and I’ve already had a ton of thoughts this morning.
1. I had a dream that Dog the Bounty Hunter came to my house to babysit May.
Yes, you read that correctly. I dreamed that Duane “Dog” the Bounty Hunter came into my house, took possession of my child, and cared for her in my absence. I think this stemmed from a conversation that Daniel and I had last night. Daniel’s law firm provides free emergency child care service for its employees and he had thought of using it tomorrow when I have to go back to Hoag Hospital for the last part of my pre-employment activities. Yesterday I had the first part of my pre-employment chores (TB testing, drug testisng, etc.) so Daniel took May and ended up strolling her around Fashion Island for almost two hours while I was away. I didn’t think it would take that long. OOOPS. Daniel got a great recommendation from one of his colleagues for a babysitter and I had a momentary freak-out about having a stranger watch her. I guess that imprinted on my dream.
I wonder what it would be like to have Dog the Bounty Hunter babysit May.
-Would he make her wear feathers in her hair? She’s completely bald, so I’m not sure how that would work.
-Would he let her teethe on his handcuffs?
-Would he call repeatedly call her “brah,” even though she’s a little girl?
-Would he make her get torpedo boob implants a-la Beth?
She’d probably be in pretty good hands. I think I’d trust Dog. Granted, his kids look rode hard and put up wet, but I think Dog is a very caring person. There are faaar worse reality television personalities to have as babysitters:
2. You’re so important.
Being a mom means that pretty much anywhere I go in the car, May is sitting it the backseat. This is problematic for someone like me, because my worst traits as a human being come out while I’m driving. This is amplified by being in southern California. People around here drive with absolutely no fear, and no regard for the other million cars on the road. When we lived here the first time (pre-May, of course) I allowed my road rage to fully flourish. At any time, any number of expletives would fly out of my mouth. Occasionally, when really ticked off, I’d let a certain hand gesture do the talking. Am I proud of this…no. Does it feel good…yes.
Last year, living in Phoenix was a good training exercise in learning to curb my urge to act like an angry person in the car. If you flip off the wrong person in Phoenix, you’ll get capped. I’m not even joking.
Well, being back in SoCal has awakened all of those road-ragey feelings deep inside my soul, but now I have May in the car. I absolutely cannot allow myself to do and say things that really express how I feel. So I’ve come up with an alternative. When I get cut off or nearly run over (happens EVERY TIME I get in the car), the new thing I shout is “YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT!” And it’s true. People are so important around here. If you’re driving, you need to realize that the person in front of you, to the left of you, the right of you and behind you is late to their (choose one):
-lunch at R&D
-appointment at Newport Pain Management
-Clearance sale at Neiman Marcus
I could make a list a mile long, but you get the point.
While yelling “YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT” isn’t nearly as gratifying as yelling other things, it does the trick. Now I just hope that when May gets older and angry at some child on the playground, she won’t yell “YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT!” The meaning would definitely be lost in translation.
3. I heart Panera
Panera is straight-up delicious. I have made a ritual of going there on the mornings I drop Daniel off at work. I usually get a French toast bagel and large cup of coffee. MMMMM. Panera has the BEST coffee anywhere. Sorry Charbucks, your drip coffee tastes burnt. As delicious as this breakfast is, it gives me great pause to order it because I live in the Nanny state of California (exhibit A). For whatever reason, California has decided to offend my sensibilities by forcing restaurants to post caloric totals on their menus. Rude. I think they’ve proven that this doesn’t curb people from ordering high caloric items (exhibit B). It just makes them say “damn.” The French toast bagel has 340 calories, and who knows how many more after a proper dressing of butter. I still order it though. And every time time, I say, “damn…that’s good.”
#2 plus #3
So after I finished my 340+ calorie breakfast this morning, I go to the parking lot to unload my child so I can go home. Anyone who has had a child, or been integrated into society for more than a day knows that loading a child into the car takes a little bit of doing. While taking May out of the stroller, there is some dude who is stalking the parking spot on the passenger side of the car, where I happen to be loading May into her car seat. This dude proceeds to sit there and stare holes in me, as if I could make the process go any faster. Then, in a huff, he throws his car in reverse and picks a spot that is actually closer to Panera than the one he originally tries to park in. The parking lot was virtually empty folks, and this idiot wants to give me a hard time for trying to secure my pookie safely.
Note, my car is on the left and his car is on the right. See how empty the parking lot is. Say it with me folks…YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT!
That’s all I’ve got for now. Have a fantastic day:)