting the next lamest Michael Jackson costume. Although I'm not sure the sparkling glove hanging from her back pocket really was a costume in her mind, let's give her the benefit of the doubt.)

So, back to the other waiting game we know... According to the timezone in Afghanistan, it's only 39 days to go!

While we wait wait wait a little bit more, we wish you well!
Mama J Freaky Jackson & Baby in the Bubble

Back from the Brink

We are all alive and well. So terribly sorry for the concern...

I know, I know. I should have called when I got to Susie's house; and I definitely should not have eaten the pizza with the funny mushrooms. And when the car broke down, I should have just called you instead of thinking you wouldn't notice how late I was by hitching a ride with the fire truck, which happened to be headed in the wrong direction.

Who knew at 30+ I could yet again feel like a teenager, late for her curfew, not done with homework, only to remember she forgot the feed the fish... Who is now mysteriously trying to float belly-up. Tsk Tsk!

If only I could claim "the dog ate my homework." When really, my homework ate my brain...

To sum up my long break from the blogosphere: I had multiple long and tedious papers to write, discussion forums, and my usual ongoing and escalating duel with my professor (when will I learn that does NOTHING good for one's grades?!?).

Then, we had a power-outage for more than two days, during which I dropped everything (but the baby) to, yet again, save all that damn frozen mama milk.

Throw in a final paper, a touch of H1N1, and a need to withdraw from all things electronic and 'Stan-related after some really awful headlines.

Good times!



But I'm back, and pictures and video will poureth forth... to the point it will make YOU want to poureth forth, in a projectile kind of way.

No more homework, no more papers, no more loads of reading... Just me and you, and too much time to do anything kosher.

Back before becoming a pumpkin,
J & the little Pumpkin

Handful

Quinn has fared well, or so I tell myself, during her solo week with me. No doubt she will be elated when her Grandparents return on Friday, but we had some fun breaking the rules and staying up late like it was a nonstop slumber party.



To get the attention she was missing from my folks, Quinn reached out to the numerous animals in the house. They all (three dogs, two cats) are quite tolerant and willing to have handfuls of hair yanked out now and then; probably because they see how she doesn't play favorites and treats everyone with equal opportunity for hair pulling, myself included.



In fact, Quinn has a slightly more sophisticated method of pulling on the head of her hirsute Mama. She waits until I lean over her, then she latches on to my locks and her feet commence serious kicking which are conveniently (or cunningly?!) aimed at my chest.

Let's just say, after nine months of producing milk, it doesn't exactly feel like a welcome massage, but it definitely gets my attention.



Thankfully, by midday Friday, Quinn can go back to yanking on her woolly and bearded Grandfather and give the rest of us creatures a break until next week.

From the land of locks,
J & a Handful of Q

Talk Derby to Me

I think I'm catching on to the secret of this whole parenting thing.

It isn't about some act of evolution nor altruism, it's simply a means to live out all the things we as individuals missed out on. Imagining all the things Quinn might do differently, and certainly better than I did is exhilarating. It makes me feel like I get another shot a life. And yes, a whole decade of therapy is probably called for based on that statement alone, but I'm just vocalizing what most others probably feel. No?

In my visions of her future, I see Quinn being a multilingual, outgoing, full of confidence, dynamic person. Unlike her Mom, she'd never give up on things before she started them. And she'd dare to do things I still can't try in my dreams... Like becoming a Roller Derby star.

Ah, but in the meantime I just provide her with the sustenance of life and try not to get too ahead of the lovely stage she is crawling in, and all around.

All this crawling makes being the sole person to watch a baby a bit of a challenge at times. And pretend I might that I would never use the devil box (aka TV) as a babysitter, just give me three days without another adult in the house and I'll convince myself all kinds of things on TV qualify as "educational."

Not because of forethought about my parents' imminent absence did I order some DVDs for Quinn. It was more out of hope I could pique her interest in learning Mandarin since after so long of listening to it over a streamed radio station she starts to cry like I make actually make good on my threat to send her (and the living room pool) back to China.

Tonight as I tried to talk Quinn out of giving the DVDs a big thumbs-down, she caught five seconds of a WWF commercial, and her eyes and whole body locked on the tube. I too froze to watch her reaction, and then she started to squeal and bob up and down enthusiastically in her bouncer seat. Seeing her get so animated made me feel like the educational stuff is virtual torture, or worse, its turning her brain to glue.




Problem found, problem solved. The easy solution is that I'll just have find footage of Chinese WWF fighters, so at least she knows some choice Mandarin words (and grunts) to use for her Roller Derby days.

A big thumbs-up from us to you,
Mama von Catastrophe & Quickly Kickin' Quinn

Misses Behaving

Geesh! I take one day off and all of a sudden I come to, and it's nearly two weeks since I last made an online peep. Might as well drink the good stuff if I'm going to blackout like that.

Quick update, and then I'll get back into the habit of babbling about all over cyberspace on more frequent basis -- because I'm sure ya'll missed me (and not just Miss Q), right?

Oh yeah, so the update... The pool in the middle of the living room is a party place, according to Quinn. She will hang in it for a while by herself, but after about 15 minutes, she wants company. If a pal in the shape of a Grandparent, Mom, or captured cat doesn't show up within nanoseconds her sirens go off and then the pool is ruined until she too blacks-out and forgets that it's really the kiddie corral.



The Grandparents have set off for work in other territories this week, so Quinn is left in my care alone. My Dad left me a list of things to do since he has become the best Nanny in the house, and I have no grey matter in my cranium.

Too bad he didn't mention being careful where on the counter I place defrost frozen breastmilk, such as NOT directly above the steam vent for the dishwasher... Needless to say, my parents will return to a slightly more slippery, but much more glossy and nutritious kitchen floor. I know, I am a Guinness.

Strangely unsupervised,

Stupid & Super Q