finslippy

Give me your highly conditional love.

Where have you been, Alice? Well, I've been right here, dealing with a love-sick psychotic!

Henry's school has been on winter break this week. Because four-year-olds need a break from all that fingerpainting and storytime. (Yeah, I know, the teachers need a break, what-ever.) It's been fun, because my kid, frankly, is a lot of fun, but also? He's kind of nuts. Yesterday he wept because he loves me "and it's just so good." A few minutes later, when I suggested that he put on his socks, he informed me that he was going to "slice [my] head off." When I suggested that perhaps that wasn't the best turn of phrase, he clutched my legs and swore that he was saying it to himself, as a funny little joke. Then he told me he would love me even after he was dead dead dead. Could he have a cookie? No? Then he didn't even like me and never would.

When he got over that bit of heartbreak, he sang me this song:

I love love you so much
I just can't handle it
Behold Mommy! You're the best one ever!
[whispering] but I wish you were a better one

P.S.: Wonderland today! Go see!

No one told me it would be like this.

Dear Four and a half,

You’re amazing. Never leave.

Love,
Mommy

Hey baby,

Aww, sweet thing. Four and a half’s gonna be here for a good long while. Shh, now, don’t fret. Four and a half’s gonna tell you how beautiful you are. Gonna stroke your hair, now. Four and a half can’t stop looking at you, is all. Remember how Four would slap you upside the head and not care what you thought? Four and a half might do that, too, but it’s by accident, see, and then he’s going to kiss you all over that head of yours and make sure you know it weren’t meant to hurt.

Hey, can Four and a half have that cookie? That one you thought Four and a half wouldn’t notice, all wrapped up in the pantry? No, you say? That’s cool. See? Four and a half wants you to know he can wait—he’s got all the time in the world. Or maybe that cookie isn’t for him and never will be. No matter. Some other cookie will come by, some other time. And when that time comes, Four and a half will be there. For that cookie.

Sweet, sweet love,
Four and a half

Dear four and a half,

….

Love,
Mommy

My love,

Speechless, aren’t you? I know. I know it all. Hey, want me to hold that door open for you? I knew you’d like that. Ain’t nothing I don’t know. Like spelling, baby. Like, you know what letter “word” starts with? Wuh..wuh… that’s a double-you. So it starts with “D.” D starts double-you. See, baby? Try to correct four and a half on that one, and your head will spin. Just smile, baby. Four and a half’s got it all figured out.

Four and a half’s going to draw you a picture of Obi-Wan Kenobi, now. Only instead of a light saber, Obi-Wan’s gonna have a flower in his hand. For his beautiful mommy. Oh, Four and a half is so gonna get that cookie.

Marry me,
Four and a half

I love you.

I had no idea just how little effort I had to put into a post to get a response from you people. You are entirely too generous and good-humored, joining me in my cave-person talk like that. You’re funny, and you smell nice.

Have you ever heard Code Monkey? If you haven’t, you should. It is my gift to you, fellow idiot. And I say that with all the love in my idiot heart.

Hey, did you know that no longer do you have to type in finslippy DOT typepad DOT (oh god my hands are getting tired) com to gain entry to this blog? www.finslippy.com is now the official URL over here. And because the site is programmed to open other URLs in a new window, if you have the original typepad URL in there and you click on the comments, you get a new window, and then you’re all bewildered and lost, and I don’t want that for you; I never wanted that. Change your links to www.finslippy.com today! Or, you know, whenever.

And did you also know that when you live in a town with (relatively for the area) low taxes, your streets will remain unplowed? It’s like off-roading over here. If we make it to the town border, which is luckily a half-block from us, the road are as clean and sparkling as they are in the springtime. In fact, it’s a balmy 65 degrees there, and no one has to work, and the dogs pee lemonade into the cotton-candy bushes. On the other hand, the residents have to tithe fifty percent of their salary to the town elders, and there’s that weekly child sacrifice. Given that, I'll take off-roading and a clean conscience any day.

Also, you probably knew this, and I wish someone had told me: children are expected to bring cards and treats for their classmates on Valentine's Day. Huh. Well. Henry showed up yesterday with a bag full of candies and hearts, and all I got was a heart full of shame. I mean, I saw it on the calendar, the comment about "bring goodies!" but I didn't believe it. I don't know what words mean, actually. It's sad.

Today I heard the teacher thank one of the parents for the earrings. Earrings? Does this parent know there are no grades involved in pre-K? That earrings aren't going to get the kid a college recommendation? I suppose she was being nice or whatever. I just don't get it. I always think of Valentine's Day as a meaningless holiday celebrating love. I mean, I like the kids in Henry's class, and I like his teacher, but not in that way.

In conclusion, did you know that there’s a new Wonderland post today? There is. Now let's make out.

Back me!

Hello Internet! Me, hibernating, much days. Now me is returned here you! Not sure why writing this-way-like. But enjoy me. Happy to enjoy! So keep writing it like. This like.

It some snow here, then ice-rain-sleet, then snow more. Yesterday, Valentine for Henry, no school! Scott too stay. We: pancakes. Then: play date nice friends across street. Nice to have friends across! Icy streets almost kill but! No die. Come home back. Much playing, Scott, Henry. Racing around rooms of home-place. Me: try to writing, no writing. Watch snow fall. Feel brain turn like oats which cooked. Try to nap, no nap. Okay! Dinner! Henry say Best Day Ever. Me like too.

You write me. You write this like. Tell me, day, you. Yesterday? You snow? Snow good?

I can see. Life is good.

I am always in turn touched, fascinated, and horrified at the boring details my readers demand of me. "Dear Alice, please give us a ten-page laundry list of everything Henry has consumed for the past six months." "Dear Alice, what was the precise diagnosis of your recent ophthalmologist appointment, and also what were you wearing, was it hot?" "Dear Alice, what exactly is goat-sex like, and how do you know? Could you tell us exactly when and where you or someone you know romanced a goat?”

For the record, my husband was the one who came up with all the taste perversions I might experience as a result of my eye drops. So he’s the one who should be grilled about his filthy, filthy past. Or maybe his present. I don't know what he does when he "commutes" to "work."

Luckily I have experienced none of the side effects that supposedly come with relief from eye pain—no listlessness, or vomiting, or spontaneous liver expulsion. Whew! The doctor was unconcerned about my agony, and as I clawed at my eyes and rolled around on his floor he cheerfully explained that it was pink eye brought on by an allergy to...something. What, we may never know! Why, is a mystery! How, who cares? Who? Me and my eyes! Should I see an allergist, I asked him? He didn't see a point to it. Allergists are a bunch of know-nothings, he said, and are little better than those voodoo people. (Here is where I attract the ire of both allergists and voodoo practitioners. Voodoo-loving allergists are really going to come after me.) He performed many detailed and ouchy tests and ruled out dry eye. I worried that he was dismissing my concerns because I wasn't as ancient as the rest of his patients. While I was being inspected, they were all reading AARP Is For Youngsters Magazine or knitting with mammoth-bone knitting needles or just flying around by the ceiling, rattling their chains and upsetting the fax machine with their electromagnetic ecto-mist.

But here I am, with pain-free eyes, and not much to discuss. Everything is so damn peachy, it's embarrassing. And my son is all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns that crap puppies. He waves at everyone he passes on the street and then keeps calling out Hello! HELLOOOO! until they answer. He holds my hand and beams at me and tells me I'm his best Mommy ever--and he doesn't appear to want anything in return. He asks if he can have a treat, and if I say no, or not now, or not until you finish waxing the car, he sings, "Okay, Mom!" and he doesn't ask me again. Just now, as I was writing the above words, he asked, "Would you care to play with me?" WHAT IS HE UP TO?

In conclusion, there's a new Wonderland post up. Enjoy!