I have nothing to write about today. No stories to tell. Nothing to say. So I’ll sit here and listen to you for a while, okay? Tell me, what’s going on? Are you feeling okay? How’s that (insert minor medical problem here)? Has it cleared up?
We discovered this morning that Gertrude has a preferred parent based on time of day. Mom is morning, I am evening. She will not budge on this issue, despite bribery.
Usually in the morning I’m alone with Gertrude for about 20 minutes while Mom showers. We cuddle and talk about digestive problems, thin hair . . . you know, baby stuff. After Mom is dressed, she takes over the kid and I shower and then get Kaitlyn ready for school.
Gertrude likes this, I guess. Because today, we did it differently. I showered first while Mom got Kaitlyn ready.
Mistake. When Gertrude was turned over to me she had a fit. I’m not talking about the usual “Gee I’m unhappy, placate me” crying. This was the type of cry you’d expect to hear an innocent man make if he were convicted to death for a crime he didn’t commit. She wailed, as if being in my arms was akin to being dipped in acid. She wasn’t going to have it.
Great way to raise your confidence in the morning, eh?
Nights are my time. I come home and take her downstairs with her big sister and the three of us watch Sponge Bob Square Pants or some other silly drek. We enjoy ourselves, decompress and relax.
Maybe I should be encouraging my kids to watch something a little more complex. Something that will stimulate their minds. What am I saying? A talking sponge that lives under the sea is friggin’ genius! (Though I’d rather be watching Playhouse Disney. Rolie Polie Olie, PB&J Otter, Bear in the Big Blue House. That’s some brilliant kids programming there. What? So, I like kids shows? Sue me? Who do you think is the one who turns on cartoons on Saturday? Kaitlyn? Get real.)
Sorry. Got a little sidetracked. After we all eat, Gertrude and I usually dance. Badly, I might add.
Her music of choice used to be Irish Folk Punk (Pogues). Now, she seems to enjoy French Pop and Lounge. Esquivel, Jean-Pierre Perrey and Air are her favorite artists for dancing. Go figure. Maybe tonight I’ll try the Magnetic Fields. I’m thinking songs like “Hall of Mirrors” might be properly attuned to baby slumber.
I certainly understand her hatred of me in the morning. I’m a grump.
I give up. Told you I didn’t have anything to say today. I’m going to see if I can discover antimatter in my office.
Snooooore. Gary isn't being mentally stimulated. Maybe I should stop listening to Electronica at work. I'll need to go get some Classical. Let that stimulate my brain. Snooooore.
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