Second Blog Entry!!

...in which our heroine uncomfortably digests her Thanksgiving dinner, apologizes for yesterday's pithy debut and worries that she is turning her eldest child into a masochist...

Good day, and a Happy Canadian Thanksgiving to everyone! Five pounds of turkey and three pieces of pie later, and I can say that I am truly blessed for all I did receive. The sweet potatoes didn't even make it to the table because I'd miscalculated their cooking time, and we forgot to put out the cranberry sauce and yet we still had enough food to feed the German Army and then some. Oh God, why do we do this to ourselves? I feel like a bloated piece of puff pastry right now. Hmmm... maybe that should have been my blog name....

Yesterday's posting was brief because I am lousy at introductions. Hey! My social awkwardness extends to the blog world as well! Yay! As a teacher, I can tell you that my first classes are always pretty straight to the point, with not much time wasted on explaining who I am and where I come from. I jump straight into the first lesson, which makes me REALLY popular, especially in my math classes. (There's always one kid who pipes up near the end of the first week of school and asks, "um, so like, what's your name anyway?")

So...my fuzzy little fat headed baby is asleep, and my cute, bulbous bum-cheeked four-year old is tucked into bed, and I get to snatch my half-hour of Me Time before I haul my own sorry-ass self to bed, for I am tired, tired, tired. She is cute, and she does have the sweetest little bulbous bum, but oh my, she does indeed wear me out. I've looked it up, and while she doesn't quite fit the profile of The Difficult Child, she scored five out of five for High Intensity, which basically means she doesn't just need a glass of water, she NNEEEEEEEDS A GLAAAAAASSSSS OF WAAAATERRRRRR!!!! NOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW! When, for the one hundred and thirty fifth time in a day I hear myself saying brightly, in that fucking sing-song voice I use whenever I basically want to kill her, "what's the magic wo-ord?" I feel I've entered surreal hell world. Surely someone out there in the universe is watching all this and having a mighty good laugh at my expense. I mean, really, talk about nature's sick joke. You are handed this demanding, irrational, slightly sadistic creature who cannot listen to reason for love or money, and if you deal with her incorrectly, i.e., in any way that will do damage to her fragile little ego, she will turn 16, drop out of school, run away, join a cult, dye her pubes green, get pregnant, abort traumatically, marry some abusive freak, have his babies, get dumped, be penniless, look 50 when she's 30 and BLAME IT ALL ON MEEEEEEEEEE!

Truly, I have nightmares about it.

It is one of the reasons I've decided to set up this blog. All my family and friends:

1. Have sons
2. Have no kids
3. Have daughters but are too sensible/perfect/non-neurotic to worry about it

So who the hell am I going to talk to about this stuff, huh? You, oh lucky, gentle reader!

Here is the concern of the moment. I wrote above that Child #1 is slightly sadistic, and she is in the sense that if I let out an hysterical scream because she has accidentally pulled my hair or shoved a needle into my face, she seems rather satisfied with herself and, dare I say, slightly gleeful about my misery. Lately, however, we have been engaged in an activity that ends with HER sobbing inconsolably, and, let me hasten to add before you call the authorities on me, ENJOYING HERSELF THOROUGHLY! The game is called "Sing Me a Sad Song, Mama", and involves me singing softly (off key, monotone, thanks for asking) a melancholy tune of some sort. Some of the songs that have been known to send her howling include Leaving on a Jet Plane and All My Loving by the Beatles. The one that really gets her weeping is a little ditty I can modestly claim as my own composition. Its lyrics go something like this:

(Sung softly, with feeling)

Who will wipe your bum now?
I cannot say
It won't be mom or daddy....
They've gone away..

Wow, does that get her bawling. But if I think, OK, I've gone too far this time, I'd better stop, she'll look at me despairingly and choke out the words, "keep going Mama! Keep going!" And so I do. Because watching her sob is just about the funniest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. When she can't take it anymore, she runs over, arms outstretched, collapses into my arms and shrieks "I LOVE YOU MOMMMMYYYY!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!" That part is sort of amusing too, (sorry, but there's nothing like a maudlin four year old to make the corners of your mouth twitch) but it's also really darn nice, and probably another reason why I keep singing her the songs.

But is the whole thing gonna turn her into a freak????